Let’s Stop Pretending Christianity is Actually Relevant, Okay?

Irrelevant
A recent Barna survey reports only 18% of Millennials find Christianity relevant to their lives. That’s not surprising if we’re honest. After the Supreme Court decision regarding the ruling on gay marriage things got really weird.

“Some Christians put up “straight pride” profile pictures on social media and reminded people of what the Bible teaches (which, just for clarification, the church is currently split over because of how they view the interpretation). It’s a strange practice to ask people who don’t hold the same beliefs as you to conform to your morals because you quoted a book they don’t read.

“My friends that aren’t Christians have never tried to force their morality on me, so this is an odd practice in Christendom. Even Jesus didn’t blame pagans for acting like pagans. Yet, many Christians insist their beliefs apply to the culture at large even though most don’t share the same beliefs. With the Supreme Court ruling in Oklahoma, Christians raged about how the government was “forcing their beliefs on them and how they were no longer allowed to have theirs anymore.”

“Well, no, it was Christians who forced their views in the public forum by putting the 10 Commandments there first (if we look at it objectively). And never mind that as of late, many evangelical Christians care more about keeping refugees out of the U.S. despite what their sacred literature teaches.

“What we need to face is that public perception has shifted. We live in post-Christian America where we’re no longer relevant to the culture at large.”

Source: Let’s Stop Pretending Christianity is Actually Relevant, Okay?

How Paul Ryan played Donald Trump – Vox

Another “I told you so”.  The issue:  trump lacks character, and thus is almost DOOMED to the pressure of the office revealing him as an inauthentic utter narcissist who is INCAPABLE of the sacrifice needed to be a genuine leader.

How it is that you took the bait, KNOWING BETTER…that is the REAL mystery.

Sometimes the swamp drains you.

Source: How Paul Ryan played Donald Trump – Vox

Manafort’s daughter’s hacked text messages lead to calls for probe – Business Insider

I give credit to the child for understanding:  SHE has profited from what her father participated in…and has blood money.

I believe that Business Insider is reputable.  trump supporter:  You cannot hide your head in the sand of “only FOX news”…remember when in school and the scientific method was taught…apply that here, confirmation of truth from a preponderance of the evidence and from a plethora of sources…

but that takes work…it does not go down easy like FOX’s pre-chewed gummy bear news does.

A lawyer wants to know who was influencing Yanukovych when he ordered Ukrainian security forces to crush protests. One name that has emerged: Paul Manafort.

Source: Manafort’s daughter’s hacked text messages lead to calls for probe – Business Insider

If You Change The Name And The Party…

then, what would you think?

trump supporters seem as if there is nothing that could ever shake their choice to support trump…they dismiss every single thing he does every single day as “fake news”…even though the epitome of a news manufacturing organ (FOX news) has openly denounced and denied that they ever had any evidence to support trump’s bloviating, lying tweet…

So this morning, I wanna frame it a different way:  if all things were identical, all the connections, the prevarications, the meddling, and the hard evidence that has been uncovered…if it was all identical except that Hillary Clinton was President and had done all of these things to trump, had colluded with the Russians…

What would your reaction be?  Stop and think about this…because this is the one sure way you can check yourself and make sure you are not the willing pliant dupe gorging yourself on propaganda!

Because if the answer is you would be outraged and demand justice?  Then you should begin supporting the pursuit of justice right now, regardless of party allegiance and personal preference.  

Otherwise?  You’re just a shill and a rape co-conspirator, Lady Justice being the rape victim you are helping to hold down while trump violates her with his pig pursuit of power.

Donald Trump has committed Treason…we are in the midst of a Constitutional Crisis…and I am sadly certain that the ones in power do not have the integrity remaining that will be needed to do the right thing.

trump supporter:  your support of an evil venal soul enabled the very things  that you feared from Hillary Clinton to occur…all because you swallowed the lie and lined up to trade our country in for a salad shooter, a state fair knife, and a bottle of snake oil…what a bargain.

Today, Outside the Church Building by John Pavlovitz

“You see friend, if what happens in that building doesn’t renovate what happens outside that building, you’ve failed. If your church were to close down today and the neighborhood around you wouldn’t profoundly feel the loss, you need to change how you do what you do in that building. If the only people who would grieve your absence are the people already in that building, you’re not doing what you’re called to do. You are hoarding blessings from people who need and deserve to be blessed.

“Worship is not really what happens in that building. That is just songs and words and stories and prayers. It is religious activity, well-meaning and helpful as it may be. Worship, is a life lived changed by faith in God and burdened to reflect the character of that God to others. If the songs and the words and the stories and the prayers today don’t move you out of the building and into the paths of hurting people in a way that alters those paths—it’s all been wasted time.”Source:  Today, Outside the Church Building MARCH 19, 2017 / JOHN PAVLOVITZ

The Church That Abandons Jesus

My friend John Palovitz says these things so very well!

“To be honest, I’m not convinced that many of these Republican Christians want their Government or the Church to lift people in need. I think they’d prefer to live with the fictional narrative that poor people are poor because they’re lazy, that those in need, are so because of some moral failing or bad decision. This story allows them to keep the stuff they have, to ignore the call to love their neighbor as themselves, and to feel morally superior in the process.

“Jesus says that whatever we do to the poor and the hurting and the hungry—we do to him. That should be a terrifying proposition to supporters of the President who claim the Christian faith or call the American Conservative Church home. This Administration and the many Christians who co-sign its actions toward those who are the most in need of compassion and mercy in these days, are saying with great clarity: “Move along Jesus, we don’t give a damn about you.”

“This is what happens when the least are treated as less-than. This is what it looks like when the Church abandons its namesake and tells him to fend for himself.

“Forgive them, they know not what they do.”

Source:  The Church That Abandons Jesus

“No Results” Happens When You Ignore Results

This is how draconian trump the absolute fucker is…spending over 3 million plus to let the first lady stay in New York…which more than pays for Meals on Wheels…instead of funding Meals on Wheels!

This absolutely burns me up!

The reasoning is this:  since Meals on Wheels doesn’t save EVERYBODY, let’s eliminate it and spend the money on what?? Melania? Or the Military?

Conservative Christian:  when will you admit you no longer believe in the parable of the Good Samaritan?  Or the parable of the 99 sheep and the ONE lost sheep?

If you are okay with this, then get outta THIS blog…and get over there and start kissing the butt of the ways of “the world”.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/politics/ct-trump-budget-mulvaney-meals-on-wheels-20170316-story.html

The Myth that the Church Alone Can and Should Take Care of the Poor

HOLY FREAKING COW!!!

Every christian person who reads here NEEDS to read this! Every conservative christian person who reads this needs to PONDER it!

word of a woman

Tuesday Jesse Graston, the South Carolina Coordinator of the John Birch Society, stood on the steps of the South Carolina Statehouse and called on Americans to nullify the Affordable Care Act and replace it with charity from churches. Frankly this is a sentiment I have heard for years. The government should get out of the “charity business) i.e. welfare, medicare, medicaid and Social Security and let the churches do their job. Well, I have news for you. That is just flat-out never going to happen. Not only because it wouldn’t work and people would be missed but also because they simply do not have the resources to carry out the task. Follow the math with me for a second.
(If math makes you queasy look for the statements in BOLD)

The federal budget expenditures from the year 2011 (the most recent year data is available) for these programs is…

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A Disjointed Incomplete Meditation…

This is talking about my own life, my own family…and yours, too…because all of us have this brokenness.  The evidence is irrefutable.

This poem is all about forgiveness…trying to give it and trying to receive it…and the incredible revelation that it is impossible.

There is no trying…there is only becoming.

“…And so now we get down to it:
there is no exit,
no escape from agony,
pitstop from pain…
all we can do is
exchange suffering’s form
and it’s face, from our own
for the pain of another…”

Source: A Disjointed Incomplete Meditation…
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Facebook Meme Says It Straight Up

Image may contain: 1 person, text
Elizabeth Kaeton

“Proposed budget cut to Meals on Wheels: $3 million
Cost for one weekend at Mar-a-largo: $3 million

Proposed budget cut to National Endowment of Arts: $148 million
Annual cost to guard Melania at Trump Tower: $183 million.

Go ahead, darling. Eat that bowl of jeweled spaghetti.
Never mind that the elderly are going to bed hungry tonight.
You look marvelous.”

(words are not mine)

This Darkened Path Of Self-Examination

Your vain cold words wielded like an ax
against a tree because you’re cold in spite
of that conflagration blazing behind you
but that ax slinks solo chopping at
a frozen sea that once was us, so insufficient

and now?  It’s just more ice-pick chipping, adding to
that devastating sea of loathing and despair you swim in
like a leper in the Dead Sea of yourself.

Common grief can crack a frozen wall, but a frozen sea?
Alas, this grief is singular…and you giving, so giving…now
but only of more death and dumb destruction…

where was this giving when there was something more to give
besides grief and chippy picking needle peck peck peck ing?

I am searching in dark difficult corners because the light is empty, Fool…

and ‘neath that barrage of belittling comments I face our story,
our scandal, which is merely the scandal in every story that you refuse to read…
instead you hide under that pervasive smothering attitude

while I gasp for air and fumble with my flaws in the shuddering dark
you trumpet your search for beams of darkness that occlude specks of light,
light that irritates our eyes to tears and tear that frozen sea to pieces,
tear my frozen flesh to pieces…

It’s the difficult, dimly lighted places that require much more,
a merciful throne compels transparency that a dictator sees
as only weak capitulation…but it is here…

In the shadow of incarnation I find the strength to walk this…
this darkened path of self-examination.

A Post By John Pavlovitz

I want you to know, to see…Why.  Why I can never ever trust you or be in relationship with you so long as you are not only not bothered by trump the absolute fucker, you also actively support him

These words below, the italicized being trump the absolute fucker’s actual words…and the words below that the words of my friend John Pavlovitz, who says it so well:

“‘I moved on her, actually. You know, she was down on Palm Beach. I moved on her, and I failed. I’ll admit it.

I did try and f*ck her. She was married.I moved on her very heavily. In fact, I took her out furniture shopping.
 
She wanted to get some furniture. I said, “I’ll show you where they have some nice furniture.” I took her out furniture —
 
I moved on her like a bitch. But I couldn’t get there. And she was married. Then all of a sudden I see her, she’s now got the big phony tits and everything. She’s totally changed her look.

Yeah, that’s her. With the gold.

I better use some Tic Tacs just in case I start kissing her. You know, I’m automatically attracted to beautiful — I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the p*ssy. You can do anything.’

“There were plenty of moments before and since of course, but looking back this was a pivot point—one that changed me irrevocably. It made me feel estranged around people I used to feel at home with and it derailed my hope that decency would prevail.

“And so in many ways this was the moment of my emancipation from feeling obligated to make nice with them; because despite his woefully malignant words and everything they pointed to about his character, his predatory behavior, his misogyny, his indecency, his infidelity, his disregard for the humanity of women, 62 million adults, many of them professed Christians essentially said “This is my guy.”

“And if you were among those who said it, you can justify it or rationalize it away or spin it any way you want—and I’ll politely but unapologetically tell you you’re full of it.
“You can pile every real or imagined boogeyman in front of me as a reasonable defense, but at the end of the day you elevated the man who said these words and was guilty of this behavior to the highest office in our country, awarding him the greatest power—and that is solely on you. I will not share the blame with my silence.”
If you want to read the rest of John’s essay, click on over here:
I cannot.  I cannot treat you the same anymore, having seen what lurks beneath, now that trump has torn off your mask.  It is for me as if you are asking me to welcome David Duke as okay…or the KKK as okay…or a rapist as okay…
And it grieves me…deeply.  Because I thought perhaps that trump would be the impetus to place country over party, and to move you along into the wisdom that years bring…I was wrong…and “so be it”s rain down…because why?  You think it a sin to not support a rapist who is the choice of all the white men in your party?  And instead you double down…
it literally sickens me.

Abandonment

This was my being’s experience for too many years, and the first poetic attempt to deal with the major stronghold of my life…and the gif at the end…brrr…I lived in terror of those footsteps on the stairs, coming towards me with harsh words and blows…

Source: Abandonment

Fire With Fire

All it takes is a word…just one.
It gets free and yeah, so it trods a toe
but hey that’s okay cus the point is so
important, potent.

Then a couple words,
and a sideways slide
and down the hill
a ways

but that is acceptable
too, because this
is so important

well, the next thing you know
you’re in the WWE (even tho
you’re the good guy)

and death is okay because
you HAVE to fight
fire with fire.

The Very Thing You Hate

It starts small.

Just one word,
connects almost
without effort to
another word

and they twist
together a corkscrew
actually…

and suddenly
that cork slides
so easy so tight so slick

and then
such popping
sudden relief!

the bottle in
a heart so bitter
is open at last
invective is free

but just a sip
then a glug
(one must be
careful you see
to apply bitterness carefully)

just to make a point

just to become
the very thing
you hate

 

trump is an absolute fucker

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I will never, ever be able to accept that someone thinks that they can support me while not only supporting trump, but condoning and extolling him and what he says and does.

I have no fellowship with him, in any way, shape, or form.

trump and his kind wish to not only hurt me, but also eradicate me, as if they can make it so that “there is no such thing” as transgender people.

And there are people who refuse to see this.

It blows my mind.

To list the ways, the deeds and the decisions that add the substance to the statement would take a month…but it is all easily found, at least it is easily found by anybody who uses other media sources than FOX and the so-called “Christian” Broadcasting Network (or some variant thereof).

Truthfully, I have such a sinking feeling that were it ever to become “illegal” to be transgender (as if that twisting of words could somehow ever define me), said individuals would think they were doing a work of God when they joined the Roman soldiers who killed all boys under two years old in the time of Jesus’s birth…and I would be dead.

trump is an absolute fucker.
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My Vibrant Words

Another work from last year…I really like this poem!


it’s strange, how my words
are vibrant now, and safe…

my words are safe in themselves

they used to need your eyes
like vines need their trellis
eyes constant and seeing
and singing in the wind…

Source: My Vibrant Words

My Exodus

Reposting a poem from last year…any good poem applies at a number of different levels, some known and some unknown and waiting to be discovered…

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I moved away while you weren’t watching
(it was easier than I thought it would be,
escaping past your X-Ray eyes
that look for flesh and blood
and thus missed my exodus)

I live by the sea, now…

Source: My Exodus

Roses out of Ruins


She walked, head held high
like a servant who pilfered a sweetcake
from the grouchy old cook
(who ruled her kingdom with iron,
a slave who fancied herself sovereign).

She took their glances, their …

Source: Roses out of Ruins

Under The Ice (For Jennifer, In The Winter Of Her Recovered Contents)

it’s a dark desert to be endured
it’s some kind of bleak mountain
to be climbed, it’s boring and grey
and monotonous but it’s equal parts
beautiful and devastating too
1-3or_1c2iwiwjvwsori6jvgit sees the sorrow in everyday occurrences.

it’s a man drunk at a party because
he doesn’t know anybody and plays the fool.

it’s a woman who tries on a dreamy
dress at a boutique and feels bad for
wanting something nice for herself.
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these snapshots of despair
seem so trivial in isolation
but they are oh so meaningful
these moments of weariness

they tell us we’re not alone
they let us feel sad while
they rip our souls to pieces

they are so gorgeously wrought
and exacting at the same time.
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this hurts me

I’m not sure if this
is a recommendation
or a confession.

I adore deeply
I have changed my life,
been cut to my core

but these moments
they are bleak
these moments
they hurt
the-gray-tree-1911-jpgblog
their painful penumbra glows
with sharp, precise clarity
and everything else
before and after
feels like
a fuzzy
dream
8e9c027e6c3af7d6e42a49dc643dcf4e
it skulks along a snowy New England lane
so beautiful that you hardly even notice
the despair lurking there under the ice

you’ll see what I’m talking about
under the ice and sinking down
into the forever bony grip
of a moment

a moment
of weariness.
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Oh Brazil! You Never Knew Me!

I recall writing this in somewhat of a fugue…for my bestie Dani.


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

Your streets of light and music,
aimless, drifting bacchanalia…

Source: Oh Brazil! You Never Knew Me!

Living Above the Curse (Part 3 – The Curse of Man)

Here is part three.

All three parts of this series are written by a brilliant, insightful and passionate human being of the female gender…and she uses the FULL RANGE of her palate to express these truths.

Hey dudes…listen the fuck up!  Pull your heads out of the sands of fear and your fingers out of your ears and shut yer pie-holes from babbling all about the estrogen the estrogen and LISTEN.  You do not get to pass judgement on sumfin cus you are either comfortable or uncomfortable…you are under the same standard of restoration as the rest of humanity…is it the Way, and is it the Truth, and is it the Life? Whether you LIKE it or not…whether it makes you FEEL GOOD or not…

Thank you Jennifer.  Your words are truth and life.

We all know the Venus and Mars stereotypes. Women are complex multitasking nurturers, men are singularly-focused aggressive hunter/providers.

Woman: with the flu, a cramping, hemorrhaging uterus and a baby attached to her boob pushes through her daily myriad of responsibilities to take care of the family

vs.

male: devastated by Man Cold.

Source: Living Above the Curse (Part 3 – The Curse of Man)

Dread and Presences

I am reblogging this poem from 2 years ago…here is the key passage:

“I step to the rail and look back
peering intently into the fog
thick and lingering,
but 2014 is shrouded, hidden
and if I hadn’t lived it
I wouldn’t have believed it
was anything more
than a dream.

It was a year that hollowed out
thinned out, emptied out
but never declared its intention.
I don’t think it ever knew
or if it even could…”

Charissa's Grace Notes

Dread.

I feel it still.
Laying at the base of my throat and throbbing
dully, quietly slumbering with one leering eye
cocked open always and leaning towards my heart.

My heart…
chipped and worked, touched and chilled
by the frozen fingers of dread

and shards of it lay scattered at my feet
clear, jagged glimmering
broken.tumblr_nf01s3Hemc1sjr8bdo1_1280

I step to the rail and look back
peering intently into the fog thick and lingering,
but 2014 is shrouded, hidden
and if I hadn’t lived it I wouldn’t have believed it
was anything more than a dream.

It was a year that hollowed out
thinned out, emptied out
but never declared its intention.
I don’t think it ever knew or if it even could.

It was a year without windows
but many doors
and ladies
and tigers.

There is more to life than meets the eye,
more than can be measured by the senses or a census
but this morning there is just the fog behind
and…

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Silken Tears: Written in the memory of Leelah Alcorn

As a poem…I love this one.  I was blessed to capture some delicate and beautiful imagery, and it emerged in a nice meter that is augmented by the rhyming patterns and their shifting nature…matching the shifting nature of the poem.

Frankly, I was envious of her…and horrified with myself that I was so…this was written in Leelah Alcorn’s memory.

I cannot read this without weeping.


i saw her there, in the dark woods,
so fair of movement, fair of face
she walked beneath the milky moon
and bathed in silken light like lace.

she glowed with beauty’s blessing kist
upon her b…

Source: Silken Tears: Written in the memory of Leelah Alcorn

Between the Lines

I need to repost this poem from a couple years ago a day early…and I don’t even want a SHADOW of eyes on this that aren’t willing to LABOR today to birth understanding of what I am writing about…

it’s so fucking obvious what I am writing about…

I am writing about what we are all mealy mouthing by blaming it on a specific year (as if the year were a shambling zombie…as if the year were different than any other year, as if WE were not the shining difference every goddam SECOND)…

but every single person SHOULD labor with this poem, and labor HARD…

cus it’s the liturgy you will need as you’re pulled inexorably to your end…

if you DO decide to click on this…then really get your hands into it, and don’t go looking for pretty words and cutesy lil poetic kuans…cus this aint it.

This is the blood of a Poetess…

this is the stuff of poetry, however poorly executed it is in my fumbly arthritic heart whose joints ACHE and SEETHE with rage at death and grief at the ways we pull our snugglies around us and pretend…

Jenniferlittermate, there will be much balm for you here, you are indeed ready.

“…and there I walk, alone between the lines,
my feet upon the ties, the ties that bind
and my heart ponders lines, and ties and spaces
in between the lines, the ones inside of me and what is hidden
there to see by those who stop and look and listen

…and take the time to read between the lines…”


Tree-lines mark the end of alpine meadow-frolics green
and the start of stone relief against the ever-constant skies
stretched out in steely greys and stellar silver blue sky-lines,
and space between the lines…

Source: Between the Lines

After The Fire And Fury

Image result for hearth and ashes(For Jennifer Dickenson Christmas 2016)

After the Fire and Fury,
after the lies were consumed
there on the hearth in the ashes
just loose teeth, the only thing left…

…those teeth without jawbone to ride on
no power to bite my soft skin
and no way to grit and to grind
and I stare, there is nothing to mind
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my life changed…the nights became darker
and yet somehow more restful too
days took on a crystalline quality
I realized that I had begun

to view my entire life’s history
past/present/future all at once
as mere memories ashy and cold
in the ashes there, deep in the hearth
Image result for hearth and ashes
What’s the precise time, the moment,
in the life of a country of one,
a country where Samson’s been blinded
by his lust and his own hot despair

and self-tyranny takes hold in terror?
It rarely happens in an instant;
it arrives imperceptible, slow
and, at first, the eyes of the hopeful
Image result for hearth and ashes
adjust…and pretend all is well…
I was drifting in one endless present
(the present, pray tell what that is?)
line of vapor, invisible instant?

But now I see clearly, no filter,
the connection of past and the future,
between motion and rest, it just lurks there
as if it’s in no time at all…

and what is it, lying there useless?
It’s just us (justice), it’s simply us.
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On The Shores

Where will it be?

Here…on the shores
sub-buzz-906-1480274750-1
of
this
nation?

Where will it be?
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That future lost wondering
seething and shambling
generations will come
stand shaky, un-kneeling,
1-lxdhabvykoy28ucmhwvmmq
stand in hushed horror,
stare at the gates,
the looming blank gates
newly-released-accounts-of-nazi-persecution-include-tales-of-cannibalism-1459416948
and the haunted
and harrowing houses
within
the walls of more walls…
539w
Where will the cries
and the screams
and the howls
of the dispossessed
and the long dead
ring and groan
open-pit-burning-at-auschwitz-birkenau
and echo and moan
on the winds that strain hard,
try in vain cold-scourings
to blow clean and to cleanse
to exorcise acts
of horror…and hatred…
in-hu-man-ity…
concentration-camps
Will it be in
the beautiful mountains
so pine-covered, veiled
in gauzy soft blue?
454392573
Perhaps down beneath,
in the swampy and wonderful
croaky and crawly den
of ancient gators?
Inside of a barracks of the Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz Birkenau
Or built
in the bones,
on the bleached
and unburied
bones of the hot
painted deserts?
krakow_plaszow_concentration_camp_48
Or nested
so comfortably
ensconced, a proud present
plover quick-picking
and plucking the carrion
from fetid gums
in the gaping sheer mouth
midst the bracing, imposing
implacable teeth
made of jagged still
mountains?
1389293438_zaq3

Or bleeding forever on
the shores of the seas
and the grieving shrill cries
of the gulls…
of the gulls…
7048705455_85b10222e4
Where will the haunted
ziggurat hunker,
a crater at home
in the wastelands and horror
of inhuman time,
of living black holes
of hatred that sucks
all the life and all light
into

the dark
pusillanimous
core?
sub-buzz-377-1480274945-1
Where?

there…

on the shore…
rg13uyl

This Horrifying Displacement (On Existence In Post-Trump America)

he spoke in broken words,
an anxious monologue
of guilt confessed and expiation…

me, numbed by the encounter,
and cast reluctant confessor
of an ordinary monster
13b7b381ec6e07b9d20a40de168b96d4
who committed such
unordinary acts
of blind obedience,

setting ablaze an entire village
with gasoline words ignited
by fists of flame,
trump-voter
and in the name of Great,
of Better…of fear.
And now he can’t get loose,

cannot silence from
his mind the screams
of those people.  Them.
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Now on a deathbed
of his own design
and no good sense

to even lay down
and be still, a last
desperate attempt
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to seek forgiveness
and what am I supposed
to say to this displacement,

this horrifying displacement?
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A Rain So Red And Warm (Transgender Remembrance Day 2016)

“April is the cruellest month…”
T.S. Eliot said…
he simply wasn’t paying
the steep cost of attention.

It’s in the brown pits of November,
when we lie in hopeless wait,
in limbo stuck there in between
the stupid and sublime…
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stuck in that old and barren hollow,
wedged between a grease congealed
KFC bucket called Autumn
laying in dead crackly leaves

and its winter-shadow-self
approaching in uneven shambling
gait with cutting winds, harbingers
lurking in its fraying heart.
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I listen hard, I strain my soul
in this insensate endless month
for a song, a sound…anything?
maybe a last, desperate word

of Release?
Real-ease?
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Reeling, I go through the gates
of death that loom large in the night
aware that I may well be robbed
of all this nothing left to me,

of all the rest of my short years
aware the grave cannot give praise,
that death cannot sing elegy
and I know, finally, that we
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are sick for life, and desperate cling
to this nameless shining thing,
a fountain sealed, we drift toward
our edges, there below revealed

in such familiar frightening
familiar numb-ed anguished sting
shared just by one Incarnate One
a weak and beaten broken man,
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a God defeated, crying in
the quiet weeping freezing rain
falling slowly in the black
and cloying plummeting sloe dark

that’s darker than our darkened world
blacker than all blackened loss
blinder than all senseless hate
and bleak as splintery bloody cross
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and it is there our questions cold
fall limp…just like the rain itself
and like His sadly dripping tears
(Himself a rain so red and warm)

and here His tears mingle our own
and here His blood flows from His side
and there the final faint quick spark
flickers within His ruined hide
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His broken heart amidst the dreck
of our lives brutally played out
in this tragic blind senseless wreck
where light lays down, and breathes its last

and mourns all dreams of futures past.
our only hope a hang-ed man
become the lowest of the low
embodying every despair,
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He gives a cross to cling to, know
a hang-ed man, His own self there
insistent Incarnation fair
drinking the deep cup of despair

and promises that it is Done.
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A Love Note…From The Darkside Of The Moon

Sisters…

I have come, like Hagar returning home…
back from the dark side of the moon
and I am full of wisdom gleaned
from sun-baked wanderings
across wide bleak and barren lands
and Beautiful Bedouin Deserts
and all the way to that distant shore…

the edge of my soul-wound.
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I have faced the edges of myself
I have faced that Gulf of separation
and I have headlong heedless SWAN-DIVED
pure…and I survived
the plunge!

I have crossed over…that gulf
I have TRANS-ED!
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And now I run
returned to you, same-sided ones
My CIS-ters dear and precious-rare
marooned and longing for The DARE!
You still stuck on that Lost Coast
of desolation waiting at the long deserted
service station called same old
same old same old old old SIDE

Ohhh Sarahs!  I have heard such secrets in
the red-reed voice of Scirroco winds
Oh the things I know, winnowed by that
wind and winnow-stick of courage
from the shifting Sands of self…
I have sifted and been sifted
by the heat and cold and light…andtmg-article_tall
the dark
the dark

the dark that knows what sleeps alone
the dark that knows what it knows not
(and nought, ahhh, yes, the dark knows nought)
the dark that knows what it knows nought
and it has taught me Love Notes…
on the dark side of the Moontumblr_ofmf36kuxt1ue8tbmo1_1280
OHHHH MY MOON!!!
MA MERE!!!
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You see, she is stuck too (just like you, Sarah, just like you)
in his orbit circling and one side shining one side dark
her endless pasted happy smile while growing thin and desperate
and starved, ravenous in the night

Oh Sarah, remember you laughed, back then!
Well, I could teach you a thing or two about Laughing NOW!
Cus from your chuckle sprang a promised child
who grew into a nation dusty rusty red?

But I…me?  Hagar??
HAH!!

From the Womb of my laughter
springs forth The Children of Her Promise!

I!!  The Outcast ME!!
My Laughing womb brings forth
the very Rose Behind The Sun!!
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We are two wombs, two moons, Sarah…you and me
But I’m a moon that got fed up and broke away
and learned to spin and twirl and dance!
I learned how to gladden this close Dark
I have understood how to please the Light
as I spin and twirl and turnturnturnspinstepspinturn
lightdarklightdarklightdarklightdarkLIGHT!!!

I am your Hagar!  Outcast and returned
here in your hour of great need!
I stand before you, with you
with my wand of Cedar freedom waving
and my book of Mama-Conjuring!!

Ohhh Dearest Sarah, can’t you see?
That you are the same as me?
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Look past desert veils so long ago assigned
Peer deep beneath this hoary hated hide!
And see the vital fertile oceanic sea…
see my…
ME!

Ohh Sarah, I see you!  I was you…
languishing in bitter wounds of old
I see you in your hurty night
your tear stained grief
and darkened dreams

I see your Chrystal Mountain Rare
now Shattered in Indifferent air
and Chasm shards!
And I have come to mid-wife you
from the womb of your true self
to the mercy of your real True You!
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I will help you see with eyes unblinking
thru your tears those canyons riven
by erosion bit by bit from
your most treasured self!

STAND!  Leave behind the CIS-ter lands
and join me, we’ll reclaim OURSELVES!
Finally forever truly SIS-TERS

For in truth?
Our destiny is one.
To be exultation light-filled
Trans-women all
crossed over

and spinning wildly,
Joyful in the Night!
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In The Thickening Dark Air

The days are growing thin, now…
more firmly anchored, chained to earth
as she grows sleepy and surrenders
to impending, crooning death
that has in time passed always passed
and yet, each time seems like her last___
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And I, with naked desperate face
pressed frantic to that fading sky
so blue, impossibly so blue
blue BLUE…and pale and growing paler
as my running tears run free
and carry Blue down to the dirt
of me, the dusty dirt of me

The sky dims in the echoes of
those flying waves of wild geese fleeing
Vanguard of this fading time
this sleepy, grown-thin dying time
so out of step, in stuttering rhyme
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They fly and sing, elegiac,
the Songs of Captive Zion, and
the broken harps hung high on willows
on the willows wailing there
while geese fly, sailing sadly by

and as these waves sweep by above
in broken honks (like broken harps
played tragically by broken hands
and broken hearts) that rain, that fall
to lay upon the many-waters growing still
and shining dull in dimming light and wondering
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if there is any love left here…or there…
or anywhere to see us safely
thru the night, the coming dark night
sinister and silent as the grave?  And still
my tears fall ceaseless, mourning
growing still, so listless, still…

The flapping wings the flutterings
of geese and my tears hot, welling
glistening sliding dripping falling
as the earth shifts and rolls over
on her side and so resigned
she groans and closes sorrowful
and milky sightless rheumy eyes
Image result for rheumy eyesand the rhythms of the wings,
the waves, the tears (oh tears and tears)
they echo other rhythms dread
stilled long ago…but now awake
a dreadful Sauron Eye aflame
snapped open in malice and pain
unblinking, staring without weeping…

flapflapflap (the wings),
snapsnapsnap (the eyes)
crackcrackcrack (other geese-stepping)
TROMPTROMPTRUMP (the boots, the boots of night)    
TRUMPTRUMPTRUMP 
(boots so shiny underneath
a cold Bone Graveyard moon)
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I weep…I wonder…if the dying
of the autumn light presages
some dread other coming night
some night hollow as the grave
in this thickening Dark Air
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At Ease In Zion

the punching of one’s own face, one’s own eyes
the throwing of sawdust at everyone
the bashing of beams against dull skull bone
the grunting, squee of rooting pigs alone
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the missing of the point that TRUTH is making
the wallowing in anything that soothes
retreat into the silly absurd argue
and justice once again goes barefoot begging
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and dust is waiting to be shook off hard
and sandals poised for good news feet on mountains
but walkers sit instead and argue small things
minutiae in the unconnected moments
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wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up wake up
charissa tears her face with fingernails
as justice wanders barefoot, wanders begging
diogynes gives up searching, gives up hope
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and so the question remains here resounding
WHO WILL STAND AGAINST INJUSTICE NOW?
now now now now now now now now now NOW???
does anyone have knees that bend or straighten
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and courage to set scripture off its leash?
To stand with widow, stranger and oppressed?
Or just in filthy rags preening and dressed??
You stand condemned and lay at ease in zion
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While You Were Saying It

It’s bigger than a blue canyon,
that place my orphic words live
and come down from,

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a canyon with one end anchored in eternity
and one end tipping into whatever
“-ality” … “-ernity” we dwell in
right here in River City.

I reach up and pull down Words
like apples golden or ripe peaches soft
fragrant and newly fuzzy insistent

and throw them into that canyon blue
blewsy runny and streaked in greys
and oranges (like rock sunsets)

Image result for a blue canyon

…but those words…

those words
reduce
those words
shrink
and become
small,

as small in your eyes as they
are big in my head and
what was once limitless
is now merely living

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and that makes me lonely
and feeling like

I got too close to important truth
too close to your secret hiraeth heart

buried in your soul’s backyard
like some long loved lost bone…
so you just look at me funny
and shoo me away with

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blinking eyes and wagging head
as if not grasping what I said,
as if not seeing my words or me.

But do you not see me
and see yourself
in the seeing of me?

You almost cried
while you were saying it!

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The Ship Inside My Head

There’s a ship inside my head
It sails upon the seas
that stretch out from my bed
to the far shore of me
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sometimes it runs aground
because the tide is out
and blind men think me drowned
and beached deep in their drought
I hope this was low tide.:
But tides, well they run true
they go, and then return
with glad tidings of you
that splash my bow, my stern
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And my sails bloom once more
and dance upon the breeze
I slice thru waves, I soar
set free from my dis-easeae0f568f980256327127a3d52e0d549cTo sail, to skim beneath
the moon there in Her bliss
and I wrapped in Her wreath
and sainted by Her kiss…
Daniel Merriam...: there’s a ship inside my head
I sail the ancient seas
of greens, and blues, and red
I sail the seas of me
Waiting for the Tide - Print by Cathrine Campbell:

True North

that passing
parade of people
flashes by, spinning
roulette wheel
KLAKLAKLAK
LAKLAK

klak     klak
KLAK

tumblr_noypg7py1z1s5u2cno1_5001and in the midst but set apart
and singled out from time to time
and separated from the herd
and from the heard and from the hearing

distant from particular promise
feeling so far from God’s presence
or God’s forgiveness because something’s
blocking our view of God’s sweet mercy

I
think
it is WHITE
Double OUGHT

Image result for white double ought

and the house wins again and preens
in false humility and slings
blame upon us Double Zeros
skewing vision til it seems

God has truly overlooked us and that’s not justice, it’s just us… 

It’s that inconsistency between
things we thought we knew
and things we deeply feel,

and yet

Desire is our compass
bloody, steady, unblinking.

It points to our True North
and leads us home
against all odds

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To All From My Past Who Read Here

Hi.

If you are someone from my past and you read here, I want you to know something.

You are welcome to read here.
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If you are someone from my past, and you are genuinely open to learning new things, updated understandings of the ways that technology has revealed realities regarding gender and DNA…if you are willing to meet me…Charissa Grace White…and truly receive me as you would any human being you had met and were getting to know, then you are welcome to be in contact with me.

But know that my choice to transition is not up for debate…it is made and done.  To debate that with you would be as silly as debating with you whether or not it was the right thing to marry the person I chose.  So I will not allow this…I will not put myself at the end of your firing range to become your scapegoat for the social ills you so deeply dread.
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And finally…if you are someone who reads here while thinking of me as that freak who is a “man” but is deceived and deluded by the devil and is now under demonic influence for thinking “he is a woman”, then just GTFU…ur dum.  Holding this position is like boasting about how stupid, intractable and ignorant you are of the incredible body of literature on the subject.  You ought to be asking yourself why you are so deeply upset over this!  Why does it bug you so much?

I am by far a better person than I ever was before…more of what people have always loved about me and less of what people have always despised about me.

Just go away if you are in that latter category…I don’t care how long I have known you.  The length of time you have known me is directly proportional to the ought you are obligated to in connection with me!  You ought to be more compelled to read the literature…you ought to be more compelled to know the open flower and stop worshipping the tightly closed bud.
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There is a male who flat out broke off a relationship that was over 3 decades old, because I “had crossed a river he would not cross”.  He has had zero contact with me since.  This in spite of how his actions violate the very gospel he claims to love.  This in spite of the countless hours we spent together, the countless actions of service and love and support, the walking thru darkness on his behalf…

…clearly the issue is on him.

But I bring him up to tell you that his is the party you want to go join if you are in that latter category.

I am me…free…and flying.  You can fly too, if you would actually take responsibility for your choices and your failures to choose…your fate is in your choice, and may you find surrender to Love as you choose…
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We Lords of Tuscany, We Ladies Of The Meadow

At last we finally
have come down to it,
perched here on this edge
of sun-bleached splintery white planks
and darkly stained with shadows and blood.
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I hear the wind winding
thru the distant trees wistful,
insistent and full of desire for
golden times long past and golden
songs sung oh so long ago.
It saws its way, the wind, it saws.
Forth and back, across again
that one long thin strand fixed just so
to that grey ancient, heavy beam
that I can barely see because

history’s speck embedded
in my eyes and clawing,
scratching them
and clouding my ocular
true blue vision.
tumblr_oah0y9yL2P1trdezwo1_1280But as I stand here, on the edge
of gone for good at last, and I
behold the hushed and held tense breath
of the gawking crowd…I remember
Tuscany and us
when we were young and ageless
and we ran the fields like wild-fire
in joy and wreck-less free abandon…
we ran…and ran…and
free we ran…
I recall vineyard embrace, green
in the cool night sprawled beneath
the glitter-glare of celestial songs
taken form and sight in night
and flying, shooting, never landing

never ending, never…
except in our hearts,
our ageless hearts,
we Lords of Tuscany,
we Ladies of the Meadow

And time it stood still while we swirled
and then somehow twas we stood still
and everything turned round about us
til somehow…now…
here at the end

in the hangman’s
clutching final
noose as the reaper
plays along upon
his shimmer-scythey harp

and the rope
relentless quivers
and croons and
begs me to
forget…
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But I remember
Gold and Fire
and glowing embers
in you…
and in me…

We Ladies of the Meadow
We Lords of Tuscany

A Spoonful Of Sugar

Can
you swallow
the bitter pill?
The pill that’s come
to dull our conscience,
cushion comfort, corners
nipped just so, sides longer
than tops and bottoms,
that exquisite little
emerald coffin-
shaped bitter
little
pill?

Life’s
fragility, life’s
impermanence,
life’s intertwinement
with imperfection and
disappointment—bitter
medicines (or are they drugs)

a realization of dread and
despair.  I wonder if those
crooning songs seduce,
induce indulgence
in an orgy of
escape into
the haze
of
narcissism…

or if they masquerade as friends to draw close,
sidling up so near to shove those pills dry
down our throats in rough and rooting
thrusting fingers ripping without a
drink to help them go down and
we, our own spoonful of sugar…
until we lie in thrall to
those fell jailers…no


enthralled to
no one but
ourself

that bitter
little
pill

Hidden From Our Eyes

“…now it is hidden from your eyes” (Luke 19:42)

Can you feel it
bouncing off steel beams
ricocheting off raw stone,

the sound of gunfire
off in the distance
grim and getting closer
in cold grey shuffling
grave-steps clotted
and rotted
and ruined
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it’s the sound
of relationships
already shattered
broken relationships bloody
gutted in the streets
and played out
before our eyes
horrified and haunted

we weep tears of disbelief
to the cold deaf earth
we sweep bodies like trash
into the yearning yawning earth
and yet we still will not
turn or
turn or
turn

in this season
in this time
and Byrds sing
desperately praying
it’s not too late
but we have chosen
rankly, rottedly

we have sung the zombie songs
and joined the charnel choirs
of the living dead because
we lacked the simple courage
to be the dead living…dead living!
we have chosen fear
we are drunk on distrust
we rave raw in revenge
we are sickened because
we ate only anger
and anger
and anger

and no one leads
no one guides
to whom shall we go?
who shall save us
from ourselves?

We shed another’s blood
when we run out of answers.
They shed Their own pure blood
as Their one and only answer.

We kill, buried in despair.
They rise, giving us hope…

but will we open up our hearts
and see Them shining in our brother,
hear Them singing in our sister
irregardless of skin color
or religion, creed, or dolor?
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Or will we just sink away
and slink away and dwell behind
those naked fig leaves and all truth

hidden from our eyes?

 

Until All Can Breathe

It is not pretty
It is not comforting
Brace yourself…
for I rub our noses in it,
the hypocrisy

is too much for me
and horror, hate is
all I see this day
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Go ahead…
after reading,
go to the parades,
the barbeques, the picnics…
go to family and friends
and fireworks and fun…

but go
with these words
stuck in your craw and
mashed down in your marrow,
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and know that this is
the truth of where we are come,
where we have been led because
we will not lead and now we stand
on precipices and drunk upon our past
and deluded in our dreams of futures
that are just not real.
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I am glad for our constitution
one of the major leaps
towards true liberty
in world history…

but omg just baby steps
and not a signal that we have
arrived and can stop walking…
we must see how insidious
we have been taught
to play the fiddle
to scenes of horror
that would warm
the cold dead bones
of Nero his ownself.
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Extract yourselves
from the trappings
and tentacles that croon
to your swooning soul and seek
to pull you down into an addict’s
wet-dreamy tragic death

and make good your escape
while there is still a crack of time,
a sliver of hope milky moony white
and weakly glowing still
in this crashing night…
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for it will break indeed
in tsunamis of terror
not brought here
from foreign lands
but homegrown in
these places we did not
attend to carefully
and mercifully
and compassionately…

and then…
there, tonight
upon your bed,
in trembling,
ee946a09bfe7dc896b9f7ca61b601998
whisper a prayer
and ask that you be
just delivered of a sliver
of that silver privilege,
slippery that squirms away
and wriggles fierce to live like that
insatiable chest burster of Alien…

oh God
PLEASE DELIVER US TO TRUE LIBERTY
and do not rest until
all can breathe until
all can breathe
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That Table Small

sitting around a table small
and caught by the heartstrings,
just a player on that stage, all
the rest again make up this gathering

of those who see the task as fencing
in, fending off, wriggling away
from what this Troubler of Israel is bringing
and defining her place, her place to stay.

I have not once been here…at this table
to be made glad over, to be thanked
or complimented or told I’m able
to do, to be, amazing…it’s to be spanked

that I am called there
to be yanked that I am hauled there
to be flanked by falderal there
sitting around that table

small
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Unfurling From A Set-Free Throat

I still struggle to dig it out,
that splinter you shoved into me,
down my throat without so much as
a shot of whiskey or
a shot in the dark.

and you are so certain, sure
of how to walk the world
and all her streets unfurled
when really you are justifying
dwelling in your fear.

But you look so damn normal and together
while I am flailing in the maelstrom of myself.
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Here is what you do to me:
Idealize
Exoticize
Misunderstand
Validate
Vindicate
Vilify
Victimize
Re-traumatize
Reframe
Take out of context
Murder mysteries

You lecture me, slay me with
hidden sneers and resurrect me with
empty scripts and steal my mystery…

and mysteries become stories
and stories become reality
and stories shape the mind
that tells and gives them shape.

stories about “them”
stories about “me”
stories about “you”
stories that isolate us,
separate and set us apart
from the world at large.
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You simply have no clue of how
the mind can terrify, filled up
with anguish, upset, turmoil, fury,
the mind makes meanings out of shadows
and is too easily taught
to fear what it does not know…

And that is your biggest blindest blunder:
You do not know what you do not know
and thus you fear the healthy YOP
unfurling from a set free throat!
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Your mind assumes what it cannot
make out clearly or take out easily.

It’s a survival tactic.

But it inhibits you from being open to learning.
It inhibits you from being students of life.

You’d be well-served to sit our assumptions down.
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At Stanage Edge

Before the blizzard
sneaky beneath the rim
of the grey and trembly sky,
conditions at Stanage Edge
on Thursday were extremely
changeable and cold.

My heart like the sky
(but ruddy red)
my heart like the sneaky storm
(but only streaked with black)
my heart like the conditions
(but never cold).

I got out of the car.
I could see rain
developing over Mam Tor
to the right
(and a few miles away).
I thought that it was only
just building up
(inside these scintillating
winds of heart and skies).
I thought I would have plenty of time
to get to the millstones,

to get back to my car
before it came
my way.

How wrong was I!

Prelude hailstones heavy,
fine mini-millstones
gristed and ground
the ice cold winds
and soon had me retreating
back to the warmth

and glad for my bare
and unfettered neck
and the leagues between me
and the deep cold black sea.

This is an area I have visited before

I’m pretty sure
I will see it again

On Being Triggered and Abandoned (or NOT)


“When you are triggered, it can feel like moving a mountain to soothe the pathways of abandonment, and to stay embodied to the energy as it surges through your belly and nervous system.

Something is longing to be met, that is for sure. An avalanche of previously disowned feeling, emotion, and sensation, seeking some sort of completion that was not available at an earlier time.

It may seem that there is no way for you to close the loop, that it’s just too much. Open your heart into the too-much-ness, slowly, for very short periods of time, and then rest. Even for just a couple of seconds, use your presence to touch what is emerging – just enough to light up a new path, but not so much that you overwhelm or re-traumatize yourself.

Soften into your belly, into the panic, and take pause from the ancient belief that you must quickly understand, shift, or transform your immediate experience. See that there is nothing to ‘heal,’ but only something to hold. Offer sanctuary for the movement of life as it washes through you, and it will integrate and liberate on its own. Care for yourself in new and wild ways.

To provide a home for sacred metabolization is one of the greatest gifts of love that you can give – not just to yourself but to those around you. To reclaim embodied responsibility for the orphaned pieces of your psyche and soma is not easy and requires a lot of practice. But more than anything, it demands an unconditional commitment to seeing the entirety of your inner experience as worthy, as valid, and as the very seeds of the path forming around you.

Despite how difficult it can be, the fruits of this work are infinite, they are eternal, and to do this may be why you have come here: To make an offering to a weary world, and to do whatever you can to help others, to rest in their majestic true nature.”

I’m A Why

you do your best
to deny me but when
you can’t, you would rather
use me than see me

you don’t even know
you are not aware
of how much is denied me
already forever
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the body, the flesh
the flesh become word
the love of my own kind
her intimate touch, and

what I’ll have never,
well is it offset
by what I do have…
and just what is that?
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rejection by children?
gaslighting my past?
shunning me, shutting me
outside my group?

you pigs called “big men”
I am not like you
though cursed with your flesh
my heart never yours
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and you princesses, women
my soul…same as yours
but my body a charnel house,
nothing in common

locked out of inside
locked in from outside
why do I linger?
why…I’m a why