Last night I was publicly shamed…

I am sitting here, trembling and hardly able to see the screen, scrambling inside to find what my heart tells me is true, and Mama is telling me…but the titanic clash with self-loathing habits and rejection-reflexes is tossing me and turning me inside.

What I think the truth is:  that Lady Grace, Holy Spirit, my Mama is proud of me and is honored by my actions tonight…what I fear the truth is:  I am a freak and outcast and should just rid the planet of my blighting pimple on its butt.  That is the realm of feelings and while I acknowledge they are real, I have chosen, do choose and will continue to choose to not believe their accusations.

So…in our town there are charity fundraisers, where it is a contest to raise money for several charities.  We like to do charity fundraiser events.  They are strong opportunities to serve, give, and also have fun with items that we would normally not buy…we actually spent some money on a wine country equestrian event, picnic, dinner, and overnight at the Inn at Red Hills…a fab fun thing we will be doing later in the summer.

So we were getting ready…and since it was not in the big city, but our small town, I was really conflicted about what to wear…all my tops are a lil too girl-side, and all my boy clothes are just…uuuggghhh!  Grrr…I couldn’t find anything and had to settle for  my jeans, and a boy pull over top.  I wore my pink hat and pink vest (as they are wine oriented for outsiders, but me oriented for me).

We got there, and I did what I usually do in groups of strangers…be gentle and polite, smile a lot with soft eyes and stay off to the side.  I used to do that even before transition, and even more so now.  We were sitting off to the side, against the wall actually, just my baby and I, and the auctions began.

There were two local wags up there…young, facile vocally, glib, sorta dorky and full of themselves as any small town big fish is…and totally nice guys, just really asleep, ya know?

The epitome of white male privilege.

So even tho I sit off to the side, we bid pretty heavy, as it is Their money, and we feel very good about contributing it to things like that .  So we were bidding, and an item got over our limit, which was substantial…and when one of the MCs looked over I gave a subtle head shake, and drew a finger across my throat, saying I am out.  So he starts cajoling me…fair enough, that is the game.

But then he says…omfg…right in front of several hundred people!!!!…”Hey nice hat, I will give you $25 for your hat!

I froze…I freaking literally froze.  I mean, my mind wouldn’t work, my heart wouldn’t beat, I couldn’t breathe, and my face felt like it was frying off the bones…I felt like my skin had been shredded, and my heart was just clobbered, like blindsided by a car (which has happened to me on my bike several times, but this was worse, cus it was inside me and I couldn’t get away).

I was sitting there, and my darling figured it out but not right away, so she touches my leg and then the spell broke, and I was quietly ranting to her that I was gonna let that asshole have it, just rip him for what he did…total reactive thinking…and I started to tremble and tear up, and felt like when I was little and we would lose a game I would cry cus I was sooo upset.

Time passed, and as I sat there, I heard Mama talking to me, reminding me that She had made this man, and that he was a good person (She said this, not what I thought), and that he was just asleep, ignorant, tone deaf, a guy made from dirt, (not living flesh like us girls)…and that if I just took out my hurt as anger and vocal violence, I was demonstrating that I was a concubine to the patriarchy!!!  Mama is a pretty radical political Holy Spirit!! Lol

Concubine to the Patriarchy???  REALLY???  Wow.

So I asked Her to please help me and She was soothing me and I was just bleeding, and then I thought “fine…I will just swallow hard, like women always have, wash his mess off my face and have done with it and be tough and move on…”  and She was like “that is not what would bless Me either.”  So I began to still myself and center down, and really open to Her will…and She reminded me of the 3rd way…She reminded me of the situation in the jet way in Philly…She reminded me of the destiny of being someone broken enough to speak for the broken, and whole enough to speak to the broken ones who know not how broken they are.

And I started understanding what Her preference was…I had choice to embrace it, or not, but I knew that is what She would want from Her daughter.

So during a break I walked up to him, and I said “Excuse me, sir?”  He turns, acknowledges me in a friendly but distant way, and raised his eyebrows like Yes?  I said “Do we know each other?”  He said no, and got ready for some pleasant schmooze…and then I said “we really have never even met before tonight…so I am wondering, what is an appropriate way of interacting with someone you have never met, never been introduced to, and you are interacting with in a very public situation when you have a microphone and I am merely sitting?”

He just stood there, deer in the headlights…and then I said “Did you notice where I was sitting?  Off to the side?  Out of the way?  Not drawing attention to myself?  Every signal I was giving was that I was here to support, but was not in any way desiring the limelight.  And yet you called me out publically, in front of hundreds of people and you did so because my appearance was distinct.  But you didn’t do it to any of the other dozens of people here with hats.”

He took off his glasses, and was suddenly deadly serious, realizing he had stepped into a huge crap pile, and that he was on very thin ice.

So I said, “Sir, I am speaking to you as hopefully a person who loves you enough as a fellow human being to gently confront you now, with little harm done, to save you from potentially harming someone in the future very badly in complete ignorance.

“It is never ok to joke with a stranger that you have never met, especially in front of other strangers, and have the basis of that joke be their appearance, or their orientation, or their gender presentation, or their race…” (and I named off all the categories of the oppressed in our society).

I continued “tonight your words hurt me, but I am not here because of that…I think I am whole enough and supported enough that I will work thru it…but I am here for the one you might speak to who isn’t, who is on the verge, on the edge, and they leave and kill themselves or take drugs to forget…or just get even more broken…”

He says to me “My name is Nathan, and I am soo deeply sorry.”  I said “I forgive you freely…I also wanted you to know that I am in no way seeking to hurt you or wound you, but you need to know this to save you and someone else from a great regret…and I do believe that my therapist would be proud of me for showing the courage to speak with you but not in a bad way”…I know I felt Her inside telling me I was ringing the bell.

So I shook his hand (yes, he did crush mine, sheesh!), and said “well Nathan, just put it behind you, after you really think about it, and learn.”

He asked me my name…omfg he had no idea what a veiled threat that was!  I freaked out inside it felt so sinister and risky to me…Mama gave me words and I said “Oh, my name isn’t important, but rather the hearts of the little ones with no voice and no strength…THEIR name is what is important, and really, their name is like unto the name of everyone that these charities here tonight are all about.”

And I excused myself and walked off…my baby was there and I told her about it, and was shaking very badly (it was in a break).

Got it under control, and the event continued…and we won a great auction, and then it ended.

She went to get the van, as we had to load some things into it, so I sat in my place and just listened to the night, enjoying being there, but out of the way…and I see him coming over.  I was thinking “Oh crap, here it comes”  but he takes off his glasses about halfway over to me (his nonverbal indication that he was speaking openly and with no mask)…

…he sits down and wants to shake hands again, but this time, he was very gentle…and he said to me “I want to say thank you, thank you so much for loving a stranger enough to tell me what you did, and save me from potential horror in knowing that I had messed up.”

I told him, oh you are soo welcome, and I am so sorry that it hurt you, I really was seeking to avoid that.  He said no, it was perfect, seriously…I was totally wrong, and just talking with no thought whatsoever, and you really blessed me.

At that I was crying hard inside, but I bit my lip bloody to stay together and not fall apart…so I said to him can I tell you a statistic?  He indicates yes, so I said out of the population of people who are even willing to acknowledge they are transgender, 41% of them have attempted suicide, and even a higher percentage think about it constantly.  This compares to 2-4% in the general population.

He was so still…and so I pressed in and said again that something like that could literally put someone over the edge…and then he said how wrong he was, on every level regardless of my status or identity.

It was a true apology!  I think he really meant it?  So I told him how just a couple of years ago his words would have shattered me, but now I was able to at least talk to him…and he said something about how in his church there was a m2f who was coming out in the community, and how ignorant he was, but that I had connected so many dots for him, and he was deeply grateful.

So Constance…it seems like it was all a success, right?  Good fruit, wholeness exceeding brokenness, educated ruling class member…So why do I feel so bad right now?  Why am I still crying, bleeding, and having all those tiresome hounding jackal voices yipping at me?

One Q, and he knows my name and who I work for…one comment and everyone knows…but part of me wants that, they have to deal with me as I am…and part of me wants to just disappear down a rabbit hole.

Constance,I beg you, on behalf of those whom you will talk to, interact with and relate to who are transgender or gay, or some other hidden brokenness and you have no idea, to take stock of your words…I am pretty whole, very loved by Them and I know it…but your words could literally kill someone, and I am not joking with wild hyperbole.  If I wanted to do something after tonite, imagine…and the power of some kind word…again you have no idea how powerful your words are…my friends here, when they comment have at times given me courage to face my day, my life.

Silence can kill too…but it is better than saying the wrong thing, which can never be unsaid, unheard.

Oh…and one more thing:  if you are of the opinion that being transgender or gay or transgender friendly or gay friendly is an inherent sin and that it is your duty as a member of christendom to “represent” and make sure that everyone you meet knows that you are so devoted to God that you will kill them in the process, Please…don’t bother speaking…you wear your own pride and your own opinions masquerading as the so-called heart of God like a butcher’s apron. Our eyes can see the blood stains of your victims, we can see the steel silver flash of your butcher knives in your eyes, we can smell the stench of death on you (and no it isn’t the savory aroma of the gospel which is the aroma of death to the perishing!)  It is the decaying smell of horror become ho-hum and your own comfortable wallowing in your worship of yourself in God’s Precious Name.

We tremble at your approach…and at your fate, when the word “mercy” finally has meaning to you as you are judged by the children of your slaves that diligently work your gospel plantation!

That is my experience…and I still cannot sleep.  But perhaps you would join me in a vigil…until all are cherished from the least on up.

Love, Charissa

tumblr_n6rltvo98t1r3ypqpo1_1280

Must Read Article If You Are A Regular Sunday-Meeting Attender

Hi Constance…if you go to a building known as a house of worship on Sundays regularly, and meet with God and like-minded individuals…commonly and carelessly called “going to church”…then you need to read the article posted below.

I sort of have a bias against that phrase “going to church”, because the church is a living organism that exists in a spiritual state of being.  It is the whole comprised of the sum total of the relationship of believers with each other, with God individually, and with God collectively.  It is like unto our own bodies, and as such it can get sick…it can be maimed…it can flourish…it can cut off limbs from itself…and above all it should grow and mature.

Right now there are many illness and afflictions which characterize the church far more than her strengths and beauties (which are there, btw).  One of them is the stronghold of cold love that has crept into the heart of the church.  Another is the haughty spirit of self-righteousness that has led her to believe that she is made beautiful by her right actions in adhering to a set of standards that she has diligently carved out of the sum total of God’s love letter to us, The Bible.

This haughtiness is there against sooo many people and classes…it is never more visible than it is in the way that the LGTBQ is treated by her and by sooo many of her individual members.

Sadly, she thinks she does a service for God by this!

It has to stop…for her to truly become beautiful, and for her to grow up into that mature and complete person that Paul speaks of in Ephesians.  Her destiny is to be the Bride of the One who gave all to bring us back to wholeness!!!!  Will He want to marry someone soo stuck up that He could never EVER bring His friends home for dinner??

This article is strong, concrete and gives 5 things that we can do and stop doing to help the church humble herself and open her arms and join the rest of the human race on level ground before the Cross where the work of all righteousness was done and completed once for all and for all time!

Spoken with heartfelt passion and utter seriousness, in love and the hope that the wounds of this friend will be found faithful, and more to be desired than a thousand kisses from an enemy…

Charissa Grace

 

 

Five Reasons Churches Need to “Come Out” on LGBTQ Rights

Posted: 06/17/2014 9:19 pm EDT Updated: 06/18/2014 8:59 am EDT
LGBTQ YOUTH SUICIDE
 Our entire family, including my wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, and my two kids, took part in the Portland Gay Pride parade this weekend. We stood on a float in the rain and waved to thousands of people lining the streets, from the park blocks to the riverfront. It truly was a joyful day, but of course, not everyone is comfortable with the idea of the church officially being represented in the parade.

Why not just take part as individuals? Why bring such a polarizing issue into the spotlight, especially one that might make many people uncomfortable?

Here are five reasons we, as Christian institutions, need to take public stands on behalf of our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer sisters and brothers:

1) Much of the pain, and therefore, suspicion and resentment, lies at the institutional level. It’s one thing for a person who identifies as a Christian to take the risk of putting themselves out there to say they support or affirm someone’s God-given orientation or identity. It’s entirely another when a church body does so. As long as the efforts to reconcile the brokenness between the Christian community and the LGBTQ community remain at the individual level, the history of marginalization and judgment lingers like an ever-present shadow.

2) The Churches’ window of opportunity to be on the right side of history is closing. At the risk of sounding opportunistic, too many Christians found themselves on the rather embarrassing end of the debate about slavery, desegregation, and even women’s rights and in some cases still today. Nearly anyone with a compassionate heart and some sense of history would look back on those movements as something for which Christian churches should have been champions on the forefront. Yes, some were, but certainly not enough. And honestly, if we continue to advocate for some people being treated as “less than” others in any way, how can we claim the Gospel as our mandate with any credibility? We’re seeing history change before our eyes with regard to same-sex rights; shall we be remembered, once again, as one of the few holdouts clinging to the social equivalent of a flat-earth mentality?

3) People need to know where their sanctuaries are. Despite much progress toward equality for LGBTQ persons, there still is an inherent fear, or at least anxiety, about where one will be tolerated, if not openly welcomed. By taking such a public position, churches assure those seeking refuge from a lifetime of judgment or condemnation that there is a place for them.

4) We’re commanded to go to those in need of God’s grace. Sure, it’s all well and good to take an official stand as a congregation or denomination from a boardroom or in a set of bylaws no one will ever read. But saying we’re affirming of LGBTQ rights takes very little risk on our part. If someone has taken the bold step to be open and forthright about their identity or orientation in the public sphere, the least we can do is act in kind. Yes, it’s vulnerable and a little bit scary to go as a group of Christians to a pride parade. Someone might reject us. Someone might unload their pent-up pain or anger toward Christianity on us. Much like they’ve had people do to them, no doubt, being part of the LGBTQ tribe. Jesus didn’t sit back at the temple and wait for people to cue up and ask for his grace; He went out into the world, noticed where the needs were around him and addressed them, head-on. Why, as followers of the path Christ illuminated for us, should we expect our work to be any different.

5) Love is without condition. Period. Perhaps you’re still wrestling with the “gay issue” because of your understanding of scripture. As long as you’re at least wrestling, I applaud that. It means you care. But if you use such reservations about an issue to withhold radical, boundary-smashing love and grace from any of God’s children, you’re denying the humanity at the heart of the Greatest Commandment while navel-gazing and calling it Bible study. Your LGBTQ brothers and sisters are worthy of your love and grace, and God’s love and grace, as much as those you find it so easy to love. But Jesus is clear that we should not be content with loving the one’s we’re already comfortable loving. The very people who you struggle to open your heart to are the ones to whom you are commanded to give yourself fully. With all your soul, strength and mind. And if we can’t stand shoulder-to-shoulder on such principles as this, what in the hell are we worth as Church universal?

Follow Christian Piatt on Twitter: www.twitter.com/christianpiatt

Worthy Podcast Interview w/Alana Nicole Sholar & Bobbie Thompson

Transition Transmission Transgender Podcast : Transition Transmission Transgender Podcast Ep 043 – Interview with Alana Nicole Sholar & Bobbie Thompson.

Constance…I want to reblog this podcast episode that I listened to yesterday.  While there are things here that I do not necessarily find consonance with, nevertheless there is plenty here to inform, educate, and encourage.

It’s rare to find a supportive spouse when a transgender partner comes out and this couple seems to be a very good example.

I also like how they do not choose to be offended and haughty when they are asked well meaning but ignorant questions.  This is the kind of attitude I believe in general is most fruitful and specifically when our toes get stepped on?  Well…that is love, pure and simple.

So when you have an hour or so where you will be doing something that you can do while you listen?  Give it a go…while ironing, while cooking something, while exercising, whenever…I don’t think you will be disappointed with the time investment.

It is my hope that someday I can be this bold and straightforward and gracefully “unaware” of the hurtful and destructive things around me.

Transition Transmission Transgender Podcast : Transition Transmission Transgender Podcast Ep 043 – Interview with Alana Nicole Sholar & Bobbie Thompson.

Direct download: ttep043.mp3

large (1)

It’s Time For People to Stop Using the Social Construct of “Biological Sex” to Defend Their Transmisogyny | Autostraddle

It’s Time For People to Stop Using the Social Construct of “Biological Sex” to Defend Their Transmisogyny | Autostraddle.

Reposting this interesting and informative article.  It debunks the major tropes that reinforce the binary gender roles that our culture is wed to.

I will just say this:  regardless of what the defenders of orthodoxy say, in my own life experience I never found integration with the strange awkward body I “woke up” in.  I never had identification to the part of “my organism” that hung between my legs, and I never understood why the presence of this defined my entire being and thus consigned me to a prison of expectations that were untenable, societal roles that were monolithic and dictatorial, and a life of sorrow and confusion when young, and numbed monochromatic denial and the mere passing of days in the prison sentence called a life.

And my experience is mirrored by uncountable people born just the way I was, and feel like I feel.  That was the phenomenous thing to me:  when I started reading the stories of other transgender people, and it was eerie how exact our experiences were!  Regardless of if it was MtF or FtM or intersexed…the emotions, the dissociation, the dysphoria, the presence of abuse if action and life attempted to be taken based in our actual being rather than the assigned roles…

I have made it a central assumption here in this blog, in my spiritual writings blatantly and in my poetry implicitly, that all humans are in a transition that is essentially the same as the one transgender people make.  From my p.o.v. sanctification is the spiritual equivalence to what transition is…all of us wake up in a world that seems off, that seems twisted sideways to what our hearts anticipate and expect…all of us act in accordance with our true essence, and then get slapped down hard by the broken twist in this realm, and all of us know it ought to be different, and hope that someday…someday we shall know as we are known, and be revealed as who we are really and be received in love to live happily ever after in shalom.

When you contend for the lives and rights and beings of trans-humans, you contend for your own liberty.

Those of you who are regular here:  thank you for your kindnesses.  They have many times been the difference in my life during the storms which may otherwise have swamped me for good.

It’s Time For People to Stop Using the Social Construct of “Biological Sex” to Defend Their Transmisogyny | Autostraddle.

large (2)

Solemn…then outrage. A re-post

just to be clear – a woman who created a hashtag meant to convey the message “no, not all may be sexual aggressors but yes, all women have experienced sexism to some degree” shut down her account after repeated harassment. she wasn’t generalizing men. she wasn’t making broad, sweeping statements that people claim are the problem with women’s movements. she was only opening a conversation centered around personal stories. what is anyone supposed to take from this except that many people are simply not interested in hearing these stories at all, as sugarcoated as they may be, as tactfully they may be put? not without redirecting the conversation to focus away from women, at any rate.

A woman starts a discussion about how all women are harassed, and people respond by harassing her. There’s no room for irony in the world anymore.

tumblr_n5xtz2op741re12ono1_500

Kevin Williamson shows us how to dehumanize a trans person, in three simple steps.

Kevin Williamson shows us how to dehumanize a trans person, in three simple steps..

Constance…this will give a snapshot into ways that so often we dehumanize one another…specifically in the LGBTQ community.

But think about it:  how often do these same concepts and methods get applied to one another in whatever social context we find?

Love Mercy.

Do Justly.

Walk Humbly.

 

Love and Grace,

Charissa

Kevin Williamson shows us to dehumanize a trans person, in three simple steps..

tumblr_n66wqcIHWE1qitcpbo1_1280

 

 

Bury My Head in the Sky

My wet red heart beats in time to music
flying in soaring skies and wonder-winds…
it is my womb, my temple and matrix,
at long last no more a stranger to myself.

Contractions, pangs, contraction, pang…
beating out my birthing, my being, my life,
long brownly-buried in dry dirt dusky,
deeper than an ostrich can see on its best blind day!

Strains, arpeggios, wildly dance and swirl
in bluey blasts and exultations and voices lift in high chorus
and wallow in jammy joy, crooning to me, babe in transit
from womb to shiny bearing-burst to tomb.

I, halfling of becoming, in and out of grave ground,
fidget fast and twiddle and twitch, touchy and unleashed
and free soon flying and yet bound, sommat
still in cloddy clutches of dust to dust.

But here…in this middle earth ethereal and having boundaries not yet charted…
I glance with gleaming glad eyes all round and see the ostriches burrowed down
and crammed, obliviate wings futile and folded and settled, serenaded
by secure and intentioned monotone unknowing.

I lift my voice and my words, and they drag dirty distressing fingers
from the tender white curve and arch of my throat
and my song squirms and heaves and lurches forth from fleshy grave
to live again in light and take its place in that Thundrous Sky Music Throng!

Words, familiar and yet never heard or said or sung spring
glad and fresh and ageless from my lips, and my yearning theme flashes brilliant
and dances on voices and notes, sings of birth and never wonders why
but simply shouts resounding “Bury my head in the Sky!”

tumblr_lqmuwcUAWP1r1xebmo1_1280

 

 

“There is always more to a situation than what you can perceive from the outside ” Queen Latifah

What I Learned From Raising My Rainbow | QueenLatifah.com.

What a fabulous and thoughtful glimpse into the intelligent and compassionate soul of Queen Latifah.

Just.  Read.   You will be glad you did.

Love Always, in Grace and Peace,

Charissa

4 Reasons Why We Need to Drop ‘You Must Be Doing Something Right!’

Constance…this is a great article!  Please read it, and put its advice into practice.  I know for myself, sometimes here I have made pleas for support, for a kind comment, for an encouraging word, and they have not returned fruitful.  I thought it was just that people didn’t care, and only wanted the pretty poems and love songs to God…well, maybe it was just that we aren’t very good at it.

Anyway, I found it helpful myself, and am resolved to encourage, regardless of the actions of others.

Yours in Encouraging Words…Charissa

 

4 Reasons Why We Need to Drop ‘You Must Be Doing Something Right!’

Source: Picky Wallpapers

If you do social justice work – especially if you’re vocal in this simultaneously glorious and frightening world known as The Internet – you’ve undoubtedly suffered your fair share of abuse.

If you’re in a marginalized community, it’s likely come in the form of oppressive violence targeting your identity in an attempt to silence you.

And if you’ve refused to shut up and sit down, I imagine that you, like me, have experienced the terror of death and rape threats.

And if you’ve ever been vocal to your friends and family about your experiences, I’m going to bet that at least once in your life, someone has attempted to placate you by letting you know that “you must be doing something right” if you’re making people angry.

And, okay, I get their point.

Social reform doesn’t come easy. And attempting to affect the fundamental nature of society is, of course, by definition, radical.

I may have a complicated relationship with the word “radical,” but the truth of the matter is that questioning – let alone actively working to upset – the status quo is always going to be radical in nature. Because it makes people uncomfortable.

But there’s a big difference between making people uncomfortable and making them violently angry.

Making people uncomfortable? That’s part of the job. That’s a good sign that you’re doing something right.

People coming at you with death threats? Not the same thing.

And I don’t know about you, but when people apply the “you must be doing something right” band-aid to every instance of my feeling vulnerable and emotional, it has the opposite effect that they hope it will.

It doesn’t feel comforting and inspiring. It actually feels kind of trivializing – and even silencing.

So here are some reasons why you might want to drop “you must be doing something right!”

1. It Isn’t Necessarily True

I do values clarification-based education for a living. My job, day in and day out, is to run workshops where I challenge people to question their most deeply held beliefs around sexuality and relationships.

Facilitating affective learning is a skill – and it’s a hard one. It involves very consciously and deliberately bringing people to the edge of their comfort zones to offer them alternative perspectives. It also means (at least externally) withholding judgment, which includes in its bag of tricks a very practiced poker face.

Now, if I do my job correctly, people will walk out of my workshops with a little bit of anxiety and a whole lot to think about. They should leave there feeling challenged, but safe. They should feel that their worldviews were respected while also engaging in different viewpoints.

But sometimes that’s not what happens.

Sometimes I get that one student on an already stressful day who continually disrupts my lesson to assert their belief that – most commonly – people who stay in abusive relationships must like being abused or there are conditions under which people cannot say no to sex.

And sometimes when this student really grates on my nerves, I can lose my cool and say something snarky or otherwise assert my dominance as the leader in the room. It happens rarely, but it happens.

And that is the point at which I have failed.

Because that student is going to walk away having learned nothing except that the lady who came to their class to talk about domestic violence can’t follow her own ground rules around respecting others’ opinions.

In the case where someone feels unfairly disrespected by me, I have not “done something right.” If anything – and trust me, my supervisor would agree – I have done something wrong. And telling me that turning what could have been a teachable moment into a power struggle was appropriate actually isn’t helpful.

Look. We’re all human, and we are all expected to have these days where the weight of the world is simply too much to bear and we take it out on someone whose comment is our last straw, but that is not an indication that we have done something right.

It’s simply an indication that our work is still desperately needed.

Bringing people past the brink of discomfort is not what most of us are setting out to do – certainly not if we’re trying to affect real change.

And telling us that we “must be doing something right” just because we got into a verbal scuffle with someone diminishes the good, hard work that activists and educators are doing every day.

Instead, try this: “It sounds like you had a really rough day today. I’m sorry that that conversation escalated to a place that made both of you angry. The work that you do is greatly valuable and necessary – as is evident by this story. I’m glad you’re out there in the trenches. If you need anything, let me know.”

2. It’s Misunderstanding the Issue

I have friends – many of you are probably reading this now: hi! – who I greatly respect who sometimes I have huge disagreements with. Sometimes the articles that I share on Facebook become battlefields where groups are pitted against one another, trying to prove their points.

And we get passionate. And we get frustrated. And probably for a little while, we’re not one another’s biggest fans.

But then we calm down, we remember how awesome one another is, and we agree to disagree.

This can happen with strangers, too.

Sometimes people really do want to engage with you intellectually, even if the two of you completely disagree. Sometimes people really are looking for a debate, rather than a fight. And if you find those people hovering in your Twitter mentions, it’s okay to engage with them.

A conversation can be passionate without being threatening.

And while you might feel frustrated or misunderstood for a little while, usually these conversations don’t end in your feeling scared or dejected. They don’t inspire subtweets or venting text messages to your activist friends.

These aren’t the conversations we’re referring to when we go on a rant.

These are conversations that you expect and even sometimes invite. I – as naive and idealist as this arguably is – want to have conversations and work toward creating a better world. Sometimes that means debating.

Those are the times when, yes, I am “doing something right.”

But when some asshole on the Internet is calling me an ugly slut because I wrote an article about how grammar snobbery is oppressive, that’s a problem.

And when you lump a productive (albeit stressful) debate together with a straight-up attack and apply the same salve to those wounds, you’re missing out on a hugely important difference.

In one case, there is equal power in the conversation. In the other, one person is asserting control.

And when the latter happens, it doesn’t make me feel better to be told that I “must be doing something right.”

Instead, try this: “I know that you probably already know this, but that person had no right to say that to you. It was brave of you to engage in a conversation with them, but also remember that you deserve to take self-care, and it isn’t your job or responsibility to respond to trolls. You can call me to vent if you want to!”

3. It’s Dismissive

If I put up a Facebook status that says that I had a really difficult interaction with someone, particularly on the Internet, that resulted in my feeling uncomfortable at best and threatened at worst, the last thing I’m looking for is quote-unquote “validation” from someone letting me know that I “must be doing something right.”

What I need in a time like that is support.

If I’m reaching out to you – either directly, like in a text, or indirectly, like in a general post – it’s because I need something more substantial than a pat on the back.

And while I tend to be really, really good at specifically asking for the type of support that I need, most people are not. Most people will throw a general comment out into the void, hoping (consciously or subconsciously) that someone will come along and say or offer the right thing.

Rarely is “you must be doing something right” what they’re looking for.

Unfortunately, on top of the many other ways in which society has screwed us over, most of us were brought up thinking that we’re magically supposed to know how to solve every problem. It’s like we think we came equipped with problem-solving abilities at birth, and that if we can’t fix it, we must be failures.

So, for that reason, people feel really, really uncomfortable asking, “What kind of support do you need right now?”

Well, everyone except therapists and some other human service professionals, in my experience.

The impression that “you must be doing something right” can give is along the lines of “you’re strong enough to deal with this on your own” – which I don’t think has ever really made anyone feel much better.

So often, other people (especially women, especially women with other intersecting marginalized identities) that I’ve known have shared with me something that I’ve felt for my entire life, too: that they need space to feel weak sometimes.

The point is: Yes, we know we can get through this. But if I threw out a cry for help, it’s because I need help – not because I need a reminder of my strength or righteousness.

So help me.

Throwing out a pseudo-inspirational gem is dismissive of the severity of the problem that I’m having and of my need for support.

You don’t need to have a magic cure. But it certainly helps more when you offer me a life raft than when you remind me that I know how to swim.

Instead, try this: “I really want to support you right now, but I’m not sure what you need. Just remember, honestly, that I’m always here for you. Here’s my number in case you don’t have it. Maybe we could do dinner next week? Anything you want. Just let me know.”

4. It Implies That Abuse Comes with the Territory

I know that this is going to feel like a huge jump to make, but hear me out.

Something that I hear a lot working for a domestic violence agency is the idea that sometimes abuse is excusable – or at least something that simply needs to be tolerated.

From “they’re violent because they’re passionate because they love you so much” to “you live a good life and are well-taken care of, so this is a small price to pay,” some people hold onto the notion that we have to take the good with the bad – even when the bad is abusive.

So let me be the first to tell you: That’s bullshit.

Just like I make it clear to my workshop participants that no one deserves abuse ever, I want to make it clear to you activists out there that no one deserves abuse ever.

There is not a single thing on Earth that you can do that warrants being attacked – physically or emotionally.

And the implication that “you must be doing something right” in your activism if you’re on the receiving end of cruelty and threats is a dangerous one – because it implies that abuse comes with the territory.

Does abuse come with the territory? Unfortunately, yes.

Should it? Hell no.

And you should not be expected to tolerate it.

If you want to block @MRAsAreSoCool on Twitter, go ahead. If you want to disable your comments on YouTube, you can. If you want to shut off anonymous asks on Tumblr, that’s an option for you. If you need to unfriend some annoying acquaintances on Facebook, go for it.

And if you want to complain about abuse and expect your loved ones to support your liberty to be an activist without the threat of violence, that is in your right.

And no one – no one – should make you feel like you deserve (or should expect) it for “doing something right.”

Because when I’m doing a good job, I want a gold star or something (hey, I’m easy), not someone to tell me that they want to smash my teeth in.

And (shockingly!) that’s not an unfair expectation.

Instead, try this: “No one deserves to be talked to that way. I’m sorry that that happened to you. I know how frustrating this side of activism can be. If you want to talk about it over coffee, I’m down. Just remember that block features exist for a reason, and you’re not showing signs of weakness by not tolerating this kind of nonsense.”

***

When I’m in a stable place and a good mood, I can roll my eyes and laugh off some threats, knowing that all these people are doing is proving that my work is necessary.

But there are other times when I cannot contain my anger, my fear, or my tears.

And that’s okay.

But at the end of the day, when I’m crawling into bed, I already know that I’m doing something right – or else I wouldn’t be doing it.

Sometimes what I need to be reminded of is that my friends and family care about me, support me, and will defend my right to live fearlessly.

Give me more of that.

Yes. All Men. | Consent Culture

Yes. All Men. | Consent Culture.

Constance…I am pressing yet another fabulous piece on misogynist culture and our responsibility to take our courage in hand and root out this evil mode of being.

I believe it is more than thought…it has become a lifestyle.

The language and spirit of this piece is tough, but so what?  Plow thru it anyway…and men, particularly note the mandate you are issued towards the end of your responsibility to go to work specifically in “men-only” spaces.  In my life of consignment to men-only spaces, I was not the only one protesting the treatment of women precisely 4 times, and that is in my lifetime so far to the best of my recollection.

It doesn’t take courage to beat up a girl…but it does take courage to stand up to other men and say no more.

Yes. All Men. | Consent Culture.

Misogynist Extremism part 2:

Another scintillating article,  from

 

Read it and weep!

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

When I was a freshman, my sister was in eighth grade. There was a boy in two of her periods who would ask her out every single day. (Third and seventh period, if I remember correctly.) All day during third and seventh she would repeatedly tell him no. She didn’t beat around the bush, she didn’t lie and say she was taken—she just said no.

One day, in third period, after being rejected several times, he said; “I have a gun in my locker. If you don’t say yes, I am going to shoot you in seventh.”

She refused again, but right after class she went to the principal’s office and told them what happened. They searched his locker and there was a gun in his backpack.

When he was arrested, some of my sister’s friends (some female, even) told her that she was selfish for saying no so many times. That because of her, the entire school was in jeopardy. That it wouldn’t have killed her to say yes and give it a try, but because she was so mean to him, he lost his temper. Many of her male friends said it was “girls like her” that made all women seem like cockteases.

Wouldn’t have killed her to say yes? If a man is willing to shoot someone for saying no, what happens to the poor soul who says yes? What happens the first time they disagree? What happens the first time she says she doesn’t want to have sex? That she isn’t in the mood? When they break up?

Years later, when I was a senior, I was the only girl in my Criminal Justice class. The teacher, who used to be a sergeant in the police force, told us a story of something that had happened to a girl he knew when she was in high school. There was a guy who obviously had a crush on her and he made her uncomfortable. One day he finally gathered up the courage to ask her out, and she said no.

The next day, during an assembly, he pulled a gun on her in front of everyone and threatened to kill her if she didn’t date him.

He was tackled to the ground and the gun was taken from him.

When my teacher asked the class who was at fault for the crime, I was the only person who said the boy was. All the other kids in the class (who were all boys) said that the girl was, that if she had said yes he would’ve never lost it and brought a gun and tried to kill her. When my teacher said that they were wrong and that this is what is wrong with society, that whenever a white boy commits a crime it’s someone else’s fault (music, television, video games, the victim) one boy raised his hand and literally said; “But if someone were to punch me and I punched him back, who is at fault for the fight? He is, not me. It’s self-defence. She started it, so anything that happens to her is in reaction to her actions .It’s simple cause and effect.”

Even though he spent the rest of the calss period ripping into the boys and saying that you are always responsible for your own actions, and that women are allowed to say no and do not have to date them, they left class laughing about how idiotic he was and that he clearly had no idea how much it hurt to be rejected.

So now we have a new school shooting, based solely on the fact some guy couldn’t get laid, and I see men, boys, applaudin him, or if they’re not applauding him, they’re laying blame on women as a whole. Just like my sister’s friends did. Just like the boys in my Criminal Justice class did.

This isn’t something that’s rare. This isn’t something that never happens, or that a select group of men feel as if they are so entitled to women that saying no is not only the worst possible thing a woman can do, but is considered a form of “defence” when they commit a crime upon them (whether it be rape or murder-as-a-reaction-towards-rejection).

Girls are being killed for saying no to prom invites. Girls are being killed for saying no to men. They are creating an atmosphere where women are too scared to say no, and the worst part is? They are doing it intentionally. They want society to be that way, they want women to say yes entirely out of fear. Even the boys and men who aren’t showing up to schools with guns are saying; “Well, you know, I wouldn’t do that, but you have to admit that if she had just said yes …”

If you are a man and you defend this guys’ actions or try to find an excuse for it, or you denounce what really happened, or in any way lay blame on women, every girl you know, every woman you love, has just now thought to themselves that you might lose your shit and kill them someday for saying no. You have just lost their trust. And you know what? You deserve to lose it.

Misogyny: A virulent doctrine of demons

Misogyny:  The mistrust and hatred of women.

That is how the dictionary defines the word…and it is a real thing.

I know.

I was “undercover” in men only spaces virtually my entire life, and the things I heard were appalling, chilling, infuriating, depressing, and maddening.  Words laced with violence, and then passed off has humor or jokes…words that objectified women, and even worse.  Words spoken with literally no awareness at all of what they were actually saying, and when challenged, the challenger is immediately attacked and dehumanized as well…I know that from experience also.

I heard young boys talk about beating up girls who didn’t dance with them in middle school.  I heard older boys/young men in high school tease one another about not “getting any” from their girlfriends, and then urge one another to take what they want because “the bitch is holding out on you and wants you to take it” (literal quote).  I heard men at work tell each other that they needed to back hand their uppity wives who nagged them or spoke out to them.  I heard men in church (God please have mercy) speak of women in ways that were as demeaning as any of the things I listed above, just minus the language…men who told their wives to shut up, in front of other people (and then get praised for it as being a proper head of their wife), men who rebuked other “men” who didn’t constrain their wives or daughters (happened to me all the time, except that I argued back…these are the fellows who will curse me as a hell-bound demon possessed sex crazed pervert when they find out that I am transitioning…I dread that time coming up, and hope I survive it).

We need to fully wake up as a society to the virulent cancer that is amongst us and rots at half the human population indirectly, and often kills the other half often while constantly doing them spiritual, emotional and mental harm.

The roots of this hatred are ancient.  It seems to be present in all eras in all places, with few exceptions.  I hate it…with a passion, and I have absolutely no agreement with it.  I believe that this hatred is demonic in nature, certainly metaphorically if not literally.  It is informative that Genesis 3 has words about the “why” of misogyny, but this post is not about that for now.

We just had a massacre, an orgy of violence occur, and it seems that the main response has been that it is a tragedy perpetrated by a crazy man…except that it happens so often, and across so many racial and cultural lines, that to excuse it as the act of a crazy man is just not a sufficient explanation.  Because it implicates vast scores of men as crazy.  Even a cursory examination of crime files and stories reveal case after case after case after case of men who use violence to act out against women, and typically in rationality, knowing full well what they are doing.

It is time to wake up:  Men!  This is not in anyway shape or form okay, and it is not acceptable any longer for you to excuse these acts by the liteny of magic words continually used “…but not all men are that way…”  D’rrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!  That misses the point!

Women!  It is not okay any longer for you to enable this behaviour and mode of thought with “Stockholm Syndrome” behaviour (if you don’t know what that is google it).  It is not okay for you to empower this attitude and practice in men in the hope that your own deal will be a little better.  The life of a collaborator is a pale shadow of fulfillment, and is the epitome of lukewarmness.

The article I am re-posting is full of anger, grief, rage, and a little fear as well…consider it carefully.  Let it hit you in the gut.

And then remember that the statistics of violence and murder against transgender women are exponentially higher than those regarding the cis-gender population of women…to the order of this:  proportionately there would need to be over 2.4 million violent acts ending in medical treatment or death  per year to achieve equality as a ratio with the number that occur against the transgender female population per year.  Chew on that number!

Every single reader of this…stop and ask for a scouring of your heart, soul, and mind.  Is there a vestige of this horrible cancer within you?  If so, beg for it to be rooted from you, and your thoughts and attitudes cleansed, and your determination to eradicate this evil grow, soaring and firm!

Do Justly.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly.

Charissa Grace

 

Let’s call the Isla Vista killings what they were: misogynist extremism

For some time now, misogynist extremism has been excused, as all acts of terrorism committed by white men are excused, as an aberration, as the work of random loons, not real men at all. Why are we denying the existence of a pattern?

A shattered window at the crime scene in Isla Vista. Photo: Getty
A shattered window at the crime scene in Isla Vista. Photo: Getty

It’s time to call misogynist extremism by its name.

On Friday night, a young man went on a massacre in Santa Barbara that left six other people dead and seven injured. In the hours before the massacre, the suspect, 22-year-old Elliot Rodger, had uploaded a video to YouTube titled “Retribution”. In this, and in a 140-page manifesto published online, Rodger claimed that he was going to prove himself the ultimate “alpha male” and take revenge on all the “sluts” who had sexually rejected him:

“Tomorrow is the day of retribution, the day in which I will have my revenge . . . you girls aren’t attracted to me, but I will punish you all for it. I’ll take great pleasure in slaughtering all of you. You will finally see that I am in truth the superior one, the true alpha male.”

This is not the first time that women and unlucky male bystanders have been massacred by men claiming sexual frustration as justification for their violence. In 1989, 25-year-old Marc Lépine shot 28 people at the École Polytechnique in Quebec, Canada, claiming he was “fighting feminism”. Fourteen women died. In 2009, a 48-year-old man called George Sodini walked into a gym in the Pittsburgh area and shot 13 women, three of whom died. His digital manifesto was a lengthier version of Rodger’s, vowing vengeance against the female sex for refusing to provide him with pleasure and comfort. Online misogynists approved.

“When men kill women, the underlying reason is almost always an unfulfilled psychosexual need . . . to men celibacy is walking death, and anything is justified in avoiding that miserable fate,” wrote “Roissy in DC” of the Pittsburgh killing, as reported by Jezebel in 2009.  “At least it is implied that feminism is to blame and he is taking a last stand,” said another. “I had been waiting for this (almost thinking I had to do it myself) and I am impressed. Kudos.”

The ideology behind these attacks – and there is ideology – is simple. Women owe men. Women, as a class, as a sex, owe men sex, love, attention, “adoration”, in Rodger’s words. We owe them respect and obedience, and our refusal to give it to them is to blame for their anger, their violence – stupid sluts get what they deserve. Most of all, there is an overpowering sense of rage and entitlement: the conviction that men have been denied a birthright of easy power.

Capitalism commodifies that rage, monetises it, disseminates it through handbooks and forums and crass mainstream pornography. It does not occur to these men that women might have experienced these very human things, too, because it does not occur to them that women are human, not really. Women are prizes to be caught and used or hags to be harassed or, occassionally, both.

Violent extremism always attracts the lost, the broken, young men full of rage at the hand they’ve been dealt. Violent extremism entices those who long to lash out at a system they believe has cheated them, but lack they courage to think for themselves, beyond the easy answers they are offered by pedlars of hate. Misogynist extremism is no different. For some time now misogynist extremism has been excused, as all acts of terrorism committed by white men are excused, as an aberration, as the work of random loons, not real men at all. The pattern is repeatedly denied: these are the words and actions of the disturbed.

“All I ever wanted was to love women, and in turn to be loved by them back. Their behaviour toward me has only earned my hatred and rightfully so! I am the true victim in all this. I am the good guy. . . I didn’t start this war.” 

This is how extremism works. It takes the valid and substantial anger of the dispossessed and tortures it into something twisted. It promises the lost and despairing that they will have the respect and sense of purpose they have always longed for, if they only hate hard enough. And often it starts as a game, as shadow-play.

I make no apologies for the fact that this piece is full of rage. When news of the murders broke, when the digital world began to absorb and discuss its meaning, I had been about to email my editor to request a few days off, because the impact of some particularly horrendous rape threats had left me shaken, and I needed time to collect my thoughts. Instead of taking that time, I am writing this blog, and I am doing so in rage and in grief – not just for the victims of the Isla Vista massacre, but for what is being lost everywhere as the language and ideology of the new misogyny continues to be excused.

Why can we not speak about misogynist extremism – why can we not speak about misogyny at all – even when the language used by Elliot Rodger is everywhere online?

We are told, repeatedly, to ignore it. It’s not real. It’s just “crazy”, lonely guys who we should feel sorry for. But as a mental health activist, I have no time for the language of emotional distress being used to excuse an atrocity, and as a compassionate person I am sick of being told to empathise with the perpetrators of violence any time I try to talk about the victims and survivors. That’s what women are supposed to do. We’re supposed to be infinitely compassionate. We’re supposed to feel sorry for these poor, confused, vengeful individuals. Sometimes we’re allowed to talk about our fear, as long as we don’t get angry. Most of all, we mustn’t get angry.

We have allowed ourselves to believe, for a long time, that the misogynist subcultures flourishing on- and offline in the past half-decade, the vengeful sexism seeding in resentment in a time of rage and austerity, is best ignored. We have allowed ourselves to believe that those fetid currents aren’t really real, that they don’t matter, that they have no relation to “real-world” violence. But if the Isla Vista massacre is the first confirmed incident of an incident of gross and bloody violence directly linked to the culture of ‘Men’s Rights’ activism and Pickup Artist (PUA) ideology, an ideology that preys on lost, angry men, then it cannot be ignored or dismissed any more.

We like to think that violent misogyny – not sexism, but misogyny, woman-hatred as ideology and practice, weaponised contempt for one half of the human race – isn’t something that really happens in the so-called West. No matter how many wives and girlfriends are murdered by their husbands, no matter how many rapists are let off because of their “promising careers”, violence against women is something that happens elsewhere, somewhere foreign, or historical, or both. So anxious are we to retain this convenient delusion that any person, particularly any female person, who attempts to raise a counter argument can expect to be harassed and shouted down.

As soon as women began to speak about the massacre, a curious thing happened. Men all over the world – not all men, but enough men – began to push back, to demand that we qualify our anger and mitigate our fear. Not all men are violent misogynists.

Well, there have always been good men. Actually, I firmly believe that today there are more tolerant, humane men who recognise and celebrate the equality of the sexes than there have ever been before. Today, what I hear from many men and boys who talk to me about gender justice – decent, humane men and boys of the kind the twenty-teens are also, blessedly, producing in great numbers – is fear and bewilderment. Who are these people? Where do they live? And the unspoken fear: do I know them? Might I have met some of them, drunk with them?  If the wind had changed when I was growing, if I had read different books and had different friends, might it have been me? If any man is capable of this, is every man capable of it? 

Well, those are the correct questions to ask. What I hear more often, however, is “not all men”. I hear that age-old horror of women’s anger drowning out everything else. Not all men are like this. Don’t look at us. Don’t shout at us. Please, don’t ask us to stand up and be counted.

One thing I’ve found, when talking to people involved in the savage end of the “Men’s Rights” community, the Pickup Artist scene, or both, is that to a chap they are keen that I understand the difference between their grouplet and the next – those guys over there hate women, those guys over there have a broken worldview, we’re the reasonable ones. And before the charges of book-burning and censorship begin: interpretation does change everything. There are certainly men out there who engage with the ideas of “Pickup Artistry” without absorbing the contemptuous misogyny at its core, much less pursuing it to its conclusion. One of my best relationships, in fact, was with a young man who swore by The Game as a handbook for shy boys who wanted to be able to talk to girls at parties, whilst mocking the sexism at its core.

So no, it’s not all men. But then it never was.

But if you think for one second, for one solitary second, that demanding tolerance for men as a group, that dismissing the reality of violence against women because not all men kill, not all men rape, if you think that’s more important than demanding justice for those who have been brutalised and murdered by those not all men, then you are part of the problem. You may not have pulled the trigger. You may not have raised your hand to a woman in your life. But you are part of the problem.

This is not the time, to use the refrain of apologists for bigotry, to play devil’s advocate. The devil has more than enough advocates today. On most days, I can put up with aggressive faux-objectivity being used to shout down women’s experiences and silence gendered trauma, but not today.

“Women should not have the right to choose who to mate and breed with. That decision should be made for them by rational men of intelligence . . . Women have more power in human society than they deserve, all because of sex. There is no creature more evil and depraved than the human female.”

I know for sure that just by writing this I will have exposed myself to more harassment, more threats, more verbal assaults. The comments below this piece will be stuffed, as they always are, with rank sexism, along with by a few brave souls trying to counter their arguments or maintain some pretence at tolerant, adult debate. I have clear memories of a time when I really looked forward to engaging with people who commented on my blog, even when we disagreed, when online politics was an exciting, dynamic space of living conversation. I remember it, and it’s in the cache, so it must have happened. But many young women at the start of writing and digital careers today have no such memories.

I didn’t experience violent misogyny as a child –  sexism, yes, but my early years were free of direct experience of woman-hatred against me or my loved ones, except as an abstract concept, the fear that gets taught to all girl-children as soon as they can stand unaided: don’t walk down that street, don’t wear that skirt, don’t speak too loud or upset the men. You’ll get hurt. You could get killed. For today’s girl-children, that has been expanded to include: don’t go on the internet. Bad men are there, men who will hurt you.

Many of us choose to ignore those warnings. We choose to act instead like we are real human beings with a right to take up space, like almost all women and girls who have managed to achieve anything throughout history, because that’s what those warnings are for, what the violence behind them is for – to scare us into submission. We make that choice again every day, and somehow it does not get easier – because the older and stronger we get, the bigger and stronger the new feminist movement gets in all its glorious variety, the more vicious and committed the backlash becomes. The backlash is real. There is ideology behind it. It hurts. Sometimes, it kills.

For the countless women and girls who have come to live with harassment as a daily cost of being in public and productive while female – let alone while feminist – the tragedy at Isla Vista has been a chilling wake-up call. I know I will never be able to tell myself in quite the same way that the men who link me to two-hundred-post threads about how I ought to be raped can’t actually hurt my body, no matter how much they savage my peace of mind.

We have been told for a long time that the best way to deal with this sort of harrassment and violence is to laugh it off. Women and girls and queer people have been told that online misogynists pose no real threat, even when they’re sharing intimate guides to how to destroy a woman’s self-esteem and force her into sexual submission. Well, now we have seen what the new ideology of misogyny looks like at its most extreme. We have seen incontrovertible evidence of real people being shot and killed in the name of that ideology, by a young man barely out of childhood himself who had been seduced into a disturbing cult of woman-hatred. Elliot Rodger was a victim – but not for the reasons he believed.

Misogyny is nothing new, but there is a specific and frightening trend taking place, and if we’re not going to accept it, we have to call it by its name. The title of the PUA bible belies the truth: this is not a game. Misogynist extremism does not exist in a mystical digital fairyland where there are no consequences. It is real. It does damage. It kills.  And this is no longer a topic where abstraction is anything approaching appropriate.

Laurie Penny’s Unspeakable Things: Sex, Lies and Revolution is available for pre-order.

Dialogue: the key to kind acceptance of another person

Think about a time when you met someone, someone you instantly clashed with, without a word being spoken…go ahead, I will wait…we have all had that happen.  Now:  think about someone that happened with, and then as time passed and you got to know them you discovered you were totally wrong about them, that your reaction had been all within you, and was unrelated to them completely.  I am not going to wait on this one, for these sorts of endings are more rare…at least in my life they were.  Sadly, far too often I just avoided the person and then lived…until I forgot about them, and went on in my cushy-comfy zone of complacency.

Wanna know the basic root of this phenomenon?  I think it is Xenophobia:  fear of the unknown.  A person will look different, or act different, or some other factor about them is something unknown to us…so we clench up, clam up, and withdraw…and then make up all sorts of rationales to justify our low  and venal rejection of a fellow creature made in Their image.

Generally, at least for me, dialogue precedes the change of heart and mind that I undergo when I have been in this boat.  After talking with the person (not at, or over), I discover that we have so much more in common by virtue of our shared human experience and reality than we are different.  Especially when I was firmly locked away in the christendom ghetto…I dared not talk with different people, unless I totally dominated the exchange in a monologue “devoted to evangelism”, but in truth designed to shield and protect myself from having to stretch and include someone in my world.

I think this is why so many so-called “evangelistic-efforts” end fruitless, and at times even exacerbate the divide between we who call ourselves “saved” and they whom we designate as “needing to be saved”.

Genuine dialogue bypasses all this.  Trust me, if your faith is living and genuine, and you are in relationship with Jesus more than with His book, then you will not be able to miss the chances to give an account for the Hope that is in you…they will beg to hear why you seem different (you do seem different…don’t you???).  You will find that connection…and begin to learn that the things you hid behind as reasons to not connect with people have become touchstones of punctuation in the quilt of common experience.

This is one of the main reasons I post essays on a lot of topics, and other people’s interviews of interesting people…and it is why I recommend reading the interview with Janet Mock that I post below.  It originally appeared at http://www.rookiemag.com/2014/05/janet-mock-interview/ and it is a fabulous window into the existence of one of the most influential people in our times.  Janet is uniquely positioned to touch a lot of spheres in life, and she is articulate enough to create that dialogue.

Dialogue is not something that is sorta like the old “I won’t hit you if you don’t hit me” game…that is stasis, and dead waters.  No…dialogue is living, interesting, and often the very vessel They can get into to reach our hearts and minds.

Check out the interview…I am pretty sure you will be glad you did.

Love always, and Grace upon Grace…

Charissa

 

You Can Be Free: An Interview With Janet Mock

In which we talk about her feminist icons, how teenagers are way cooler than the media thinks, and why she identifies with Tracy Flick.

Photo by Aaron Tredwell.

Pardon the hyperbole, but Janet Mock may be the best person ever. I felt this way after reading her 2013 book, Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love & So Much More, a beautiful, powerful memoir that follows Janet from her childhood in Hawaii, where she grew up as a transgender girl, to her current position as a high-profile (and still young!) writer and activist who inspires people everywhere to live exactly as they want to live.

She decided to come out as trans in a 2011 essay in Marie Claire magazine; since then, she has worked hard to increase the visibility of transgender people, including starting the hashtag #girlslikeus, which encourages trans people to share their stories on Twitter. (She is also very good at social media.)

My feelings about her greatness only intensified when I actually got to talk to her on the phone last month, when she’d just returned home to New York from one of her many college speaking gigs. You know how sometimes you’re talking to someone and they’re just so on it that their voice crackles with electricity? That’s how Janet was.


JULIANNE: So much of Redefining Realness is your very specific memories from your childhood, some of which are so wrenching! How did you remember all of that, and how were you able to get it all out in your writing?

JANET MOCK: I started by writing journal entries. I made a commitment to myself to write 500 to 1,000 words every morning—to just catalog every memory, even if it was just a fragment, on paper. Once I really got into that space and got disciplined, I was able to re-imagine what happened and to mine the feelings and the details of that time period. That’s why there are a lot of pop culture references, because I watched so much TV! I would try to remember certain things by asking myself, What song lyrics was I trying to memorize? What type of dance moves was I trying to learn?

But then you have to remember the pain, too, and that was the hardest part—the wrenching part, as you say—having to revisit that, not as an adult, but going back as a child and feeling it again as a young person who didn’t have much agency over their body and how it felt to go through those traumatic events. So I just had to be very kind to myself as a writer, but also kind to those who wronged me, kind about the mistakes people made and how they contributed to my pain.

As a fellow writer, I have found when you’re accessing those painful things, there is an instinct to lie to yourself, in order to protect yourself. How did you avoid that?

There are certain moments in the book where I call myself out for wanting to soften things or exclude things, and that was part of being transparent. I was committed to being transparent not just through the stories I chose to tell, but throughout my writing process. I talk about my mother’s suicide attempt, and about not wanting to [write about it] because I didn’t want to see her that way. Also, some of the details of the sex work I went through as a teenage girl—sometimes I wanted to erase those from the record of my life. But being honest about that actually helped me. It relieved me from my silence and shame, and hopefully it can help other people feel that sense of relief about something that may be heavy that they’ve been holding on to for a long time.

Was wanting to find that relief one of the reasons you started writing the book?

Yeah. At first I wasn’t writing with the intention of making a memoir—I just did it ’cause I wanted to have a record for myself. It was a selfish project—there was no sense of intersectionality or social-justice jargon or anything like that. It was just about me, this girl, and her story and her pain. I was trying to get it as raw as possible on the page so that I’d know that it was real.

But when I stepped forward publicly in Marie Claire, I was like, Wow, there’s a powerful story here that I think I’m supposed to tell. I don’t mean that in a boastful way—there just aren’t many books by young marginalized women like myself who did what I did, the way I did it.

Since that Marie Claire piece came out, social justice ideas and words like intersectionality have become way more widespread, especially for young people, partly because of Tumblr. Have you seen a shift?

Ooh, Tumblr’s powerful, yes. Those words are very powerful tools for describing this oppression. And it’s great that some people have access to them—but most people don’t. For me, it was super important to not use those terms in the book, because they exclude a lot of people who don’t have educational access, or who may not be engaged in social-justice stuff, but who want to be enlightened about things, to have their political consciousnesses raised a bit. I wanted to write the book for everyone—including that girl who I was in seventh grade who didn’t even know the term transgender. I wanted to give her a book so she could also feel like she was in the know, without being talked down to or made to feel like she has to aspire to something “higher” when she already has all the knowledge she needs to define her own experience. It’s not for me to define it for her. So I wanted to use words and language that she understands.

Your book has done a lot to help trans people be recognized in the larger culture. Did anything help you feel recognized that way? There aren’t that many books out there like your book.

My reflection of myself has always been a composite of many images and people that I have met along the way. I talk a lot about Beyoncé and Clair Huxtable and Toni Morrison, and I talk about the trans women who were in my life as a teenager, and the women around me when I was growing up, my father’s sisters, my grandmother, and my mother. I saw all of these women as mirrors, and made them into my own little mirrored mosaic.

But regarding the whole genre of “trans books”—I guess they would call them “transition stories” or “transition books”: So many of them do not have the intersection of youth, and that’s pretty important, because young people oftentimes don’t have much body agency in our culture. Like, your parents can literally pick you up and take you somewhere and put you wherever they want and tell you want clothes you can wear and what clothes they’re willing to buy you. All of these things are what make finding yourself and expressing yourself and your own authenticity difficult [when you’re young]. That’s one of the things I notice when I speak to young people, that sense of struggling with their lack of agency. I just tell them that, yes, you do have agency, despite your parents. Live your life on Twitter, put up some selfies! Reblog some things! That sense of self-representation is so important.

In terms of trans women, I’m happy that there are more of us visible in mainstream media. Platforms like Tumblr and YouTube allow people to create images that they don’t see in the mainstream media—and to also talk back to mainstream media when they fuck up. Rookie is a testament to that!

Thank you, we’re trying! You’ve talked about how reading the work of several female authors of color—like Zora Neale Hurston, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison—helped you get to a place where you could “just be.” As you were reading them, did you feel like you were being seen?

I think the first one I was exposed to was Maya Angelou, in probably eighth- or ninth-grade English class, when we read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Being the only black student in class I was like, Oh god, we have to read this? I knew everybody was gonna look at me and think this was my experience. But then I read it, and I was like, Oh my god, this is my experience! It was powerful to read—specifically the parts where she talks about sexual abuse as a child. That was something that I had never told anyone I had gone through, so seeing that someone had written it down in a book that we were reading in class, I was like, Oh my god—this exists in the world?

So that was one of those things where I was like, I need to go to the library and read more books. Because I also didn’t have access to books, unless it was school. (I always talk about my youth struggle of never being able to order anything from the Scholastic catalog that was passed around in class, and always yearning for those books delivered to me the following week!) [Reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings] prompted me to get a library card and just sit among those stacks and read books by women who looked like my self-image. That was important to me, because [those women] lived the life that I saw myself living one day, as a black woman. In my own reality, that didn’t exist for me yet. I was this trans girl who wasn’t out, who wasn’t revealing herself to the world or even to herself. It was so helpful to be able to look into those books and be like, Wow, this is what life could be like for me.

But the top one would be Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. For me, that book was everything. The idea of this woman on a quest to find herself and to find the right kind of love and fulfillment and identity and not being smashed into her community’s fantasies of her—that gave me so much agency. It pushed me to dream of greater possibilities for myself. It just blasted my mind open! You can be free!

What were you like as a teenager?

By the time I turned 13, I had met my best friend, Wendi. When you have a pivotal bestie, you kind of become the same person but you also complement each other. Wendi was so unabashedly unapologetic about who she was that no matter what I did—even when I started transitioning—I could never seem as “out there” as her. I was always slightly in her shadow, which gave me safety. From 12 years old all the way until we were 18, we were like close close close tight. So when you ask me what I was like, I can’t talk about my teenage self without talking about Wendi, because we’re so linked.

But I was very internal, if that makes sense. I think I was a deeper thinker than my best friend was. I enjoyed the library. I enjoyed quiet space, because I didn’t have that at home. But I also wanted attention, right? I was always kind of seen as a natural leader—people listened to me, and what I said mattered. So I never felt as though I was dismissed.

I loved school, and I was someone that people would ask for style advice. I always seemed like I was with it. I wasn’t a popular girl, but people liked me. I wasn’t ever going to be the prettiest girl in school, because I was a girl that wasn’t even supposed to exist. But I hung out with the popular girls, and they were my friends, so that gave me access points. It was almost like I was tolerated because I had these cool friends. So I always felt like I was internal, but I bet a lot of people from high school would remember me. I felt like I was invisible, but I knew I wasn’t, because I was so visible.

I think that once you’re out of high school, you start to understand that the way people see you does not necessarily line up with how you see yourself.

Mm-hmm. I had this sense of like…oh my god, I was such a victim. But then I realized that I’d internalized what people think trans people go through in high school. Like, it was tough, but high school was tough for a lot of people! I’m sure that my multiple layers of identities that I inhabit made it more difficult, but to be honest, I enjoyed high school. I wanted to go every day.

It wasn’t my peers who gave me problems—it was mostly teachers who didn’t understand how I could thrive, how I could be so liked, how I could be in marching band and debate club, how I could be captain of the volleyball team and be elected a student leader and become a peer mediator. They didn’t understand how a trans girl could do all those things, so it’s almost like they didn’t want it to be true.

When I was in the eighth grade, me and Wendi started a petition to get the intermediate school to allow us to wear makeup. [Laughs] I didn’t include this in my book because it’s something I forgot, but other people remembered us going around with a clipboard and some notebook paper and getting people to sign a petition so that we could wear makeup. In my memory [Wendi and I] just walked into school wearing makeup. I don’t remember ever getting in trouble for wearing makeup. I was that student, though, that’s who I was. When I watch Election, I’m like, Oh, I was soooo Reese Witherspoon!

Related, the times I’ve seen you speaking on TV, you seem to have so much grace and poise. Where do you learn those things?

In the mirror!

Do you think [poise is] something you can learn, or do you just embody it?

[Laughs] I feel like because I’ve had to juggle so much, that there’s not much that bothers me. There are a lot of high-pressure things that are stressful—especially live TV appearances! They’re so stressful, no matter what. Even if it’s a “safe” environment with a host that you really like, it’s still super stressful. What grounds me in this idea of having “good composure” or being eloquent or graceful is over-preparedness. Over-preparing puts me at ease and allows me to be present when I’m there. I can control how I act, how I react, how my face looks, how I sit, and what comes out of my mouth, which allows me to appear as though I’m totally at ease. It call comes from just growing up, juggling a lot at home, family dynamics, my own struggles with identity—wanting to be great, you know? Daring for greatness. Juggling all of these things was the boot camp. But preparedness is what grounds me. Knowing your environments so you can expect them, and even knowing the failings of your culture. Like, if you’re going into a racist, capitalist, sexist corporate environment, and you know what it is and its failings, then you can know how to operate around it. You kinda seem like #unbothered.

What do you do when you are suffering, and how do you help your friends when they are suffering?

The space of suffering, I struggle with, because I’m part of a community that’s so steeped in trauma. A lot of people talk about trans women of color and the violence that we deal with. But when we’re together, we don’t talk about that. Because the world will remind us of that. We know that when we walk in the world, we are under attack. We understand that. And so when we get together, we wanna talk about Beyoncé and have a couple cocktails, you know? Hang out and just be. Just be happy. Being happy together builds our sisterhood, but it also builds our resolve and it’s just like, This is revolutionary for us to be in this world and its suffering and to deal with suffering, but be fucking happy, too. We don’t need to sit in it all the time, because we exist in it.

Do you keep inspirational Post-it notes around your workspace?

Well, I do have one that my boyfriend, Aaron…he was listening to an audiobook about the I Love Lucy show—it’s random, but he loves inside-Hollywood stories. The head writer who helped them create that juggernaut of a television show said the two things that matter in Hollywood are ownership and perception. So I have a Post-it note that says ownership + perception.

The work that I do, it really informs me. I want to own the content I make—I don’t want to just be a subject on someone else’s show. I want to be leading those conversations. “Perception” is the idea of definition–I can create the image of myself that I allow others to see. And I can maintain my boundaries in a public world.

Also, I have a sticker on my planner that says It’s your turn to change the world.

Speaking of, I read that you work with Youngist, a platform for young people to do citizen journalism and have an amplified voice in mainstream media. What do you do there?

I mostly just giving editorial advice, but I think it’s so important for any silenced group of people, like young people, to have their own platforms. Everyone loves to talk about millennials—I guess that’s you guys!—but it’s important to give them power to have their own voice. Everyone always asks me, “What advice would you give young people?” and I’m always like, young people know exactly what they wanna do! If they want advice from me, that young person will come to me, you know? They know their experiences. They know what they’re going through. They know who they are. And my job is not to talk down to them, or to give them some aspirational message. It’s just to let them know that they have all the power to determine their own lives, to define them, and to declare them.

Youngist takes the political and pop culture news and really gives [millennials’] take on it, instead of older people always being like, “The millennials are taking selfies! They’re so absorbed with themselves!” It’s like, uh, no, look on YouTube, look at what they’re doing.

It’s nice to hear you say that—those selfie articles are so make-fun-able.

It’s always like, some 50-year-old cisgender white hetero man talking about young girls and what they’re doing. It’s like, this is so pervy, first of all! [Laughs] It’s these people who think all young people are the same. No, they’re not! It’s really simplistic and reductive, and I think young people can just, like, grab their computers and blow shit up. ♦

This Desperate Prisoner Song from Psalm 69 July 1992

I remember the season that I wrote this…one of the worst of my life.  A parent of 4 marvelous children, married to an amazing and wonderful woman, successful, respected…and absolutely terrified constantly inside, haunted by feelings of suicide and alienation, and carrying the deep shame that I was not really a man at all.  And what I was I had not been allowed to think of since I was 6 years old.

The pressure would build, to almost intolerable levels, and then somehow They would give me grace, carry me, and another period would pass where I could tolerate the pain and sorrow.

I didn’t think I was gonna make it thru this one.  I thought for sure that I was gonna lose heart and kill myself, and there was no one to talk to about it, for I was ashamed that I was not “strong enough!”  And then I ran into Psalm 69, and this song was born.

Looking at it now, I can hear that I, Charissa, was beginning to shout…I was the desperate prisoner.  In many ways, we are all that desperate prisoner…and He is always the Liberator…for I was set free, and never have I known such peace and contentment.

Thank You Father…thank You Jesus…thank You my Mama Lady Grace.

I love You all!

tumblr_n63au9cRSD1r2zs3eo1_1280

 

Save me oh God, the flood o’er whelms my broken heart, my throat is parched!
I’m weary, Lord, from crying, my burning eyes fail while I wait for Thee!

Oh God You see my every folly, and all my wrongs are know to Thee.
May they who seek Thee be not dishonoured, because of me, because of me!

Reproach has broken me, and I am sick and shame covers my face.
I look for sympathy, but there’s no comfort there, no life for me.

Answer me Lord, and have compassion, and do not hide Your face from me!
Deliver me from the deep waters, draw near to me, please draw near to me!

O ransom me, my God, set me on high and I will sing Your song.
Zeal for Thy House consumes my soul and I will ever seek Your face.

The humble see, and they are filled with gladness, and those who seek Him, He will  revive.
For Jesus sees our every trouble, and sets the desperate prisoner free…
Oh Set This Desperate Prisoner Free!

tumblr_n5oe1lco0T1sbg1lmo1_1280

Sarah Hoffman, author of new children’s book, speaks with GLAAD about raising a gender non-conforming child and education through storytelling | GLAAD

Sarah Hoffman, author of new children’s book, speaks with GLAAD about raising a gender non-conforming child and education through storytelling | GLAAD.

 

Good morning Constance…another really fabulous article about Parenting Gender-nonconforming children.  The strength of this article is how it brings out that the gender non-conforming behavior occurs thru nothing the parent has done or failed to do!

That means that a lot of guilt, and therefore shame that many parents of gender-non-conforming children experience can be laid to the side as trash to discard.

Any reader who is a parent:  think about the things with your children that “just were”, and you had to accept them or divorce from your child…those were tough things…

…and then think about all that, and add in the whole Q of gender identity…

…and let your compassion and kindness grow.  Perhaps even reach out parents in your area that you know have this responsibility laid on them…let them know that they are accepted and loved and affirmed.

As you do to the least of these, so too you do to Him.

Sarah Hoffman, author of new children’s book, speaks with GLAAD about raising a gender non-conforming child and education through storytelling | GLAAD.

tumblr_n2ipubejSZ1rp4ezqo1_500

Song of You

(this was written in 1979…and I just found it, and I was struck that it might well have been written to myself, hidden and lonely and imprisoned in all the things that I was bound by…shame, loneliness, distrust, abandonment, alienation…and all that in the midst of a life that appeared to be vital and outgoing and faithful and fruitful!

remember Constance…be kind to every single person you meet!  You never know what burdens they carry, and what the pebble of one word might do, with eternal effect.)

 

Song of You

I see you
not with my eyes
but with my heart
a face no darkness can consume,
no light can outshine,
with me always through-out time.

I hear you
not with my ears
but with my eyes.
I hear what lies behind the syllables
I see them, feel them deep inside
words you could never speak or hide.

I am touched
not by your hands
but by your thoughts,
feelings caution can’t erase
nor careless caprice…
you give me peace.

tumblr_n53f2oanty1r8cbwbo1_1280

Hymn in the midst of Shame and Sorrow

Hold me close, I beg Thee.
Never let me go,
though I pull like wild horses at Your tether.
Wrap me in Your love please!
Tender, tough, and total
as it presses me and puts me back together.

Father, You have reached me!
Taken me back home, into
Your house that is the essence of Your Heart.
Jesus, You have breached me!
Leapt the walls and plumbed the gory
depths of death and caused shame to depart.

Oh Mama, my Help and comfort,
You are healing, changing,
breathing in me Hope and Joy and Grace on Grace,
So hold me close, I beg Thee!
In Your wonders and Your Love,
so someday I will look upon Your Wondrous Face.

tumblr_n5wl1xPT9A1rw5ktmo1_500

 

Why Do So Many Folks Hate Transgender People? | The Bilerico Project

Why Do So Many Folks Hate Transgender People? | The Bilerico Project.

 

Constance, I have not pressed this right away, as I am really in a hurting place for reasons that are unrelated to this topic…just aching, longing, missing what never was, and finding it difficult to believe that it will ever be…trying to hold onto Jesus hand and be drawn thru this valley of the shadow…trying to hold onto Mama’s waist, and hold tight as She crashes time and space, and makes a way for me…birth is HARD!

 

But the topic needs to be looked at…posted and reposted so that you can see some of the basic things faced by transgender people.  And, you know what?  Hate of anyone really boils down to these areas.

Think about it.

Love God.

Love yourself.

Love your neighbor.

tumblr_n5kpq6xwSo1qbmsleo1_500

A morning stroll in my neighborhood

I was noticing
the rows, the order,
pretty enough…
splashes of
purple and pink
and blue and red
and yellow…
but the order
made me dizzy!

My mind
tried to smear,
to blur,
to mix them
again
ordered
but not in
order
rank and file.

Yet her furious
digging and stabbing
at everything that was
“not order”

distracted me,
clods flying
as if from between
a gopher’s brown legs!

Her mouth
grim as Patton’s
as he intently
urged Rommel
to the grinder,
she stalked
and tracked weeds,
rocks and sticks.

I scurried by
with my head low
and eyes straight,
lest she start
on me next!

Around the corner
I was back
to my yard,
a sprawl of
Western Oregon tangle
and blackberries,
wild strawberries
and everywhere
ferns ferns
FERNS…

The tweeties
flit and dart,
the robins rule
with bright wakefulness
and the stray cats
wallow in daubles and
puddles of warm
golden light
(seemingly somnambulant
but staring steely
thru slitted eyes)…

and beds here,
tousled and frumpy made,
and beds there,
letting any rooted thing declare
if it be flower or weed
(this bed knew
that “weed”
was a label made
by “Dictator Order”)

and tall oaks
gathered round
the fire ring
to watch their
cast-offs become
the wine and bread
of many a bonfire.

I know
she hates my yard.
She tries to
shame with sarcasm
and damn
with faint praise.

I get it…I do.
She gets unsettled
when control frays.

But I love it.
It comforts me
in its balance,
in its flavour

and in its eversong of liberty.

20140506_185447

When Comes the Done

I’m impatient!
I want The Done!
Yeah, yeah, bread must bake,
after yeast casts its spells magic,
after grain finds glory in the grind,
after the scintillating silver scythe slices,
after the struggling stalks stick out of tight earth,
after the silent seed settles in furrows,
after the rough plough rips,
after the vision.

True becomings rise
from granted goings,
so I sit, wait, and ask
that Grace keep flowing

tumblr_n3aqvaL4xL1rrj3pro1_500

 

A fantastic and very informative essay helping to clarify gender

Constance, I think the biggest obstacle between most people and acceptance of the multiple gender expressions in our world, is ignorance.

Ignorance.

So, the most effective way to eradicate that obstacle is education.  In that spirit I offer yet another reblog of a post that does a great job providing such education.  As technology has advanced, the nuances of our universe are increasingly revealed…they have always been there.  We have defined things by what we see, what we know…it is only natural to do this.

So…I pray that your eyes would be enlightened and your horizons expanded by the following post.

Love, Charissa

1506901_799718696712678_6031042298859176871_n

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

 

Intersex: What is It, and What It Means for Sexuality

Intersex: What is It, and What It Means for Sexuality

If some people are born neither male nor female, what does that say about our traditional views of sex and gender, and as these individuals will grow up to have sexual orientations, how can those orientations be defined? These are the questions asked by Michael Passaro in an essay which explores the possibility for a labeling system which validates and makes visible intersex individuals.

Lately I have been doing a lot of thinking about the gender and sexuality spectrum. I’ve discussed many things, from how we can and should define bisexuality, to whether sexual orientation should be a special class from other attractions. I will most likely do separate posts on each of these but one of the topics which interests me most is that of biological sex. What is sex? What are its defining characteristics? And how does it intersect with our many other characteristics and identities?

Lets start with the very basic. What is sex? Seems obvious to most. Sex is being male or female. Right? Well, yes. But maybe no. At least we can say that this is the widely understood use of the word. Let’s note that sex is not to be confused with gender. Gender is the social construct of categories of people and the behaviors and ways people are supposed to feel and relate to those categories/behaviors. But let’s explore a little bit into what it means to have a sex.

I suppose the simplest way to do this is to ask how do we know what sex you are? This is determined at birth by a doctor and is dependent on your developed sex organs. If you have a penis and testes you are male. If not, female. Simple right? We run into problem with this system when we encounter infants born with differences in their sex organs’ development so that they don’t really have a penis or a vagina or a clitoris. So which sex are these people? Well, doctors have decided in the past that they should be altered to fit into a binary system that cannot represent the form of the child.

As you can imagine, this worked for a time but soon came under scrutiny. People were slipping through the cracks. Because most of the children who were operated on were made into ‘girls’ these cracks were pushed open when people started to experience problems related to men’s health. This combined with the growing science around DNA moved sex’s definition to determined more by the the chromosomes contained within your cells.

This has led to even more interesting areas of what it means to be male or female. Almost everyone knows by the 7th grade that a female has two X chromosomes and a male has one X chromosome and one Y chromosome. However like all things in life, things aren’t this simple. There are many variations that can occur. There are people who only have one X chromosome. People who are XXY or XYY. There are XXX people and there are XXY people. What do we make of these? If DNA is the defining factor and there are so many different possibilities why do we only have 2 sexes?

Science has created a circular loop. We look at your physical characteristics at birth, and if needed we look at your DNA, but if your DNA isn’t fitting into the XX or XY categories we then look at your physical development again.

I, and many others, propose that there is a false sense of security in there being only two sexes. Anne Fausto-Sterling, a professor in biology and gender studies at Brown University, put forward that there could be as many as 5 different sex classifications (in a thought experiment). There is growing recognition in the scientific field that intersex is a legitimate claim against a binary understanding of sex. Germany and Australia have officially recognized that sex may not necessarily be only male and female. Australia allows for a sex “X” and Germany allows for children to be born with an indeterminate sex (to be determined at a later time).

There are many issues to deal with for intersex individuals. Issues of gender, issues of recognition, issues of bodily integrity and many more. All of these are best addressed by those who are directly affected by such things. So I would like to look at what this means for the rest of us who are (think we are) conventionally sexed. What does this mean for our understanding of sexuality?

The most glaring complication is what this means for our understanding of sexual orientation. In general sexual orientations are in relation to one’s self and the object of desire. Namely, if they are your sex, or the ‘opposite’. This is complicated when we talk about sexual orientation in terms of gender instead of sex but let’s focus on sex. Because now we do not have a binary what does it mean to be ‘heterosexual’? What is the opposite of male? What is the opposite of intersex? This is further complicated dependent on the number of sexes we allow. Can only some people be heterosexual then?

A further complexity arises when we look at what it means to be bi/pansexual. Again, operating under the assumption of sex as the object of sexual orientation, bisexual and pansexuality are the same (because traditionally there is only two sexes). However with the introduction of intersex this changes. Do we then interpret bisexual to mean two sexes? Do we adopt the view of many bisexual activists and say its attraction to one’s own sex and others? Maybe this would depend too on how many sexes we deem there to be.

Lets assume there are 3 (male, female, and intersex). Is a bisexual person still the same as a pansexual one? A person who is attracted to their own sex and others? Or is it a person attracted to two sexes? Many people might say the latter. To those I raise this question: Suppose I am a male, and I am attracted to females, and attracted to intersex individuals. BUT let us also say that I am only attracted to intersex people who resemble females. What is my sexual orientation? I seem to be bisexual. Because technically I am attracted to two sexes. However, am I really attracted to intersex people or am I actually attracted to their female-ness? It seems inaccurate to say that I am attracted to intersex people as a whole because its really only some.

This seems to justify breaking sex down further than only 3 sexes. Lets say we adopt the 5 sex system put forward by Fausto-Sterling (or even more sexes). Now how do we deal with the bi/pansexuality issue? Does/should bisexuality apply to those who are attracted to 2, 3, 4 sexes (and on and on)? Or ought we have trisexuals, quadsexuals, etc.? I’m not sure.

For clarity’s sake maybe classification ought be specific to the number of sexes you are attracted to. But is it the same for a male to be attracted to a female and a male as it is for a female to be attracted to females and female-presenting intersex? I’m not sure. Maybe we ought overhaul our entire classification system? Maybe the number is not the important bit but the specific sexes we are attracted to. Is it better to have a more complicated but also more comprehensive/accurate system?

Its clear that the system that we have doesn’t work. We can’t decide how to determine sex, let alone tell how many there are. The current binary places people into tiny boxes and clearly others many. It has been used to justify altering infants bodies unnecessarily, not only dangerous for the child then but then altering their entire life (forcing them to take hormones and still have the risk of medical complications later). As for sexual orientations – as a classification system we need to make a judgment call as to what it is that is important. Is the defining characteristic the number of sexes your attracted to? Or is the sex of the person important? If all we want is simplicity then clearly numbers is the way to go but I would question the value of a classification system that doesn’t accurately reflect the diversity that exists.

Read more about sexuality here.

This essay was originally published at Issues of Humanity. Republished with Permission. Image via Shutterstock.

Love, in a sexual world.

Constance…I am finally ready to write about love and sex.

Yep…if you are offended by the mere mention of such things, you should probably skip this post.  I knew a lot of christian folk who actually thought sex was a nuisance at best, and dangerously distasteful at worst.  Somehow, someway, one of the most incredible processes They created, if not THE most incredible act of all time, became “dirty”, “shameful”, and downright distracting.

Here is a pretty accurate rod of discernment:  if something is simultaneously hated and feared and attacked by christians in general while being venerated, exaggerated and obsessed with by the world at large, the odds are very good that we are seeing the polluting of something originally designed to be a high and awesome thing.

Now…I want to be totally clear:  I do firmly believe that the highest and best expression of sexual union is in a monogamous relationship where the partners are committed for life.  I truly believe that when two people make love, there is a transaction emotionally, mentally, and spiritually that melds them together in some unique and irreproducible way.  There is a joining, a union that is one that should make us feel a hushed awe that such a thing could occur:  that I am still in a separate and distinct body from my beloved, and yet something of her somehow someway has melded in me!!  I also believe that They created sex for far more than mere procreation.  There are deep and mystical truths that await the lovers who commit to travelling down Love’s Road of Sacrifice.  They made it pleasant, fun, enjoyable.  They hooked up our brain chemistry to change in reaction to sexual activity, they hooked up our hearts to immediately think love in association with sex.  I do not believe it is sinful to talk of sex anymore than it is to talk of cows:  the sinfulness enters in through how we talk about either thing.

Growing up, of course I experienced sexual feelings, although they were sometimes pretty confusing for me, and I even had a few girlfriends with whom I was physical and made out…didn’t go “all the way”, but too far down the way, in hindsight.  But I was by no means a sex-driven person, and I was flummoxed in the locker room listening to the guys talk about sex in ways that I didn’t even know of, let alone enter my mind!

I met my darling, and I was so incredibly blessed to find a genuine lover of God who matched up with the principles I held.  We married, and our marriage was a wonderland for us each.  We were hungry for one another with love’s appetite, and sexuality was like our spoon to feed each other.  I cannot recall even one time when either of us denied the other if they needed the release, the comfort, or just the very humorous amazing wonder that making love is!

During the time we were growing up, sexuality and its expression in our culture changed dramatically.  There were a lot of oppressions, a lot of things wrong, and in the effort to get free of those things, things got unmoored…and drifted out to sea…until, we are where we are now.

(Remember Constance, this is not a rant against sex! lol)

Venereal diseases are on the rise, and harder to cure.  Unwanted pregnancies result in brokenness and or death.  Hearts, spirits and psyches are fractured regularly.

tumblr_n3eybpL1S61qb3v7ho1_1280

And now…young people don’t even have the thrill of dating anymore, but instead “hook-up”.

Porn is virtually everywhere (I actually literally mean virtually).  Any of you could stop reading here, go to google, type one word and BAM!  Whatever you would imagine is most likely just a click away.  It’s so different than a generation ago, when there was little accessibility and virtually no anonymity.

Throw in all the issues of becoming as a human being, growing up and developing, wrestling with our separation and alienation bred by the brokenness of this world, throw in gender issues, or existential issues, or grudges against God due to the foolish and hateful activity of people taking the Father’s good Name in vain…and you have a real witches brew which is such a draught as to poison anyone.

But…….

….maybe……

…………………..just maybe……

we might reach a tipping point the other way.  Let me explain.

When I was in college, I worked in the KMART deli, and scooped ice cream.  I was allowed to eat as much as I wanted.  And after about 10 days, I did not eat ice cream until I had been away from that job a good 2 months!!  It was so common, so pervasive, that I was hungry for something different!

I am hoping that something similar would happen to us culturally.  How many different pictures can there be of a woman’s body, of a man’s body, and of the finite number of ways those biological organisms can combine?  Surely it gets boring eventually?  Surely there is the cry rising in the heart, “There must be MORE than this!”?  Surely there is an acknowledgement of the increasingly fractured essence we see in so many these days?

tumblr_n40whbtdU41qa7gx5o1_500

Constance, I would gently propose that even some of you have wounds, scars and terrible memories and burdens that were a result of sexual experience that was not of the highest and best?

But here is one of the core things I wanted to get to:  as my transition progresses, my libido has fallen way off, and I want to tell you:  it has not made one bit of difference in our relationship!  We were soo fortunate in that our foundation was first, last, and always love.  I feel a closeness and intimacy and adoration for my baby such as I have never known could go so deep, and climb so high.

It is as if the very best aspects of sexuality have been distilled down and filtered out, and we can drink the “essence of Union”.

If either of us wanted, we would do our dead level best to satisfy the other…but we are both deeply contented and flourishing in love.

The message in the culture these days is that this is a state of affairs which ought to be corrected!  If you aren’t having sex and lots of it all the time you just ain’t with it, according to that message.  And if you are like me…sob…you are to be pitied deeply!  “Poor thing!  Get some Viagra, some Cialis …get a new car and new clothes and a new sexual partner!”

I rejoice that I have been given such a tremendous gift…the most amazing person anyone could want…and also the gift of my gender sorting taking place in a context completely free of sexuality or sexual desire.  It lends a clarity and depth of insight which would otherwise be covered up.

Here is a gentle nudge:  clear your mind and heart of the constant clamoring regarding sex.  Once clear, set it on higher things, like love, joy patience, peace and pursue serving some other person with your life, with no expectation or requirement of payment.

You will be amazed at how things change…

 

With tender care and love,

Charissa

tumblr_n2wbtfEFEM1qzb7j7o1_1280

The “Ditz” Factor: Loving Liberty

I am a huge ditz these days…and loving it!  I mean, the last several weeks has been nearly a laugh a minute for my baby and me as I forget things, or fail to see an obvious joke or factor, and then repeat it…you know what I mean, don’t you?

The ditz factor

What I used to tease her over, and she is not a ditz very often, just once in awhile.

She thinks payback is sweet, and she is right!  Because this is something that never. could. happen. before.

Nope…never a ditz.  Why?

Vigilance.

Self check, 60 times a minute, 60 minutes an hour, and 24 hours a day.

I had no idea how deeply and firmly I had me by the throat, choking down everything that might get me in trouble, that might get me called names again that scarred my memory forever like burns…I had developed these elaborate means by which to censor myself, and do it all unseen or “unknown”.

Except my baby knew…because I was not happy at the core, and I was not full at the core, and I wanted to not be without any good reason at all.  It is only because of the Love of the Father, and Jesus and Lady Grace that I am here at all, and that is a pure fact.  I find myself well within the 41% of all transgender people who consider suicide strongly, and yet by Their grace alone, not in the larger statistic of those who follow through.

So now?  My estradiol works a wonder war on my poverty of soul, as it connects my body and my soul/mind/heart.

At last my brain is finding congruence and affirmation (slowly) whenever it talks to my body in their own talky language…they don’t fight and argue and separate anymore.

So I don’t check.  Double check.  Triple think.  And the ditz factor climbs…I do theorize that the estradiol snickers as it runs around and lights the “ditz onboard” lamps in my soul.  My baby says she laughs more now than in all the years combined (and I did make her laugh lots then, cus I figured that it was the least I could do for her, and it covered the sorrow in my core).

And the love keeps flowing, the light keeps growing, and my heart keeps knowing that

I am Charissa Grace, and I am under the Mercy and I’m okay.

1550_image_194903

Janet Mock: Why I Asked Alicia Menendez about her vagina, & other invasive questions

Alicia Menendez Interview: Trans People & Media’s Invasive Questions | Janet Mock.

Janet Mock is amazing!  While she is physically beautiful, and incredibly blessed in that she was far less ravaged by Testosterone than many of us, the fact is it is her mind, her heart and soul, and her indomitable spirit that make her beautiful.

I love that she is so courageous and following her dream, and I love even more that she feels a sense of mission for the entire TG community, and to humanity in general.  When people who have influence, like her, intentionally take steps to challenge the current paradigm, and then to educate and inform as well, it makes a way for everyone to gain access to greater liberty to actualize themselves as well.

Flipping the script:  such a good way to really drive home awareness.  Try it yourself after you read this and watch the video…put yourself into the space of a transgender person.  Walk around an entire day dressed wrong and see how you feel (warning: it won’t feel good!!  Lol!)

Blessings and Joy,

Charissa

tumblr_n4tui6MeCv1r2zs3eo1_1280

Gender Performance: The TransAdvocate interviews Judith Butler | The TransAdvocate

Gender Performance: The TransAdvocate interviews Judith Butler | The TransAdvocate.

 

I want to be sure to reblog this…Judith Butler is a very important voice for us, and I am wanting to place this article here for you to dip into, and also for myself to refer to later…

See…my oldest had apparently studied her in college and had long held positions similar to Judith’s.  He told me that for years he wondered how to bring the topic up to me!!  LOLOLOL!!

So anyway, thanks Son!

 

I love you and thanks Constance for showing up everyday

tumblr_n2znr9vTwP1s2z59jo1_1280

What Cis Folk Have In Common With Trans* Folk — Everyday Feminism

What Cis Folk Have In Common With Trans* Folk — Everyday Feminism.

Constance, I signed up for this newsletter a week ago or so.  I have been thrilled with the articles they have been sending.  They are accessible to a broader audience than some of the other things I have read lately that, while extremely cogent and thoughtful, are nevertheless a bit more esoteric in that an understanding of some more uncommon philosophers is almost mandatory to truly comprehend and apply the thinking to lifestyle changes.

(Whew!  What a run-on sentence!  Giggle…that is the epitome of what happens in my brain as I wade thru those articles!  🙂  )

But on Everyday Feminism, the content is pitched a bit more at the generic level, the introductory level, and thus more accessible.  This article in particular was quite helpful to me.

See, I am still learning about myself…I always knew what I was, even while I dwelt long in the land of Nod (disassociated), but I am just now knowing who I am!  And I read the words of others who have long practise and great facility with these concepts, words, and are adept at translating them into a broader commonality, and I find my awareness and understanding growing well.

Please give it a read…there are very likely transgender people in your life, and you do not even know…heck they might not even know (consciously)!!  In your jobs, in your schools, in your churches, and in your own families.  We are not sexual deviants or perverts, we are humans, and we have been, for whatever reason anyone has been, created thus.

Love and prayers, Charissa

tumblr_n4vkgeMYHQ1r89lywo1_500

What Cis Folk Have In Common With Trans* Folk — Everyday Feminism.

I am shaking

Constance, I am sitting, stunned!
I have been editing Spitting Bones and I am trembling at the emotions it has evoked within me.
Waves of tears well up from my gut, and overflow in fear, and then in anger…

and then finally tears that turn to tears of joy.

I do not really know where this poem came from.  I awoke on Sunday morning with that phrase

…spitting bones…

ringing in my ears and I was all discombobulated, but I knew it was a phrase of power and portent and would grow into a poem.
I think this poem will unfold itself to me for a long season.  For now, it shimmers as something hard-won and safe,
but glitters as something glinty-eyed and still not tame!

What the heck is going on with this one, Constance?  I like it…I fear it…I treasure it.

Spitting Bones

I remember the bones…smooth
with the thick patina of reverence and religion.
Pushed thru the bars of my crib, one by one,
proffered by priests and priestesses
frantic in the grip of their god.
Their god of two faces, only two…
and bones, always endless bones.
I cried fearful and turned away from
the face their god thrust into mine,
wrathful and hungry to eat me,
and spit me out as bones.

I remember the birth of days, endless continuum
of spitting bones (they fed) forced into my heart
by fingers of dread and violation.
Their food was wormwood, was fungal,
was necrotic and charnel charcuterie,
it was bones thrown, divining that
never-never-land, that future of failure
and folly-laced affliction offered
as communion that roundabout me
all partook of, eating the body and drinking the blood
of a god breaking them all for itself!
Wretch that I was, east of Eden and hungry,
alone and spitting bones.

But the days when my cradle concealed
only an ash heap desolate and bleak in the wind,
and the nights where my bars branded themselves
into my soul to make me their always-prisoner,
began to be cracked by winds, by tremors, by thunders
and by storms, always storms railing,
leaving me soaked to my bones
and raw from my bars,
but slick and wet, ready for birth.

And even as I had spit the bones of that god
bitter from my velvet mouth, I reached,
and gripped hard, and wrenched in desperate anguish
until at last those sharp teeth
(that hungry god’s unwisdom teeth)…
those brands burnt sizzling into my heart tore loose!
Bloody and gore spattered, glistening
with dread power draining, diminishing.
I welled up my outrage, my despair,
my affliction and conjured from them
alchemal ancient power and found my niche,
found my mission spitting bones!

And now?
I sit on downy green mounds,
on high hills become mountains!
I forage in fields of gold, omnivore
and gleaning food from gods forgotten,
gods ignored, from Grace Herself
Who is bounty and variegated victory!
And I eat, freely, with no fear or terror
of the old god who died and cannot rise again!
I draw strength from the meat of complicated cuts
that must be cured and marinated and braised off
until they loose their grip on gore and their poison is annulled.
For all my days, I will be one who can consume all things
and grow to grace others and thrive,

eating the food… and spitting bones.Luna

Julia Serano: Amazing Quote from “Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity”

Hi all…I can’t recall if I already posted this, but it made me cry when I read it…fierce tears of passion and purpose, as it summarized everything I aspire to someday be as a person, and as a woman.

Trans or Cis:  I challenge us all to aspire to these sorts of heights, and leve behind the lowland easy conquests of outward appearance and sloppy confirmity to the slavish requirements of the current paradigm of what make Beauty.

 

Love,  Charissa

 

“My friend, still seemingly perplexed, asked me ‘So if it’s not about genitals, what is it about trans women’s bodies that you find so attractive?’

I paused for a second to consider the question. Then I replied that it is almost always their eyes.

When I look into them, I see both endless strength and inconsolable sadness.

I see someone who has overcome humiliation and abuses that would flatten the average person.

I see a woman who was made to feel shame for her desires and yet had the courage to pursue them anyway.

I see a woman who was forced against her will into boyhood, who held on to a dream that everybody in her life desperately tried to beat out of her, who refused to listen to the endless stream of people who told her that who she was and what she wanted was impossible.

When I look into a trans woman’s eyes, I see a profound appreciation for how fucking empowering it can be to be female, an appreciation that seems lost on many cissexual women who sadly take their female identities and anatomies for granted, or who perpetually seek to cast themselves as victims rather than instigators.

In trans women’s eyes, I see a wisdom that can only come from having to fight for your right to be recognized as female, a raw strength that only comes from unabashedly asserting your right to be feminine in an inhospitable world.

In a trans woman’s eyes, I see someone who understands that, in a culture that’s seemingly fuelled on male homophobic hysteria, choosing to be female and openly expressing one’s femininity is not a sign of frivolousness, weakness or passivity, it is a fucking badge of courage.

Everybody loves to say that drag queens are ‘fabulous’, but nobody seems to get the fact that trans women are fucking badass!”

tumblr_n3zd7r2VF01qllucco1_1280

― Julia Serano, Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity

When Rain Runs Backwards

How can I find draught
when rain runs backwards,
rivers reverse and earth swallows up all…
waters, grains and grits?
In a topsy-turbulant epoch,
chained to hate and fear
I grow parched, thin
and desperate for drink.

Mama stands tall,
open and frank and
waiting for me.
But courage fails,
fears follow and
dog me knackered
And so I thirst, I thirst…

until driven I
fly to Her face,
and flit low to
Her Gentle Power
and there I drink
till I am sated and renewed…
and fly fly fly
safe…whew!

It is only then
that I realize that
She drank from me as I from Her,
and my fear,
my pain and sorrow
has been drained and I am
full of the freedom of never-more!

tumblr_ms8vftuUnp1s5cyzso1_1280

Ignorant Trans-phobics: The Gender-thought equivalent of Anti-Vaxxers

There is something that happens which is caustic, impossible to put into words, and the worst feeling that I can recall enduring.

Out of all bad feelings a cis-gender person is inclined to view the above statement as overly dramatic or exaggerated.  After all, how can words hurt?  “C’mon!!  Lighten up, right?”

NO!  NOT. RIGHT!

Brynn Tannehill writes a cogent and persuasive essay that sums it up far better than I…but I would like you to know:  as someone who is just living my life and is not “an activist” (though that topic is one that I will write on…Activism: A Calling to Anyone Who Breathes), I have nearly died from internalized transphobia, because the side effects of this process are deadly.

Increased self hatred.  Decreased social desire and involvement.  Longing for only the ceasing of pain, even if it means the ceasing of life.

And ultimately, that ill wind snuffs a flickering and sputtering candle leaving only the smoking and naked wick mourning in the wake of the death of another transgender person.

I ask you:  Is it really worth it?  Indulging your hate and fear…nursing your fear of the unknown, and the orgiastic release of projecting your own “Monster/Shadow” onto whatever people group is below you, currently transgender people?

I am truly convinced that the majority of hatred expressed against transgender people is done from ignorance and literal unawareness of the issues at stake and the operative dynamic effect on the recipients.  But that fact doesn’t make the result any less deadly.  Like any disease that kills…there is no conscious thought or intention from the killing organism.  It just does what it does and death grows fat on misery.

Ponder please?  And read on…

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones.. But Words Can Kill the Soul | Brynn Tannehill.

Yesterday, the LOGO network announced that they would shelve the Drag Race episode featuring the “Female or She-male” contest. They also stated they would no longer include the “you’ve got she-mail” segment at the beginning. GLAAD, who had been urging LOGO to address the issue, applauded the move. “Logo has sent a powerful and affirming message to transgender women during a pivotal moment of visibility for the entire transgender community. GLAAD is committed to continuing to shape the narrative about the lives of transgender people with fair and accurate media images.”

RuPaul was less than amused. He tweeted shortly after the announcement:

2014-04-15-RuPaulCapture.PNG

His supporters on Huffington Post responded quickly too, decrying the “over-policing of language.

Are we policing language? Of course we are, because part of that’s how you win in civil rights movements. We have known this for more than 50 years. Bayard Rustin wrote in his autobiography:

“It is to recognize that the job of the gay community is not to deal with extremist who would castrate us or put us on an island and drop an H-bomb on us… Our job is not to get those people who dislike us to love us. Nor was our aim in the civil rights movement to get prejudiced white people to love us. Our aim was to try to create the kind of America, legislatively, morally, and psychologically, such that even though some whites continued to hate us, they could not openly manifest that hate. That’s our job today: to control the extent to which people can publicly manifest antigay sentiment.”

Republicans understand this as well: Control the language, control the debate. The coining of the word “Obamacare” is considered a masterstroke of political language engineering.

Which is why when RuPaul and his supporters defend the use of the words “tranny” and “she-male,” it gives the power of those words to those who would “castrate or put us on an island and drop an H-bomb on us.” Defending those words is tacit permission to others to use those words as weapons, to openly manifest their hate, against people who lack the ability to fight back. We police words, because they have the power to drive us to despair when we live under an unending torrent of hate.

There are real life consequences to that implicit permission. One of my closest friends, a transgender woman and veteran, works for the same industry I do but at a different location. She is constantly called she-male, faggot, shim, it, and tranny freak. When she reports the abuse, she is simply told, “You need to grow a thicker skin.”

It’s killing her slowly, but she can’t quit. She needs the job, and the money. Finding work that pays well in your own field as a transgender woman is often next to impossible. So she puts up with it, day after day. I’m watching her sink slowly into a strangling morass of internalized transphobia in that soul killing hell. I hope she finds work somewhere else. Before it does finish her, spiritually or physically.

I’m not certain which would be worse some days. She suffers in ways no one should have to.

For everyone out there defending RuPaul and these words, you are partly responsible. You are giving the people using them against us permission. You’re contributing to the world’s attitude that we should just “toughen up” when they’re used as weapons against us.

It’s slowly destroying one of my closest friends. The woman my son runs, screams, and leaps at to hug, and brings stories to read every time she visits. The woman I watched teach my girls how to low crawl across the lawn “army style”.

If RuPaul were doing this simply out of ignorance, I would be inclined to forgive. But he has done this over and over again, never backed down from it, never apologized. At this point, he cannot be ignorant of the harm this language causes, and I am forced to conclude he simply does not care if people different than him are hurt.

The excuse that they’re reclaiming the language does not hold water: you can’t reclaim it while it’s still actively being used against you, and especially if the words are being used against some other group than your own. I can’t accept the excuse that policing language is somehow a greater moral wrong than the harm of that language on the people it is being used against.

RuPaul is not transgender, and does not define himself as such. Yet, he has decided that he can unilaterally dictate what language is offensive to transgender people, a group that isn’t his own. Imagine for a moment if one of the most popular and prominent members of the transgender community was encouraging straight people to use the word ****** when describing gay men. Imagine if they refused to step back from the use of this word. Would there be a similar debate?

Of course not. Yet here we are because people are still conflating drag and transgender.

But, every time you defend those words, every time you defend RuPaul, you let others use them against us. Against my friends. My troops. My family.

Me.

Follow Brynn Tannehill on Twitter: www.twitter.com/BrynnTannehill

Trans* Women Are Not Drag Queens — Everyday Feminism

This is a very well written post that helps anyone not overly well-acquainted with what exactly a transgender person is…and isn’t.

I always soo appreciate writers that do such yoemen’s work in helping to push the ignorance boundaries farther and farther into the seas of forgetfulness.

Won’t you please click on thru, and learn some great things, not to mention enjoying the great writing!

Love, Charissa

 

Trans* Women Are Not Drag Queens — Everyday Feminism.

Understanding Gender  

Good morning everyone…the article I am posting is from the website https://www.genderspectrum.org/ , a very informative and balanced tool to peruse for your own education, or to point others in your life towards so they can become informed.

Constance, I have found that the number one barrier between people is nearly always ignorance.

IGNORANCE

That word means simply lack of knowledge.  It doesn’t mean stupidity, vapidity, foolishness, or willful denial.

In my experience, you address the ignorance problem, and the other problems evaporate in the warm sunlight of knowledge disseminated in a wise manner.  Phobias, hatreds, and indifferences are gone.  Nowadays that process is called “Having your consciousness raised”, or “becoming radicalized”.  While I think that both of those terms describe something that happens, I also find that people generally do not want, and are not willing to have their consciousness raised or become radicalized…but they are willing to read a few things out of general good will…and in that place, knowledge can gain a foothold and begin to pierce that great veil of unknowing that lays across the face of the deep within the hearts of those ignorant on a subject.

This article is some basic teaching regarding gender, and the difference between gender and sexuality.

I hope it is helpful to you, and even to someone you know…pass it along if you would?  To that person who wraps herself tightly in their Jesus-Jersey, and that other person who is the little man behind the curtain of the Great and Terrible Oz…give it to the one who is most blase over the issue…you never know, you may give the keys to a person who has been locked up and quietly suffering from dysphoria for years, and in that gift they find courage to walk away from killing themself.  God knows the horror of that place…so do I.  tumblr_n3f1ehrikU1qdh7g0o3_500

Blessings and Grace,

Love Charissa

What is Gender?

For many people, the terms “gender” and “sex” are interchangeable. This idea has become so common, particularly in western societies, that it is rarely questioned. Yet biological sex and gender are different; gender is not inherently connected to one’s physical anatomy.

Sex is biological and includes physical attributes such as sex chromosomes, gonads, sex hormones, internal reproductive structures, and external genitalia. At birth, it is used to identify individuals as male or female.  Gender on the other hand is far more complicated. Along with one’s physical traits, it is the complex interrelationship between those traits and one’s internal sense of self as male, female, both or neither as well as one’s outward presentations and behaviors related to that perception.

The Gender Spectrum

Western culture has come to view gender as a binary concept, with two rigidly fixed options: male or female.  When a child is born, a quick glance between the legs determines the gender label that the child will carry for life. But even if gender is to be restricted to basic biology, a binary concept still fails to capture the rich variation observed. Rather than just two distinct boxes, biological gender occurs across a continuum of possibilities. This spectrum of anatomical variations by itself should be enough to disregard the simplistic notion of only two genders.

But beyond anatomy, there are multiple domains defining gender. In turn, these domains can be independently characterized across a range of possibilities.  Instead of the static, binary model produced through a solely physical understanding of gender, a far more rich texture of biology, gender expression, and gender identity intersect in multidimensional array of possibilities. Quite simply, the gender spectrum represents a more nuanced, and ultimately truly authentic model of human gender.

Falling Into Line

Gender is all around us. It is actually taught to us, from the moment we are born. Gender expectations and messages bombard us constantly. Upbringing, culture, peers, community, media, and religion, are some of the many influences that shape our understanding of this core aspect of identity. How you learned and interacted with gender as a young child directly influences how you view the world today. Gendered interaction between parent and child begin as soon as the sex of the baby is known. In short, gender is a socially constructed concept.

Like other social constructs, gender is closely monitored by society. Practically everything in society is assigned a gender—toys, colors, clothes and behaviors are some of the more obvious examples. Through a combination of social conditioning and personal preference, by age three most children prefer activities and exhibit behaviors typically associated with their sex. Accepted social gender roles and expectations are so entrenched in our culture that most people cannot imagine any other way. As a result, individuals fitting neatly into these expectations rarely if ever question what gender really means. They have never had to, because the system has worked for them.

About Gender Diversity

Gender diversity is a term that recognizes that many peoples’ preferences and self-expression fall outside commonly understood gender norms. Gender diversity is a normal part of human expression, documented across cultures and recorded history. Non-binary gender diversity exists throughout the world, documented by countless historians and anthropologists. Examples of individuals living comfortably outside of typical male/female identities are found in every region of the globe. The calabai, and calalai of Indonesia, two-spirit Native Americans, and the hijra of India all represent more complex understandings of gender than the simplistic model seen in the west.

Further, what might be considered gender nonconformity in one period of history may become gender normative in another. One need only examine trends related to men wearing earrings or women sporting tattoos to quickly see the malleability of social expectations about gender. Even the seemingly intractable “pink is for girls, blue is for boys” notions are relatively new. While there is some debate about the reasons why they reversed, what is well documented is that until the 1950s, pink was seen as a more decided and stronger color, and thus more suitable for a boy, while blue, viewed more delicate and dainty, was commonly worn by girls.

Gender Terminology

Given the complexity of gender, it is not surprising that an increasing number of terms and phrases are developing to describe it. Below are some of the key terms you might encounter:

Biological/Anatomical Sex.
 The physical structure of one’s reproductive organs that is used to assign sex at birth. Biological sex is determined by chromosomes (XX for females; XY for males); hormones (estrogen/progesterone for females, testosterone for males); and internal and external genitalia (vulva, clitoris, vagina for assigned females, penis and testicles for assigned males). Given the potential variation in all of these, biological sex must be seen as a spectrum or range of possibilities rather than a binary set of two options.

Gender Identity. One’s innermost concept of self as male or female or both or neither—how individuals perceive themselves and what they call themselves. One’s gender identity can be the same or different than the sex assigned at birth. Individuals are conscious of this between the ages 18 months and 3 years. Most people develop a gender identity that matches their biological sex. For some, however, their gender identity is different from their biological or assigned sex. Some of these individuals choose to socially, hormonally and/or surgically change their sex to more fully match their gender identity.

Gender Expression. Refers to the ways in which people externally communicate their gender identity to others through behavior, clothing, haircut, voice, and other forms of presentation. Gender expression also works the other way as people assign gender to others based on their appearance, mannerisms, and other gendered characteristics. Sometimes, transgender people seek to match their physical expression with their gender identity, rather than their birth-assigned sex. Gender expression should not be viewed as an indication of sexual orientation.

Gender Role. This is the set of roles, activities, expectations and behaviors assigned to females and males by society. Our culture recognizes two basic gender roles: Masculine (having the qualities attributed to males) and feminine (having the qualities attributed to females). People who step out of their socially assigned gender roles are sometimes referred to as transgender. Other cultures have three or more gender roles.

Transgender. 
Sometimes used as an umbrella to describe anyone whose identity or behavior falls outside of stereotypical gender norms. More narrowly defined, it refers to an individual whose gender identity does not match their assigned birth gender. Being transgender does not imply any specific sexual orientation (attraction to people of a specific gender.) Therefore, transgender people may additionally identify as straight, gay, lesbian, or bisexual.

Sexual Orientation. 
Term that refers to being romantically or sexually attracted to people of a specific gender. Our sexual orientation and our gender identity are separate, distinct parts of our overall identity. Although a child may not yet be aware of their sexual orientation, they usually have a strong sense of their gender identity.

Gender Normative/Cisgender. Refers to people whose sex assignment at birth corresponds to their gender identity and expression.1280869_775281615823053_1549559522_n

Gender Fluidity. Gender fluidity conveys a wider, more flexible range of gender expression, with interests and behaviors that may even change from day to day. Gender fluid children do not feel confined by restrictive boundaries of stereotypical expectations of girls or boys. In other words, a child may feel they are a girl some days and a boy on others, or possibly feel that neither term describes them accurately.

For a more complete list of terms associated with gender see A Word About Words.


1907977_777266952291186_492257978_n

615391_1435630666679112_3343882233548376783_o

Through the Broken Window

And yet,
through that shattered pane
there whispered a Presence…
an echo of days long dead
and left behind.
A time when the sun glowed gold,
the moon kissed all benighted
with her mellow silver lips,
and the wind sang instead of snored.

In the crucible of destruction,
Joy flits at the edges
like a quick-silver bird
and takes
residence in the ruins.
In her nesting
I find peace and
come to terms
with promise.

tumblr_n3r0futfqy1rg59vvo1_500

Outcast by Acceptance

Skuttery winds were
huffing our hurt like
kids in the alley
behind the bar.

We trudged along over landscapes,
seascapes white and
grey and smudged and
our eyes were dulled
by unrelenting blur of
borders and divisions,
demarcations between
heaven and earth.

We were the Consigned Ones,
those policed and othered and
cast into chains
feigning freedom.
We were the Dispossessed Daughters
outcast by Acceptance,
cloaked in bleak black bindings
and hooded with the words of those
swaggering and unconscious creatures.
We toiled
slow between life
and the null.

My fire seethed,
I burned indignant and slow,
until I wanted
a flare to become and ignite
into blazing truth
the scope and shape
of that prison!
I seized my moment
and took pilgrimage
to that high ground
waiting for me, for us all.
And there
I lit my signal,
I lit my heart, and
sought to immolate
the Lie.tumblr_n3nqv6yUiz1r7d4coo1_500

 

Fracking My Heart

Yeah, it’s happened for a long time…
I don’t know which thief gained first access.
The Jack of Hearts?  Or the King of Clubs…
those dudes dogged my footsteps
and stuck to me like
rabid paparazzi, snapping, clicking…

…and fracking, injecting me
with insistent agendas and curses.
They smell my weak places,
with x-ray eyes
they trap my heart with maps.
Except in their world,
I am not round, but flat,
and they fear my edges.

Probes, from eyes, from words,
from thought and greedy thirst
force their way in, and in, and then
pressure, violent floody-assaults,
on my detailed and nuanced delicate soul.

After awhile, the floods drain,
God only knows where, and leave
me blared and blasted,
blue and without blossom,
defenseless and without means
to coalesce again.

Then they suck me dry,
of my luscious dreamy
verve and dance.
They smack their lips,
hitch up their pants,
and strut away
without a glance.
I tremble,
temblors shaking,
in a fearful trance.

And I think again about the word

…acceptance…

and listen hard for echoes
of its dead and beautiful promise.

tumblr_n1bbdjovh51qixw94o1_r2_1280

 

 

 

Acceptance

I watched, sideways and slinky,
out of my eye’s teary corner
as the lowbrow boorish bear
raised his word-whip and
his tongue-lash whistled and screamed
down on her, making up in force
what he was denied in volume.

“Stupid fucking bitch!
Why can’t you just accept
that’s the way it is!”
Each word a blow,
each sound flaying her skin,
bashing its way into her soul,
thrusting and tearing…
hell, you could SEE it in her eyes!!
I glanced around,
but in the music-haze and
alcohol buzzy packed room
no one else was watching.
Their eyes bounced
up and over the scene
like little all terrain vehicles
jumping over ravines.

I quivered, thinking
I was afraid and helpless,
caught on that word…

accept!

And I thought about
how fire accepts water or
how light accepts darkness or
how oil accepts water…

and then I realized that
what I thought was fear
was absolute and total rage
scintillating through my soul and
searing my heart
as it burned wild.

Later, I reflected
on steam,
and on snow,
and on the way water moves
over and around.
And other mysteries
of wind and sail
and fruit and press
And I vowed
to redeem that word…
accept…
before I die.

tumblr_n2ipnpUXCM1s2djs8o1_1280

Her Mercy Womb

All the relentless blows,
the pains, the wounds.
All the mummy-wrap wadded and
shoved roughshod down my throat
and through my heart…
The searing letdowns,
the cold denials of
heaving and wrenching begging.
Burdens allowed to pile up,
build up, bury me
in desperation and despair.
And silences…towering,
looming, lurking, leering,
mocking, unlistening…
All of these things
were horror to me…
But to Mama,
they were the womb that She wove
to carry me full,
carry me careful,
pregnant with me,
Her Daughter,
Her Offspring of Grace

Charissa

tumblr_mzlfwvNEhv1ql290xo1_500

 

Carapace

It caged me in its cold confining bars.
Long have I been its lost and longing thrall,
its tenant-serf of weary plodding on.
Its tentacles clung round my throat, my eyes,
and darkness was its cruel confederate
who caged my strong uprising Ne’er-Say-Die.

tumblr_n33xj43wUh1qdh7g0o1_1280

But lately, through these months of journey labor,
I’ve groaned and strained to heave off shell and shield!
Bright-beauty-bursts-dark, red, that primal pulse
sings in my veins and I feel me revealed,
but tentative in fragile waking Joy.

tumblr_n0fcmmBjyu1s8jjlio1_500

For I am soft, and never more me clothed
with harmour. I am closed, but only just
in poise for the Great Opening to come,
my exit from the carapace that clung…

Her Song and Sun e’er on my windswept face,
I’ll live now, bravely, on the precipice.

tumblr_n34kfckiXJ1rw5ktmo1_400

My Heart Dares

My high hills have heaved into mountains!
They’re muscling and bunching with glory
and streaming my Star-Ribbon story.

Hills of want, hills of pining and yearning
were worn down by storm torrents and winds,
became mounds, became cairns to lost futures
for this poor girl born so out of time
and so life-lorn and null in her place.

But up! They have been drawn, been pushed,
been called clarion and clear, brassy-broad,
with fresh timeless bright voice, they have answered,
and begun to grow high right before me,
in my solemn amazed wide eyed presence.

And my heart dares to become a mountain!
Thrusting boldly through stained steely clouds,
into blaze, into dithery-dazzle,
into light and life, cold and warm sun,
and they thrive midst glad gales of good Portent!
Noble sigils and icons of trust,
And I let my glad self stand and live!

Thus I sing to the Dwellers in Shinar
lift your heads, lift your eyes, lift your hearts
Take you hope, take ye courage and comfort,
Grace and Peace be your portion,

Amen.tumblr_n389xmQuD21qft4nwo1_1280

Vignettes from the outlet mall

she was talking, allowing her voice to carry.

“She is a loud, obnoxious froward woman!”

she was quiet, moving from rack to rack, circumspect and quick inside.

“She is an icy haughty bitch, too good to talk to us!”

she dressed with pizazz and showed a bit of skin with skillful concealment.

“She is a slut and slingin’ it around, the little prick tease!”

she dressed modestly, clothes fig leaves concealing naked limbs.

“She is such a shovel face, plain patty and doesn’t give a crap about how she looks!”

she smiled at his compliment.

“She wants you, dawg!!”

she shot him a dirty look and told him to back off.

“She is such a c***! Can’t she just accept the attention and be grateful!?”

Sadly, all of those incantation,
spoken to control and other
came from both
male and female hearts,
brains turned off
and lights inside
darker than death’s own heart.

tumblr_lc95uxNqQO1qakzv5o1_400

The Daily Dot – RuPaul still hasn’t learned his lesson on transphobia

Another thoughtful essay on the Ru Paul mash-up…this time demonstrating that this important spiritual principle:

Judge not, lest you be judged.  For the measure you use to judge others will be used to judge you.

Tragically, when an oppressed group finally gains some measure of freedom, liberation and self-definition, they turn around and do the very things that were done to them to the next least powerful group onhand.  This happens in all realms and strata of humanity:  sexuality, gender, race, religion, economic class…it is unfortunately endemic to the human race and is part of our tragically flawed and broken nature.

To rise up…to overcome this low road…this is our task and our heart…or should be anyway.

The Daily Dot – RuPaul still hasn’t learned his lesson on transphobia.

My Trans Story is Not Your Growth Experience

My Trans Story is Not Your Growth Experience.

This is one of the sharpest and to the true point essays I have read in recent times.  I am going to copy the whole thing here, but encourage you to follow the link as well…she deserves sober consideration for the topic she raises, and her pointing out of how we have unconsciously taken the other and turned their struggle into the affirmation of ourselves and thus have inadvertently reinforced the sexist and privileged paradigm that dictates thought is quite insightful and perhaps on the border of revolutionary.

When I say “we” and “our”, I am speaking of our society today collectively, and not myself specifically…but I will admit here that the lightbulb went on for me…and now, when I encounter people who do this around me, and some who have even done it with my own story, I will be armed to speak truth to power, albeit in my own way with Grace and Mercy and Kindness as my riverbanks, that the water from me will edify and build even as it challenges and changes.

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

The Toast’s previous coverage of trans* issues can be found here. This post brought to you by figwiggin.

Last year, my girlfriend and I spent our first Christmas vacation together in my hometown of Dallas, TX. We’d been together for only a few months at the time, but she was excited to see the town I grew up in, so we boarded a flight after finals and landed a miserable 10 hours later. At the border an agent accosted me over discrepancies between my passport and my appearance.

This began happening more regularly after I started taking hormones in 2010, and for obvious reasons. Why a terrorist would be dumb enough to get a fake passport with an opposite gender marker, an opposite gender picture, and an opposite gender name is beyond me, but apparently the USA is absolutely terrified of such an eventuality. As the Hank Shrader-looking fellow glazed dumbly over the 5 pieces of ID I placed before him, I wore the same expression I always wear in these situations. I cock my head slightly, narrow my eyes, and swallow my lips as if someone is presenting a desiccated cat to me and I’m pretending to be nonchalant about it.

Several days later, my partner and I went to Barnes & Noble and I spied a book out of the corner of my eye bearing a name like My Husband Wears My Clothes or From John to Jane or something like that. Ever since I became aware of my trans-sexual identity I’ve become very attuned to this sort of thing. I suppose it’s like gay-dar, but much less sexy. I have a knack for immediately noticing any piece of media that even suggests trans-sexuality, as if I had heat-vision goggles on.

I cracked open the book, and immediately shut it. Of course. This was a memoir of another cis-woman who finds she isn’t as enlightened as she thinks she is when she finds her “husband” raiding her panty drawer and is subsequently transformed into a better person through the grace and patience of her partner.

As a member of a minority whose voice is very rarely heard, much less listened to, seeing such a piece of media unfailingly irritates me. It makes me feel like Richard Pryor in The Toy. My presence in another person’s life leads them to grow as a character, to undergo an arc. Character arcs are what define protagonists in stories. If a character goes through some trials and challenges and ultimately comes out of the story a different person, for better or worse, then they are a more fully realized character. As a trans person in this narrative I am relegated to a plot device. An obstacle. Something that must be overcome in order for the real protagonist, the cis-woman, to complete her arc.

Obviously the stories of partners, parents, and friends of trans people are valuable. The existence of this book and the multitude of books like it (see: Sex ChangesAlmost PerfectTrans-sister Radio) as well as films like Normal, provide comforting narratives for these people who are struggling with deep emotional questions about their own identities, attitudes, and beliefs when confronted with a profound change in someone close to them.  Transition is hard for all parties involved, and all emotional struggles are important. As a feminist it would be unbecoming of me to suggest that some perspectives are not valuable.

That said; I am completely sick of it.

Trans-sexuals are one of the most marginalized groups in North American society today: 1/5 of us are homeless for a portion of our lives; 57% of us are rejected outright by our families; 30% of us have a physical disability or mental condition; we have double the rate of unemployment of the general population, and half report being harassed on the job; we have four times the national average of HIV infections; 41% of us have attempted suicide; and these numbers get even worse when whites are separated out from the rest of the sample, leaving only racial and ethnic minorities.

One very effective method of countering all of these effects is the introduction of an accepting network of family, friends, and partners. In this way cis-centric narratives about trans people are very valuable to the trans community. My partner, who is a cis-woman, owes a small portion of her awareness of trans identities to a book she read at 14 called Luna, a young adult novel about a cis-girl and her transgender sister. I probably owe my sanity to my girlfriend. I love her, and if this book played a small part in expanding her mind, then surely it deserves to exist.

Please understand: it is not the cis-centric narratives themselves that I take issue with, but rather the prioritization of these narratives over stories of the actual marginalized population here, which in the case of trans-sexuals, in particular trans-women, means a population that generally lacks positive role models and protagonists of our own. We need role models in order to understand ourselves, and to have positive self-conceptions, especially considering we live in a society that largely despises us. It is not difficult to extrapolate that such a hateful cultural landscape would instill in us a profound self-loathing, a feeling of being freakish and different.

Yet, the most privileged narrative about trans people is not our story, but rather the story of how the cissies learn from us to not be complete asswipes, and are subsequently showered with praise and hole punches on their liberalism card.

Stories from the perspective of the “normals” which look in, almost voyeuristically, on the lives of the non-normals, are baby’s first empathy. It is far easier for the privileged to view the oppressed through the eyes of someone they can identify with, and that identification comes from a shared privilege. It’s a stepping-stone to truly feeling empathy for those who are different, even radically different, from you. However, it feels like many simply stop there.

On this level it makes perfect sense to me that stories like mine aren’t the ones getting the spotlight. Trans-gender people by their very nature fly in the face of thousands of years of shared cultural expectations of the immutability of gender, gender expression, and sex itself. Some see us as traitors, as traps, or as generally incomprehensible altogether. Even some feminists and gay activists shy away from us, or even go so far as to outright detest us. We complicate matters of gender and sex, changing them from static constructions to mutable shades of grey, just as the gays do, only more so. In order to understand us it makes sense to me that people would use a metaphorical telescope to view us instead of getting up close and personal. Cis-centric narratives are that telescope. They keep us at arms length and view us through a lens that is at once reductionist and familiar.

This is a necessary stepping-stone toward building empathy, but it is just that. A step. It is very worrying to me that this step is given so much more prominence than the actual lived experiences of minorities simply because it is easier and more palatable to the privileged.

At the time of this writing I haven’t traveled back home yet for Christmas 2013. My partner will be coming with me again, and for the first time since I embarked on this journey I will finally have a passport that reflects my true self. I received sex reassignment surgery in May, which made me woman enough for the Canadian government to stamp a tiny F next to my new name (yes, our stories continue on after the big surgery in the 3rd act.)

My girlfriend has never once said anything remotely transphobic to me, has never asked any prodding questions without my consent, and was fully supportive of me getting my surgery without ever suggesting that I don’t know what I need or how to run my own life. She doesn’t just owe this to some book, but to her own intelligence and introspective abilities, as well as her willingness to listen and learn. It is really not that hard to treat us like human beings. She is proof of that.

 

The Good

I am regretful
that I wasted good love,
good emotion,
True heart and blood
on something
that was a farce
from the start.
But I am rejoicing
that things within
were given voice,
and birthed…
I bloom and
the Flower awakens.

Her fragrance is her writing,
and I shall forever write
until there is
no more need of words…
I am glad
for the poems that were born,
I am glad
for the rants that cathartically
revealed fractures and
flaws in me,
all around me…
I am glad
for the recounting
and expiation of
telling my story…
I am glad
for the chance
to opine to myself and
clarify my own thinking
to myself.

I am a blooming
of the roots of Grace…
Charis Kiss

Yes…I love
The Good

tumblr_mtwl74FFtF1rvf139o1_1280

Words fail me

{I wrote this last week…and put it in drafts, because it seemed toxic and radioactive.  Now, a week later, I think that it is good to post it, as I want a picture to be painted that is as true and real as I know how.  Clearly, we all fall short of True-truth understanding of reality and our place in it, but practically our perception and experience is real, and valid for being vulnerable regardless…these colors are an essential part of the picture of my life that is being created…and this poem a small work in a larger Work which someday may indeed be found a profound and priceless creation:  A life well lived.}

Words Fail Me

No pretty words,
no elegant phrase,
no alliteration
dancing and spinning,
distracting from
the deformed spirit limbs
and lack of true hallmarks
as a woman.
Just the moments,
which heap up
and pile up
and ever deepen
the ache inside.
You know this about me,
and still let it be.
It is preferable
to having to talk
to this stupid bitchy mutant
and tolerate her

why…her what,

her her

(blackholerazorplacedarkmawhungrymonsterland).

I fall,
Icarus struck down
and wings revealed
as crude and pathetic
facsimiles

tumblr_n28e0s32KR1r3y74po1_1280

“…having eyes, but not seeing…”

Hey!  Yeah, you.
Gotta question for ya:
what do you see?

Seriously,
I wonder what you see,
when I look at the way
you walk with blind eyes
to trembling and quivering souls
who just want a crust of bread…

Seriously,
I wonder what you see
when you speak right into someone’s face
with fistwords and hammer sounds
and their face pulps up,
mashes and folds in on itself
as blood rushes into their rendered heart
from pale cheeks to heal
the tears of horror and assumption…

Seriously,
I wonder what you see…
oh no I am not rhetorical,
in my question and intimating blindness.
I am watching you gaze,
dripping poisonous benevolence and
wallowing in privilege and whining
like a jet setter’s steed
whining from party to party,
and I literally wonder what you see…

Seriously,
I wonder what you see…
is it puppets without strings
that look like real people?
Is it the recited line,
rehearsed by the social director and
expected by you because you
have said your line and given your cue?
Is it happy field hands
singing in the blazing sun
and glistening with (you see it as)
joy-juice-just-jivingly-jumping-jack rabbits-of-meet-your-every-need-and-love-it-pleasure?

I cannot even find
an image to post,
because
Seriously,
I wonder what you see?