Author: CK

It’s messy up in here today. My mind is bouncing around with thoughts of gender and how it’s been defined over the centuries and how someone who today identifies as trans would have defined themselves a hundred years ago. Thoughts of parthenogenesis and FTM’s who carry pregnancies. Thoughts of eugenics and who gets to decide what genes are good to keep. Thoughts of Patriots and how that word is used and abused. And what if we could design a species that required no gender and knew no hate. Would that be a good thing or not?

I never wished for the ability to draw as much as I do since I started getting ink. My tats come to me in dreams and visions. I know their essence and meaning, if not their exact shape. I know their components and the significance of the symbols. I just don’t know how to transfer the vision from me to the artist. Right now, I’m working on a chimera. More than hybrid gender, I want the chimera to convey the facets of my soul. Pretty intense… I really wish I could draw.

For writing to be any good, there have to be feelings. The author has to feel what they’re writing; the reader must be able to touch those feelings and find their own. I haven’t been here, because the thing that wants to be written is something I don’t want to feel. I keep trying to get the words out, without actually touching certain things. It’s not working.

I love fresh flowers grown in my own yard or found while hiking wooded trails and meadows. I don’t usually take interest in floral prints, but this one says exactly what is on my mind today. One simple yet powerful moment lives in my heart, softening and opening the closed doors of my soul. I’m showing you my feminine side, the dreamer who balances the warrior and keeps him whole so that the armor does not crush us.
~Credit to the artist: Nolia Frances Roehing circa 1920~

You are beauty to me. The thought of you relaxes my face into smile, your image opening my heart in wonder, in joy, in gratitude.

Your name, in my voice, pushes open this space, moving aside all our fears and excuses. My love, spoken aloud to the air, stretches across boundaries, visible and not. Harmonic phonation, carries intent through this space, the pulsing power of words forms waves of hope and possibility. Feel me. Hear me. Know me. I’m coming for you.

I need to paint sunshine outside your window, encourage you to open, the way the very sight of you opens every part of me. I need to stir the birdsong, feed you on this music, while I hunger for your words. I need to draw the lightning, bright flash amidst the downpour, revealing me where I stand.
Here.
The rain pounds sand into mud, washing foundation away from your feet, sucking you in. We’re surprised by this deluge, another reminder of our constant battle not to drown before the sun returns.
Here.
Desert is a land of extremes; rain never comes as a gentle mist. Drink in great gulping gasps before it’s gone. This torrent is all we get, before the sun returns in hot bright glory. We’re made for this. We belong.
Here.
We know how to send our roots down deep, hang on through the monsoon, find life during drought. We know to make use of every detail; we dare not waste one opportunity. This is the land of survivors. We are.
Here.
When soaking rain leaves you too heavy to move, just open your eyes. Wait with me for that magic paintbrush flicking color across this barren landscape, like stardust across the sky. For opportunity.
Here.

Testing

The brisk morning air chilled my lungs and urged me a little quicker across the rocks and sand.  Up on the rise, I saw a balloonist readying for launch.  The silk was fierce with streaks of black, red, orange and yellow.  The basket, a carefully woven box of comfort and protection, was roomy enough for four or more.  “Nice balloon” I offered, standing safely out of the way.  She beamed with the simple praise and asked me to ride along.

While the pilot and her friend checked their gear and attended the flames pushing hot air into the sack, I watched a magnificent volcano form in the air.   I eagerly climbed aboard when they called, thrilled that they were sharing their adventure with me.

As we flew across the mesa and up the river valley, the friend explained all the details about flying.  Through her words, the mysterious magic of flight became comprehensive instructions that even I could follow.  The magic was the story teller’s ability to make the learning as much an adventure as breezing over the landscape.

Wow!  I could really do this, I realized.  Devouring every resource I could find, pestering every pilot I knew, I began the steps to get my own license.  Soon I will be flying over this mesa!  Great energy and enthusiasm infected all of my conversations.  I soon found myself with a wealth of new friends, from all walks of life, drawn to the life changing force those gals had shared with me.

While preparing for my first flight, a shadow caught my eye.  The chamisa hinted at movement in opposition to the air.  A shape seemed familiar, but I couldn’t be sure.  Reaching in my pocket, my fingers found and tossed a token through the air.  If I was right about this shadow, the token would be claimed.

Silence stilled the insects, the birds and lizards.  Everyone waited for the confirmation.  The chamisa moved ever so slightly as shadow became form.  I held my breath as coyote lifted the token between her teeth and walked toward where I stood, next to my new balloon.  She stopped a few feet away and stood there staring at me.  It seemed like an eternity and coyote’s features barely expressed the thoughts within.  Her fur laid easily across her back, body poised and ready, but not rigid.  No sound came to me from her throat.

Finally, she came closer to where I’d waited as still and quiet as the moon, feeling equally out of place in this bright morning of unexpected possibilities.  Coyote stopped, just out of reach, when my arm lifted as though I’d touch her shoulder.  I wanted to let her rest that proud muzzle in my hand.  I wanted us to remember.  Coyote warily dropped the token at my feet and sat, watching.  I lifted our peace offering from the sand, returning the charm safely to my pocket.

Our last parting was angry and loud, barking and stomping off in our separate ways.  That was over a year ago.  Since then, you might have believed we’d never existed, mere thoughts that our minds had imagined.  Now, this ghost stood before me forcing our minds to accept what our souls always knew.  We were very real.

Laying one hand on the basket and holding the other open to the sky, I invited Coyote to join me.  I wanted her to be part of these dreams coming true.  Like two pups we tousled, nipped, licked, chased, tackled and finally curled around each other.  I dared to trust the contented peace.

Coyote jumped in as I launched the balloon.  I rigged a step so she could enjoy the view with me.  Coyote accepted my pats on her back and closed her eyes while I scritched beneath her ears.  Still, her body never completely relaxed.  I began to wonder why she came back, if she would stay.  I began to question what I wanted the answers to be. The ravens were everywhere.  They’d strutted on the ground as I prepared for launch.  They followed us, calling, soaring across my vision and refusing to give guidance.  I felt like the elders were laughing while they watched the fool.

We sailed into hoodoo land and I marveled at the alien formations that nature imagined into reality.  Coyote began pacing around the bottom of the basket, her nails scraping the floor as her agitation increased.  My efforts to calm her completely in vain, I stood back and watched the storm approach.

Leaping onto the step meant to give her joy, Coyote pushed off the rim of the basket and out into nothingness.  Form became shadow absorbed by the sky, invisible once again.

Reacting to the dangerous tipping, I was too late reaching for the fire that would breathe life back into my sinking balloon.  Gravity stole the crown from altitude.  My balloon and I crashed against those bizarre rocks and I sat stunned into silence.

Wedged in a gap between two of those melted cones, I just watched the clouds for a while.  Raven came and sat on the peak, back turned to me.  When she did turn to face me, she gave a single call then flew up to the sky.

Yes, dammit!  I’m up.  I’m moving.  I’ll make the repairs.  This dream is mine.  I claim this future that I see.  And now, I’ve learned some things must stay behind.

In your arms, I am safe and warm. I don’t think about the world out there, what I should be doing, what I should be wearing, who or what I should be. I don’t even think at all. I just am.

I am warm. I am safe. I am loved.

In your arms I am all these things. Your body blocks out every stressor, every memory, every flinch, cringe, shrinking into invisibility reflex. I just relax.

I relax. I am.

In your arms there is no shivering in the tiny closet behind the water pipes. There is no fear for who will find me, who will drag me from my hiding place. What will happen when they do.

I am safe.

In your arms I am safe. There is no drunken ranting, screaming tirade raining down upon this small child. There is no one blaming me for what I can’t even name. In your arms I know quiet.

In your arms there is no slapping, hitting, belting, no violin flying across the room. There is no crashing and slamming of every thing that I own into that metal trash can. No shivering in the driveway watching a pool of vomit seep into clothes.

I am quiet. I am safe. I am warm.

In your arms I breathe. Lungs expand, blood awakens thawing frozen extremities, circling down, up, around and around my body. I move, stretch. Alive with wonder, I reach and I find you.

I breathe life.

I reach and find soft flesh, yours. Your hands touching me feel good, right. My mouth moves against yours, lips caressing, pulling, sucking. Tongue tasting, teeth claiming. Hunger awakens, I reach for more.

I live, breathe, hunger, reach.

I reach and find myself. Stretching past conformity into possibility. Excitement builds and I reach out past your arms, breaking into the world, free for the first time. I find and claim myself.

I claim myself.

You try to keep me safe in your arms, warn me of hidden motives in every friend that I meet. Warn me that I’ll get hurt, be made a fool of. Your fears grasp at my eager limbs, pulling me back to your safety. Who are you trying to keep safe? Me? or you?

I escape.

I am no longer containable, no longer a victim in need of shelter. I am strong, confident and ready to face the world on my terms, with my definitions and my identity.

I escape. I am ready. I am strong.
Let me go.

Bright Blessings on this winter day, may love’s flame warm your heart.
A gift of words:

Winter is the time of dark
    of resting
        and connecting

As we settle in
    earth’s gentle womb
        she sees the emptiness
            of our soul

We question how we came to be
    Here
        in this place
            where we cannot see

Ages of longing have failed to fill
    Holes
        left in our hearts
            wounds unhealed
            a yawning abyss

This place of seeming end
    is not

Holding us here
    ‘neath winter’s cold
        she readies us
            to launch again
            into the sun warmed sky

Trust in her darkness
    as we breathe
        infinite truth
            deep
                into our soul

Listen
    to her wisdom
        let her heal
        and feed us

She’ll send wolf
    to find our lost parts
        and return us
            whole
            again

Breathe the infinite
    stirring our soul
        igniting our voice

Feel sun
    reclaim the sky
        lifting us
        on warming air

Turning, turning
higher still

Speaking truth
    releasing wisdom
        spiraling up
            out
                into the infinite
                    where all are one
                        and all
                            are whole