#trans-rite

[trans-rite]

Elevation First Night Divination

We begin every year by checking in with the ancestor helping spirits who have stepped up to tend the line, Sylvia Rivera, Marsha P. Johnson, and Leslie Feinberg. We use divination to seek their continued consent to participate in the rite, and ask if there’s anything particular they want or need from us this year.

Earlier today, Alder drew a card from Cristy Road’s Next World Tarot and got the Ace of Swords instead of the Ace of Cups, which we’ve gotten in previous years. Extrapolation from this to come.

This year, we started by asking all of them if they wanted to participate in the ritual this year, and all of them said “YES.” We asked them what they needed from us this year, and Sylvia instructed “WELLNESS” and Marsha offered “LOVE.” Only Marsha told us something that she wanted that we didn’t give her last year, which was “FAMILY,” and when we asked Sylvia if we’d found the right candy for her, she answered “YES, LOVE.” (She had asked for candy on the altar last year and we had guessed dulce de ajonjoli.)

In our personal Elevation Rite practice, we also work with our ancestor spirit Agdistis, and we asked them the same questions. They offered, “TAKE COURAGE.” They are also still interested in participating and want the same types of offerings they’ve wanted in the past, so if working with them is part of your practice, we have a green light.

We ended by asking if there was anybody that we’d left out that should be included, and a spirit presented themself asking to be added to the list of our beloved dead and elevated with our ancestors. They said that their name was Gigi and they were from North Korea, but that they didn’t want to tell any more of their story. We’ve added Gigi to the list. May their memory be a blessing – may they rest in power – may they never thirst.

Take courage, comrades. Action is the antidote to despair. Here we go.

- Rocket

[flamingkorybante]

Hail to the Breaking Point

Hail to the breaking point and

Hail to the building point, my friends.

 Hail to where it ends, and again, always, first and last,

In the waking rejoin – Hail to where it begins.

 Up the godawful trans punks,

Raise a cup of hot coffee in hands that rattle and funk –

Raise it to the black-out white-out warrior freakout,

The way it picks you up and shakes you,

Leaves no reserves and takes you,

The balls-out point that breaks you – hail!

 To the breaking point, the anointing ache, the fight,

The broken shot glass in the street,

The holy smoke and gas billowing from your stomping feet,

The stoking red and blue lights that whirl

That hurl the sandblast clarity to shimmer on the pavement like heat – hail!

 To the surrender, to the possession

By the gods of fire and war,

To the holy fission in your plucked-string core that fills you bloodthirsty,

Fills you to bursting here, and on the dance floor,

As their vessels, as their hands, in their name,

Under the breakers and dreaming of the sands of an unreachable shore –

Surrender, surrender, burn and crash and

Leave not even an ember – not even ash.

 Hail to the riot and the smashed cruiser windshields,

the flowering bruise and towering cry – it ends with us – it ends tonight.

 Hail to the light of the precincts in flames

And the names of the murdered that you recite

Into the mouthpiece of an NYPD long-range acoustic device:

 Monica Loera,

Jasmine Sierra,

Demarkes Stansberry, Keyonna Blakeney,

Mercedes Successful, Brandi Bledsoe,

Dee Wigham,

Quartney Davia Dawsonn-Yochum,

Cristol Edmonds,

Nino Acox Jackson,

Jazz Alford, Noonie Norwood,

Reecey Walker, Kayden Clarke,

Goddess Diamond,

Amos Beede,

Erykah Tijerina, T.T.,

Rae’Lynn Thomas,

Deeniquia Dodds,

Veronica Banks Cano,

Maya Young,

Kendarie/Kandicee Johnson,

Shante Thompson,

Skye Mockabee,

We will push back the dawn

For as long as this endless list goes on.

 Hail to the breaking point.

 Hail to the building point,

The holding point,

The earthshipbuilding counterpoint.

 Hail to another cup of coffee,

Passed from hand to hand softly around the circle in our great hall,

Quiet words, open silences, time enough to breathe it in and say it all.

 Hail to the pile of quilts, to what we build, to what we rebuild,

To the gild of sunlight on the nuclear frost

We can see through the window, but here on the pillow

Are you and them and me,

Tangled fingers,

No fear,

Stretching branches of the kind of tree that clings on the cliffside, my dears,

The tree the blossoms in precarity.

 Hail to our solar grid,

Our squat wood stove with its creaky lid,

Hail to your hands on my hands as we knead the dough for a loaf of bread because oh,

Here come the kids.

Hail to the building point.

 Hail to the building point, the silver wellpoint,

The old tools, the new tools, the semiprecious jewels of baby fruits,

Tucked under leaves and just starting to wake up

As we check the hoses on our gray water setup.

 Hail to our scars, the place

Where my eyebrow didn’t grow back,

Hail to our flashbacks, our comebacks, our wolf pack,

Our north stars.

 Hail!

To the coffee dashed in the sneer of a cop and hail!

To the coffee poured around our firelit table. Hail!

To the full stop and hail!

To the pause, the pause as we’re able. Hail!

To no tomorrow and hail!

To tomorrow.

Hail!

To the armlinked screaming chorus and hail!

To singing until we’re flowing and overflowing and hoarse and hail!

To the tenderness of unreserved force and hail!

To the afterglow that will restore us and hail!

Hail,

Hail to next year in the forest.