LCHB (for Eric)

December 20, 2014 § Leave a comment

I absolutely love having a beard. Even on the days when I want to shave it off because life is just too fucking hard… I love that I can go through a period of shaving it off & then the time comes to let it grow out again and I have to face down all of my fears and my worries… that I will lose friends, work, a place to rent… you know, I lose friends anyway – friends that freak out that I can grow beard, friends that don’t want anything to do with me when I look perfectly normal. Do you smell a whiff of defensive righteousness? That’s right…

I loved that I freaked out all the transgendered kids in Portland. No, I wasn’t taking any hormones. No, I’m not transitioning… No, I don’t have a “preferred pronoun”. Guess what kids, I don’t need to fuck around with hormones and a surgeon’s knife to find my place in the world. I’m just a chick with the beard.

There’s a tribal elder up north that tells these amazing stories. There’s one that he tells annually – it takes four days to tell it. It’s a massive potluck gathering. One of his stories is about how his tribe had 72 different delineations of gender identity…

There’s a tribe in the Amazon that has over 200 delineations of gender.

Why the fuck should I have to present within the parameters of this binary system? It looks pretty soul sucking to me… I had a father that constantly harped on me about my weight and my figure. I had a mother who repeatedly showed me how to wear make up because my face was unfashionably round. I would sit in front of that television and could feel myself getting uglier and fatter by the minute.

Huge portions of my young life were tied up in the pursuit of altering my appearance for the sake of attracting the opposite sex. I didn’t see them having to work so hard… and it didn’t appear to be working. I can’t begin to tell you how pissed off I was when I finally acquiesced to enroll in Job’s Daughters to satisfy my family’s love of our Mason lineage only to find out that I had to wear a whole series of excruciatingly uncomfortable dresses. They weren’t even that pretty. The boys join DeMolay and get to walk around with swords. Wtf?

I love having a beard.

I love that I constantly find myself looking into the eyes of children, and their questions are so big… I love that young bearded guy next to me at the coffee shop who stares down at his shuffling feet until I catch him and start chatting him up. Then he has to look me in the eyes… then he finds out that this world isn’t all that it appears to be. That there are things that he’s only ever heard of that actually walk around on two feet. That maybe there’s still room in this world for wonder. Maybe there’s still room in this world for magic.

I fucking love having a beard.


From ‘The Four Loves’ by C.S. Lewis

December 20, 2014 § Leave a comment

There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell. I believe that the most lawless and inordinate loves are less contrary to God’s will than a self-invited and self-protective lovelessness…We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as a way in which they should break, so be it. What I know about love and believe about love and giving ones heart began in this.

Oil of Spikenard (with excerpts from ‘Inoculated’)

December 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

Perhaps I shall grow cold with this

‘For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes…’

No more room for romantic speculations. . .
Perhaps I shall cloak my body in shining steel
with only my burning hand as an offering.


Come, Leda, Europa…

I am your daughter
I am a precious, sacred being
I don’t know how to carry this for you
And so I weep before the flame

The hand that you offer to my back
as the tears are streaming down my face…

Tell me, of the knowledge of a virus
That has lived for thousands of years
Tell me of the burden that so many have tried to carry
And now there are only a few

My burning hand
Meets my burning cunt
My burning heart
Meets no other

A deluge of broken men
The silent spaces
between their words
say so much…

A pack of hungry beaten dogs
That would suckle and tear at my breasts
Wanting as much as they could get away with
Walking away from the empty shell
they would leave behind

Just as they were…
Stripped of their own, then
Handed a power that wasn’t theirs
That little scrap of wildness
Tossed back into the forest.

We did this to them.

Here I stand, with beard and breast
A little piece of what they are
And the flesh they wish to consume
Objectified, yes. But to what end?


Perhaps I shall grow cold with this
Perhaps I, too, should toss
that little scrap of wildness
Back into the forest

Come, Wilgefortis, Mary…

Mother, I am your daughter
A sacred precious being
How can I carry this for you?
My heart weeps at the weight of it.

‘Do something different’, she said…

I am Jack’s severed foreskin,
abandoned in some wild forest
Removed for the betterment
of his health and well-being.
Removed for his domestication.

I am Jack’s severed foreskin
Floating like a spirit
through the trees and the moss
Waiting to be called back home
Waiting for him to come back home…

The story goes that, upon his circumcision,
The foreskin of Jesus Christ our Lord & Savior
Was hidden away in a precious alabaster jar
of spikenard oil

It was on the night before his crucifixion
That Mary the Sinner came to him
With this same jar of oil.
She anointed his head and his feet
And rubbed the oil in with her hair…

‘…Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’ Matthew 13:15

I am standing on the edge
of this forest
Hair loosed to my shoulders
Bearded & bare breasted…
Jar in my hand,
Oil on my fingertips

Eyes open that I might see…
Mother, I am waiting.

Where Am I?

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