Thoughts

Dashing to the finish line.

2009-01-14T20:59:00.009-07:00

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I thought I had found something real and now I realized what I had found was the same old place I started from but with new wisdom. I know now that what I had found was something more valuable than I could ever tell him thanks for. In the midst of my sadness right now I have found the strength to start over and accept the loss. I would love to hear a soft word or touch that he once have given but his sorrows leave no room for me in his world and that is the story of most , too brusied to love past the hurt or hold on to a touch of love enough to see as a saving grace that doesn't carry disdain or judgement but patience and strength to help him win the race. But I am not the one and I don't carry the love he needs and he doesn't have the heart to love me enough and so it shall be without hard feelings just two simple words Good Bye and a time to reflect at the lessons learned.
I would be a lie if I said that I don't lday down and cry at night and feel more sad that he doesn't seem to be moved , affected or concerned. But even in the washing I am becoming stronger. There are so many qualities about him that I hope oneday some woman will be able to receive. When we first met he caught me off gaurd because I had no intentions of finding love. It was beautiful to have a man look at me in amazement and ask questions to explore me. Risking so much when that was not his nature just to pursue the heart he once had and the joy of what he know love could be. He is amazing and I hope oneday he will see that he is not a failure, he is a King with a dream and vision, ideas and focus that few will see. Dark nights kiss gorgeous days and even a King had to lay in the hay but his name give us grace. Perhaps oneday he will see that my love and support was because I can see the dream and future he holds.
But those days of infinite possibilities and I miss you have been replaced by the failures we believe we have accomplished. We have accepted that the other knows the heart of the other; but when we look into each other's eyes is it love or disdain that is shown. For my part I am sorry for each time I ever took for granted it was alright to be someone I am not for all the pain I now hold in my heart my love has not changed and it is a shame that I would not say I love you as I knew to do because everyone needs to know, Lord knows I do. How often we forget the power of love but when it races pass you and you lack the endurance to chase it, you quickly rembember the warmth of its's embrace.
I wish that was able to express that the storm that he is dancing with;isn't forever and the measure of a man is how he responds and determines the stay in the wilderness. His worth is determined in the way he holds his head and the one way loves for another, no man walks alone...

Or do we walk alone becuase right now I have never felt so alone. Even as I write all this and accept his need for pride,happines and a sense of self worth and accomplishment, it has left me isolated,lonely and desiring to hear the words I love you, I miss you, you are beautiful and how much he values the things that I am doing. I miss these things not because I am chasing the dreams of others but it is because it is what I have always needed more than the big house..this is me and what I need. I hear more of what I need to change , what I could work on and how I need to not take it personal that I cannot control the tears that want to flow and if he only knew that I hate to cry, feel weak or sad .
But as I understand and accept that it isn't personal does he accept or understand that my pain , my struggles my needs or should i just accept that I have no priority in the windfall of uncontrollable change for a man that needs order. And in the end does the ends justify the means if it makes him a better man. I would have to say yes and learn to be unselfish and accept.
Eventhough my heart is breaking as I feel I am giving my all it is more important to love enough to let go of young girl dreams of having a man say to me that I am enough and how beautiful I am. Young girls dream in color and fantasies that he will feel honored to give just as much as me, the reality love is selfish and I have to concede had I learned that lesson years ago my heart would not slowly bleed.

Instead I have given and given even when told and shown that it was time to let go and dash away to the finish line. I have stayed to late walking away emotionally broke, drained, cold of heart and full of disdain. And no he will never say I should have made a change or asked her to stay because he had nothing to offer her because he was battling his own pain and she wasn't enough to make him to see beyond it or worth it to love unselfishly or maybe it was me who couldn't see just how much his heart bleeds at the things he has lost and..i wasn't even worth the sacrifice..and how his heart must swell , yell and blister that he took the chance on me.

And once again i walk away with gifts in hand but less than my heart to part , the same song and dance except this time I can say that my heart is finally broken, broken to an extent that it can not mend, but i can not say it is his fault , I can still see gentleness in his eyes . it is mine and i am finally done and can let go of love ..she was never mine. This little girl has finally learned that hurt and pain are not always intentional and can even make you grow. And this is my lesson learned as I cross the finish line.

Dash (early hours)

2009-01-11T10:42:00.003-07:00

9:59am

It is in the early hours that I get to be alone. There are no voices calling for me , demanding my time , presence or energy. The only thing that summons me is me. I lay in the bed contemplating what I should do; the silence in the room is too noisy and filled with gloom. Odd: that silence becomes cumbersome because all of my thoughts are dashing to the front of my mind competing for my time in solace. It is in these hours that I should be making the most of some quality time and enjoy myself. This is when I discover that I don't know how and I become politely envious of those who do. I can not focus and gets things done , cannot be bored and do nothing , instead my mind runs thoughts like a hamster on a wheel over and over until when can spill out enough for me to catch and clean the mess....is this the beginning of insanity

She sits in her stoop and plays with her hair, twisting locs into loop
Children laugh at her for that’s all she does all day...they call her the lady in the shoe
some wonder how long she will remain and is this truly all she will do
but when all are sleep , she takes a peak out the window to see and begins her dash to freedom.
Her luggage is packed and she's not sure when will be back
She's adorned in hues of purple and blue and new shade of red; something she can get used to
Where will she go this time?
Will she dance with the weave makers; perhaps become a basket maker
Her legs are strong she's been moving so long when no one can see dashing in and out of the darkness and shadows, she'll stand still this time and sift the sands for pearls
There has to be a rare black one there, maybe this time he'll be there and the can search together
So much to do , so much to do
She'll ride the waves of salty waters and return back as a dusty daughter
Dawn breaks and she must get back, so many things to unpack
In her window she sits twisting her locs
Staring out at tainted innocence wondering if they have ever truly lived

I think of old nursery rhymes and those that seem to be so despondent to life in the early hours. Perhaps it is just me but there seems to be a freedom of will that I can never see. That grasp on life in a way that others can never just let be. And in the early hours while thoughts run frantically perhaps I should just take a bag and pack to begin a journey. The idea of resting is grand but in honesty we have never been friends in the traditional sense.
Now I reflect back to an imaginative wild child with unique perspective and a will to be free, I have somehow become the woman in the window mundane and routine and alive in memories as analyzes the world in her mind.

As the early hours beckon me, I think I should let the thoughts run free without fear and pull out my good running shoes and see where they lead me.
10:23am

The Dash

2009-01-09T09:42:00.008-07:00

For those that are reading, by now you know that I do not edit or make changes. I write in the stream of my thoughts and just like life there is not an edit, rewind and undo button. If there were such a thing I would purchased that years ago. But instead life happens in the details and between the dashes of life and death...so this post is a start to deconstructing and reconstructing the woman I know as me.

Jan 9th 2009

The ending of year and the start to another…I have always lived by the details that life presents. I look at as the mourner who stares at the tombstone of the one they loved; the mourner doesn’t concentrate on the dates but that dash in between. It is that dash that embodies our lives of memories and moments of truth , joys and sadness . That marker in the ground is made bold by the dash. Death is not the only dash in our lives but the markers of our lives are each day. Jan 9-2008 – Jan 9-2009 . The dash of a year and what are the details that another , myself, lover, family and friends will play in the highlight reel, most importantly what will be I be mentally reviewing?

I spoke with my Father and learned something new this year (others may have known-those that choose to dig deeper and see my heart). I live my life by the essence of failure. She works her hands around the peaks and swims in the bed of my tears, her grasp is strong and tight and steps with heavy laden boots in the valley of darkness that entrenches the markers of my life. I’ve always enjoyed her kisses and thought of them as sweet touches of reality that keep me rooted and grounded , so sweet I felt her warmth touching me and her reality gave me the inspiration to touch others with cheer and rays of positive growth.

But now I feel lonely and deceived. The touch of failure wasn’t so sweet and the reality is now swallowing me whole. She is my moment of truth, she is my dash: failure and I am not sure we know how to part because she wears so many shades that I wear so well. I wrapped my warm creamy skin in the strong richest hue black embolden by fear with deep shades of mahogany guilt and ebony regret and together , shedding them leaves me naked and exposed and running to new shades that may not blend as well .......and so life begins 9:50 am - dash of whenever I end the relationship of whom I have been caressing as my friend

Self Discovery

2008-04-15T17:19:00.015-06:00

Many nights I lay awake praying to the creator about the journey my life has taken. Bruises and scars that I have are yet to be revealed to anyone that I feel understands. And now at this point in my life I have stopped looking for the love and acceptance, understanding. I search now for self discovery and solutions. Mostly since I have not discovered many of the things that shape my soul. I wonder why Jeremiah wept the way he did, it had to be more than the city around him, perhaps there was some sorrow so deep that he could not bear to bring it to memory. Yes much like others I am constantly spinning my axis to the nexus of understanding of who I am. The more you know the less you understand.
The beauty of a creative mind over thirty is that ignorance is no longer romance. So my soul bleeds on anything that will allow the ink to be received. Today as the wind blows she runs her hands across my soul and I realize that life leaves us chasing the kiss of the wind. Our bodies left cold from her disappearance.
I have been chasing after that invisible kiss. Relationships bring bliss that feels like the strength of the wind blown kiss. What they do in reality is teach you who you are. My solution to those of us that are now in relationships: Patience and strength , pray readily for the two. If you do they will ride you through the force , anger , beauty and more of love.
Patience will remind you that your all is good enough and no man or woman can take that away from. strength will remind you that power is yours and only you allow it to be given away. I am discovering that I have given away too much of my power to those that didn't deserve while I sat by patiently for the word that he wasn't the one. I should have had more strength to trust that I was strong enough to know that my instincts were right, he wasn't the one and if I was patient with myself he would arrive. All the acceptance and understanding doesn't mean anything without patience and strength , I have loved a man or two that held a quality or two but never encompassed the entire package and perhaps neither did i for him. And my discovery today is that one quality does and will outweigh another. Subtracting one from the equation lessens the strength of the soul.
And I am writing: random, rambling and thoughts because I am a rambling, random thoughtful person on a path that is ordered but I somehow lost the ability to clearly read the map. I start over and try my best to get back on track.
Get naked. Start over, can't crawl into the womb but I can shed off the clothes to release myself of the burden of people's expectations in relationships. Anyone who so desire can do the same. Learn who you are, for who we are is that beautiful naked self. We bring that person hoping to meet another that is on the same path. And nakedness is so beautiful. When Adam first saw Eve he didn't noticed her cellulite that slightly decorated her thigh, or the bulge in her belly. He didn't care about who she was before or the mistakes of yesterday when she trusted another's will and not his, not her man. He never made mention of the grave sin that she made, he never criticized, he stood by her side. She was him and he knew her flaws, hubris and all She was his wife his love and his mate. He accepted and love her to such a degree that he would disobey the greatest and only Creator. This man that got to walk in the cool of the garden with the one most are seeking to find. Love, true love is just that bad. It supersedes the negative, outlives the pain of yesterday, forgets that he or she made a mistake. Why? Because on the path to self discovery I've learned that Love is rooted in patience and strength. And no matter who I was yesterday the woman I am today in my most raw, exposed naked form is FLAWLESS to the one who is strong enough to stand and be patient enough to love my art.

So the next time I run into the arms of my man I have to ask how strong he is and the temperance of his patience because I am on a path of self discovery and that may cause me to often run naked. I hope he loves me hard enough to accept and understand.

Anger Love and Walls

2008-03-24T01:43:00.009-06:00

I've talked and talked enough
Listening becomes a chore and words that once soothed my ebony skin begin to feel blue black sin.
I Love you yet the words I hear make e fear that we have reached the end. yes I understand that tears are healing for the soul and weeping words from the lips gives balm o wounds that need not be, but yet at the end of sipping I feel empty, needing to empty my bladder of the barrage of chatter that makes me see Anger not love and the walls brace my heart and I resolve that love and anger have the same mother and are never independent of each other.

Guilt and shame are making Love wildly while chasing the passion f anger and love. Words from the past dance like stars born of cosmic collisions and it becomes clear that ones vision of what happiness and joy must be is always born out of chaos and anger and shine brilliant from heavens as a child lays down and gazes at the sky from the dust of the earth. And it makes me wonder from birth could be possible to erase the gene of hurt and see that collision just as heavenly as the creator imagined. Instead I see anger at all of the particles that are bumping into me and the reality is that while it is all meant to be heavenly it feels like hell and I have fallen the eight time past creation into destruction and my 4 point axis of creativity is forgone into a consuming squall. And yes in my eyes he sees anger and in his heart there is love that can climb this wall.

It is amazing that as much as we talk of love we talk little of the anger that accompanies it until the relationship is over. But that is not true. I am finding myself in the position of a solid relationship and that I can some days recover the walls that have embraced the chambers of my heart. And as soon as I hear certain themes I retreat and need time to process and think because my reactionary causes are filled with anger disappointment and fear. I fear that letting someone close is another heartbreak waiting to happen. So instead I smile and pretend that in the end it really doesn't matter because the anger comes when it has ended and that fortifies the walls that I build. But unlike most I am too polite and suppress the anger that I feel and smile to conceal or concede to please and beneath the surface she lies beneath in a red sea of flames and while I love the anger is one in the same.

And no this isn't the best piece of I've ever written but I am angry tonight and this is what I had to spit out while saying nothing. Tomorrow I will smile and nod as if nothing has happen and the words exchanged were built up out of a reaction to stress. I will justify the wrath and the pain inflicted me and the other as an out of character feat and realize the only bit of insanity is that I can not allow myself to feel angry long enough to feel what love is like without the support of walls.

Random Thoughts marching on

2008-03-06T23:25:00.004-07:00

It is a cold winter night in the rocky mountains. Living here has not changed the impact of he frigid winds mother nature so calmly blows between her warm lips. I cannot decide where to lay my head in between his arms, near the fireplace or on the space of floor looking up at my ceiling that reveals the beauty of the night sky from my skylights. It is a new story inked on the same paper yet a fresh page, nothing really changes. Just like the cycle of cold winds; the song and dance of love, change and harmony plays in and out of tune, depending on the writer the lyrics will complement or deny the rhythm.

SO here I am still pondering him or the floor, how classical will the melody be is this an enduring score? How many have said that they enjoyed the masterpiece without seeing the art of the details, how keen is his eye. Gently and warm he sleeps and inside my spirit weeps unable to afford another tear in the fabric of the peace this woman keeps, so at a distance I shall keep them away but in my bed he sleeps and one arm reaches for the floor and the other around his waist it keeps.

And I yearn for the frigid night for it is all that I know but the melody has changed and the story becomes warm and now I turn to close the window to keep the whisper of the rigid night at bay. In what was once my bed we now lay and we write new lines on the same paper of the same story but a different page worn, weathered and frayed. My eyes unable to keep sharp like the thoughts racing swiftly in my mind, I pull my tired body between the love and comfort of his thighs destined to write new lines.

Contemplation

2008-03-06T13:06:00.004-07:00

It has nearly been a year since I have touched this blog. It feels as if most things in my life have been smeared by fog and writing has not provided the serene clarity it once gave. But on this day I call back to her and ask for the tranquility she always saves just for me.

She is sweet and somber
I call to her and she responds with eyes of wisdom
and offers her body to me as my pad and my letters dress her gently
I run out of ink while pouring out my soul and she weeps to refill my pen
I apologize for the neglect and she kisses me telling me to forget she is always here
And in that moment I confess once more to her, and inside I die as I reflect what took so long for me to remember her sweet smell.
She lays me down gently in her papyrus arms and I curl up like hieroglyphics on her walls
I ink my story stronger than the grains of sand before , my words permanently sown on her henna skin.
She whimpers as I tell her the news of the days before I used her, she frowns in jealousy of the comfort another gave in her place.
I stroke her face and comfort her letting her know that no one can hear my soul the way she does, she is the keeper of my words and her womb receives me tightly.
And as I use her as my scroll she bleeds for my whisper and I am reminded just how much I missed her.
Forgone to long I sing to her my lullaby and and promise to caress her daily, she needs me and I need her, she is the mother and keeper of my words.

Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye- H. Jackson Brown Sr.

2007-05-21T14:24:00.001-06:00

This morning I smiled. My body was sore and tired. Yet this morning my spirit rejoiced and my situation and circumstance remained the same.
Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye- H. Jackson Brown Sr.
Over the weeks I had been sullen in my soul. It seemed like all the salt that flavored my spirit was depleted. Although many would argue age is irrelevant I hold fast to the fact that at the age I am; now 31, many of the issues I am having I should have out grown. To my eyes my situation was helpless and hopeless and I felt most at peace when I lay down.
For those of you who have no idea what can make someone so restless imagine having someone else depend on you for everything and have nothing to provide. Having to look down at my three angels and not have the means to make them soar is the most hurtful experience I can endure. And no childbirth (even my 8lb plus Alaoni) without meds does not compare.
It is a different type of pain. The pain of feeling like your entire life is a lie. I don’t curse because I can’t justify telling my children not to curse if I do. I am not the parent who says do what I say and not what I do. I hated that growing up. I have no legal grounds like the “law says drinking is for 21 and older. So I made the choice not to curse. That is who I am, I want to be a model parent, and I want to be the woman I want my girls to be. But I had been feeling like the biggest liar/hypocrite. How could I tell them to handle their own, they needed no one but God and here I was standing on the verge of sanity trying to balance rent, car, gas groceries and a belief that God was upset with me. Because he obviously isn’t seeing I am not like other women, I don’t possess the same strength I was losing it. And each day I was becoming more sullen, more bills, this was not my life, didn’t someone get the plan I created. I never said I would be broke single and more alone, I have been apologizing to God everyday for whatever mistakes I had made and begged for reprieve.
See I am that rare woman (and yes we all say it and we all mean it lol) who believes that my talk should match my walk.
I believe that I am endowed with everything I need mentally to endure every storm that is presented.
I believe that I my gifts are song, wisdom and discernment and teaching, therefore it is my responsibility to give and less to receive. I have difficulty receiving.
I am loving and faithful to my family and the ones I take in as friends...and it takes a lot for me to call one friend, I am subtlety distinct with that line of connection.
I have been deeply hurt and my fear of rejection makes it even harder for me to accept others into my heart.
I firmly believed I was meant to have the ideal relationship, friendship companionship and family. I tried for almost 8years and was devastated to lose it all.
So in a mini nutshell there I am and over the weeks it appeared as if my whole life was a lie.
I had no way of figuring my out of my financial mess.
I felt I had no way to bless anyone else, and I refused to accept help, obviously my wisdom was lacking.
I had been arguing with my parents and had no relationships with most in my family except my sister 1 of 4 and a brother. Get the picture.
Obviously I am very single with two children’s fathers evident my discernment was gone. And currently I can say that I don’t have anyone in my life that can see what beauty I possess, makes any woman question herself at times. Even those that say single is gift..trust me I do feel that way. Can’t honestly say they don’t experience loneliness at times. I suppose that is where I was as I was going through I missed having that person next to you assuring you how special you are how it is going to be ok. Instead I had the empty reflection of a cell phone with an occasional bill collector.
All this to say I was ready to give up until I heard the words I was seconds away from death.
Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye- H. Jackson Brown Sr.
And something snapped. I pulled what was in my heart and held on to it. My situation was not changing. I don’t have any prospects waiting to tell me how I am a rare find. But I will hold on to fact I am human and will have periods of loneliness and that is normal. Being seconds from death and facing it alone I didn’t think of my lack of relationship(s). I thought about how I want to live my imperfect life and be the imperfect woman who is still faithful and loyal to her family, endowed with wonderful gifts and is complicated beyond belief but likes to pretend she is simple. My phone still lights up with a bill collector but I smile that today God has allowed me another day to find my way. In my heart I knew it along, my eyes just were blinded from tears.

Free

2007-04-26T14:42:00.000-06:00

It has been awhile for the poetry. Little rough but as we know I write it, no edits. What comes out of the mind seeps on the pages. Guess this one of the two that needed to come out.

Free

I just need an evening to unwind
Forget the pressures of the mind
I’d like a moment to forget there is more than just me weighing on my shoulders
I’d like the time to forget that I am a woman of responsibility

Tonight I want to be free, a free spirit and bird without boundaries
Free to give to that someone completely without the reality of what is
Just once to know what it is, is what is right here and right now

I’d like to make love without being in love, only in love with the beauty of the moment with you.
I want to be free without complications and explanations
I want to know that just for this one time you could be set free if only in my mind,
you could swim the Nile and I’d run free naked and unashamed in your land
I’d love to be free
Free of thought
Overwhelmed with exploration
Free to remember the truth of
Passion
Embraces
Contentment and serenity
For once an evening to just be free and say don’t leave
Free to let go and dream

Hope, expectations and reality

2007-04-15T10:46:00.000-06:00

My soul bleeds across the page that I write.
I have been praying for many nights as of late. Deciphering the pages of my life. It has been some of the hardest pages of any book that I have ever had to read. I would consider myself to be an avid reader, but it is much easier to read fiction or text books then it is to read your own story. If you have read any of my other entries than you have a snapshot into the fragmented story of my life. I suggest that is fragmented because they are only words, verbal paintings, images called the minute details life creates and that I choose to unfold. As I have been reading my story I realize that I need to breathe but I don’t know how.

As much as I share, I share nothing, I share examples and stories but my raw emotions are more than I can ever compose or even know how to ink. Simply fragments and not sure I know who to be whole.

In a chapter of my fragmented life I hurt someone dearly. I must apologize to my daughter.

My youngest seed is so beautiful. I prayed that she should have the spirit of courage and strength because her mother was weak and chose a father for her that would not be able to show her how wonderful she is. I prayed for that gift because I know what it is like to not feel that your Father truly loves you or dotes on you as other girls. And 31 years later it taints every aspect of your life. That is the only aspect of me I’ll share with that one. Reading my story has been intense. But necessary if I am to build my daughters into the women I want them to be or I want to be for myself.

As women we take on so much heartache and grief without remorse or resources to reinforce the strength we deplete. So to all that I love please remember the stories of our lives no matter how painful are necessary for another to become stronger. While I apologize to my daughters I am grateful that I have the scarring to remind them of the beauty of love and how precious and unique they are. Somewhere along the lines of my story I forgot the value of my femininity. While it has been many years since I married and only once that I have loved I understand what it means to take time and heal. I almost made the mistake with my girls and settled with a man that I neither loved nor was compatible with but I felt like it was time to grow up and show them what society deems a family. But with age comes wisdom and I have matured enough to know I could never damage my Queens anymore than I have.
So my story continues and as I read I recognize the themes in my pages I now have respite in my life as a single mother. I used to think I needed love and a mate and now I realize my gifts and stories were planted for other reasons, I champion love and perhaps my experience will help others find the right words for their stories.

2007-03-26T18:46:00.000-06:00

Picture by Thomas Blackshear's Ebony Visions

Father
Your energy creates the femininity in your daughters
Your smile of approval illuminates the path that we walk

The strong hold of your hand is like the dam to the waters that beg to flood from our weary souls
The understanding that reverberates from your spirit gives acceptance to paths that your daughters are required to walk.

My Father how I look to your words for wisdom and life
I want to hear the fruit of your mouth, it is sweet and pure. In my eyes even your frailties are righteous and your utterances of experience are wisdom

My earthly creator I look to you to appreciate my beauty and grace. Your affirmation is greater than any man's approval. See my ear just like Job tests your words as the tongue tastes food.

I revere your humanity in my eyes you are my protector, the man who will teach me to love another man.
I pray you understand that the watering of my seeds lies in your ability to plant a good harvest in my soul.

Your influence in the lives of daughters in insurmountable whether present or absent. Your actions shape the lives of the women that will become your mates your friends and loves.

Men as your entertain the presence of women remember that their Father has helped to fashion the spirit you have. As you become fathers to daughters what are you encouraging in your daughter; will she stand strong and proud, can she weather any storm. Or will she seek the approval of men because she never received it in you, will she looked to men for understand and acceptance in any way she can since you weren't there. Teach her to be strong.
Father you are more important than you realize, take it from a woman with a Father.

On black consciousness

2007-03-13T00:24:00.000-06:00

Some thoughts since the last time I inked a piece of my soul:
This was sparked by a serious of events in my life, a recent study group I joined and bits and pieces of conversations with dear friends over the course of my life.

On black consciousness

I remember growing up this wild "so called" red bone, long thick haired, private school going girl in the "hood". I started in schools that made sure we as young black children knew that Ellis was more than a street name and that Dubois and Garvey were our legacy. “Our” national anthem was Lift Every Voice. With this pride I was set against a stage were the results of a slave mentality wrapped her hands around the youthful minds of inner city school kids, whom were never taught the truth of our laying the foundation to the red white and blue. So each time I spoke I had to defend my blackness because my words weren't prefaced with so called “how we talk”; words like ain’t and the infamous n word. My hue and hair suggested that I had been tainted. I dug in my heels and took the cloak of consciousness before I could spell it. My hero's were Malcolm SNCC, Angela and every slave that choose to be free and fight. If you were the won who dared cross my path and questioned my blackness be prepared to never cross that line again.
31 years, 3 kids, white university and very white corporate America, I reflect back on why I first loved the beauty of being ebony and me without cause for explanation or denigration of another. Or maybe it was leaving knowing I have to work twice as hard as my white counterparts. Or perhaps it was sitting in a room of African centered folks vomiting terms like; Yoruga, Anilis, Oshun, Maat and the destructive force of European dominance on ignorant socially climbing middle class black folks. Or maybe it was having to be centered out as the Only Christian in the room to which nods of shame and apologies for my faith. I drifted back to thinking what was it that made me become conscious and what did I hope to achieve. So once again I am back on the block defending who I am amongst my conscious African centered folks, and my folks that challenge my choice to acknowledge my strength is in my history.

Is there a point where self-love is embittered and too much?
Hell no, except when we are the only ones allowed to love the curves, the step in our walk and the blues to our songs. If I can walk the walk and talk the talk embrace your own stride. I refuse to tone mine down or put it on the back burner, as I would never ask anyone else to.
So I can be proud to be a woman of color it reminds me everyday that I have been blessed to come from a long line of history that has been welted into the backs of my forefathers and yet we never quit. We rose, we fought and we bled to see the infinite possibility that strives in me, so when I say I am proud to be me I mean every word I say. And I thank my ancestors that built the path that I travel and continue to carve as I go along the way by giving to others my story and strength. And I will never forget the call; I will triumphantly respond.

Is there a point when we attempt to identify God as a color to a detriment?
YES.
I sat alone defending Christianity as an authority. I am not. My views may seem radical but as real as they get. God said I would be known by many names, I have never known him to lie? So then why would I attempt to categorize him as a Euro centric tool used to manipulate weak black minds? Come on really is it that serious? Are we not able to see that a group of people Europeans; manipulated a gift larger than life to their own evil devices. And as we move forward can we not see that God, Jehovah, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu are all the same spoken in the language of the man/woman or else known as the receiver. The interpreter is the problem not the Creator; each faith articulates the same core medium, does that not spark a fire to say God never lies. It does in mine now what will you do? I cannot argue the principal of love it never changes and it is and has always been the greater lesson.
31 years deeper in the waters of life I can faithfully say that my bookshelf has not changed it has expanded. Angela takes her place next to my Bible who sits next to Amy Tan who playfully winks at the Iliad. I am proud of my thick hair that may be down, in head wrap straight or nappy. I love my full lips and golden skin. I am blessed to serve a God that has given me the wisdom to know that each man and woman has been created uniquely in the womb to serve a greater purpose, but ones purpose has different impacts just as the body has different limbs. There is none greater than the other. The head supports the neck, the arm and the shoulder and yet each one is named differently as they are only one of its kinds. We don't see the neck, head and leg as what they do in their respective functions first, we see them as What They Are; a neck, head and leg and we respectfully value them for what they do.
I am glad to be seen and would be prefer to be seen as that beautiful black woman who is appreciated for all that she offers and the colorful content of my character; but never forget what makes me beautiful is what makes me unique.

Heartfelt details of nakedness

2007-02-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

To those that may read this. It is not meant to be a reflection of perfection in writing. None of my entries are meant to be masterpeieces. They are written as they hit me and come out in a frenzy without hours of editing or tweaks.They are fresh and untamed and who I am. Please keep that in mind as you read. Much love and humility.

a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, Ecc3:6

In 2 days I will have been divorced for 6 years.

Perhaps that is why I have been keenly aware of all things.
I feel as if I am an old woman with a young face. But it is not my countenance that reflects age but my soul. My soul has aged seven times faster than I envisioned. Seven times we fall and get back up so says wisdom, perhaps I am one year shy of falling seven times to get back up.

a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,

So I found myself this weekend shopping enthusiastically (a leisure I most definitely detest). I ignored the fullness of my thighs and the rounding of my hips firmly grounded by a 3-degree circle of life that used to be a sexy reflection of black woman hood. I ignored the ever reality that I am now over thirty and not the tight 25 year old I used to be. I pretended that I was this full earthly goddess that can proudly sway the childbearing hips that are undeniably mine with pride. I grabbed my clothes and prepared to adorn myself. Sadly we women forget to adorn our spirits with the proper attire. I neglected to adorn my mind fully, I walked out and am walking out naked and I have been for the last 6 years. I dressed myself but all I could see was a discontented woman staring at me. I searched in the mirror for the old me until I gave up and put the looking glass away.

I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time Ecc3: 10-11

I have been searching for me. I have looked for love in the eyes of man. I have spent years wondering when I would be enough to love, when I could make him stop and seek me out. I have waited years for that whisper of love that falls so sweet and soft on the ear that it makes the heart flutter. I have been searching for my time to be beautiful and to release the burden. I have walked away before goodbye stayed too late and didn't contemplate enough the choices that I have made in this life. And as I write I am tired.

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, Ecc3:5

I am sitting at the bitter waters with a sweet stick and stones of an embittered past.
I have embraced pain,
I have embraced frailty and illusions
But now with stones in hand I must refrain
I am drinking sweet waters and gathering the memories of years long gone by
Arms untangling from the broken branches of distant lovers
Stones discarded lifting the soul to fly free and high on the gift of life anew
He has made everything beautiful in its time Ecc3:10-11
time to tear and a time to mend.. Ecc3:7
So as I said I did my shopping but when I dressed for the next morning all I could see was a discontented woman staring at me. I searched in the mirror for the old me until I gave up and put the looking glass away. I remember when I had someone to say that I was beautiful and then to say that I was nothing more than bad memory. I have planted weeds in my garden. I have weeds called doubt, uncertainty that I can ever love or be loved again, weeds of sorrow that soil my flowers. Perhaps it is time to invest in a cure called mending.

a time to be silent and a time to speak.. Ecc3:6
How do you mend?
Be still and know.
Be still and know that I am an earthly reflection of the Creator. 6 years ago I abandoned the notion that I was smart beautiful humble kind and generous. There has been so much noise in my head that I can't hear. It is time to silence the voices. I need to hear the words of my song that began generations before me. Then I must speak as the ancient griots. I am mending slowly day by day hour by hour minute by minute second by second.

a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance Ecc3:4
I have been weeping rivers of wonder
I have been washing in tears of guilt and shame
I lost the power of happiness to controlling the variables of the heart
I forget to laugh in order to keep mourning at bay
Today I will dance in the weeping rivers
Today I will dance free of the shackles of yesteryear
day by day hour by hour minute by minute second by second

It is now midnight and in 2 days I will have been divorced 6years. I have been single six years and holding on to past memories delicately shaping who I am around who I was. At 12:01 am I am searching for something new, I desire to be naked and youthful in the garden once more.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven Ecc3:1

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it… Ecc3:10-14

12:04am I can add nothing more to details of my life or can I take anything away from the experiences that I have gained but I can find joy in the spaces in between.

Woman of Soul

2007-02-14T23:43:00.000-07:00

A woman of soul, A sight to behold Some days I am hot Some days I am cold A soul that spreads wings Singing melodies of generations before me At times I am balanced bringing order to chaos At times I Am Restless Swimming in the river vicissitudes with Anger as a paddle Yes I am a woman of soul whose words fly free
But gentle enough to paint pictures of love and harmony Painting against a backdrop of anger and discontinuity I am a woman with a melodic soul pumping heavy bass lines of bro ken Broken dreams, smooth revisions, tough indecisions Long embraces with hope Recreating this earthly image of God the creator I am a woman of soul my full hips sway as gold before the sun

I am a woman of soul and my honey colored skin pours into the earth bringing sweetness to each life-returning step

I am a woman of soul and the kiss of my lips return warmth to the unyielding man

I am the woman of soul whose womb sweet waters flourished the revived and renewed daughters of the land giving help and hope to the sons of man.
I am and always will be a woman of soul walking in spirit and truth.

So what is love

2007-02-14T22:19:00.000-07:00

When I started this post it was Valentine Day. I have some things happen since then that may change the flow but hey that is life for certain that is me.

Recently Valentine Day has passed. I watched excited women receive flowers and candies, romantic evenings and dinners. I heard many males complain about the expense of the day and the catering to women who don't deserve it. I smiled through the day as I looked at my empty desk at work (I did receive a card from a friend that made me smile and several calls from girlfriends). But I had to think what is love.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

So what is it? Is it a noun something you say. A verb, something you express? My mind becomes pensive and I have to think why is it so important for me to discover?

I have been searching for you.. the more that I search the more elusive you become
I call to you, whisper to you, wanting, waiting to feel the touch of your breath against my ear as you answer to me
Silence
I turn the pages of the greatest revelation of love slowly digesting each word hoping that you’ll live inside me and show me something that I have yet to discover
Why can't I have you? The creator designed me this way and I can’t fulfill the purpose
I have spent many nights praying that God would send you to me. Or should I be as Ruth and come lay across your feet and wait for you to see me. I have been planted with this spirit of love and I cannot shake it. If I could remove it I would it pains me the emptiness I feel. I have tried to drink it away, sleep it away, speak it away and still she comes back and places her hands around my delicate heart. She whispers her command to me love another, as you have been loved. And I weep for the love that I maintain is deep and strong like the waters of the oceans and deeper than the trenches that still bury her secrets. Oh Jeremiah if only we could commune so you could show me your heart, so broken and solemn yet full of undying love. I've woken up dreaming of the one to love a faceless soul with strength and warmth greater than I can behold. Wanting him so badly I could feel his touch and the sincerity of my helpmate, as I was his.
Last night I smelled you. I turned over and you weren't there. I went to the store and picked up the meal I’d prepared for you. I set plates at an empty table waiting your arrival. Why does love hurt so bad, I demanded an answer silence would not be accepted. And as I give up you respond

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
For great is your love, reaching to the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Follow the way of love and eagerly desire spiritual gifts,
Do everything in love.

I laid on my couch ill and not able to hold down foods and liquids yesterday and I saw and felt the greatest gifts of love. My Aunt and young male (16,18) came to my rescue. Held my daughter and went to store for me. Cleaned up my vomit and allowed me to sleep. They prepared for the trip to the hospital if necessary since I am diabetic. I could hear the sounds of cleaning as my Aunt tended to my home to ensure when I awoke that I had little to do (my 62 year old retired aunt who is as beautiful today as she was yesterday).

So what is it? Is it a noun something you say. A verb, something you express? My mind becomes pensive and I have to think why is it so important for me to discover?

Love is that moment when your heart cries because someone tells you and shows you how important you. It is the expression of a small four-letter word with actions that cannot be assessed a value. It is a 16-year-old boy assuring a 2-year-old girl that her mother will be fine. An 18year old man venturing to a store to make sure he gets fluids to re-hydrate his cousin, not his mother or grandmother but his cousin. Love is a woman who has worked hard in love and deserves respite but leans over on a floor to clean and a mess she didn’t make. I still long for that one in my love as I know that is who I am but I will wait until he is prepared to express that 4 letter word with actions beyond value. I am a woman whose roots have been watered with a pure loving water.

So what is love?

Love is patient, love is kind.
Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. Follow the way of love and Do everything in love.

On black consciousness

2007-02-03T21:15:00.000-07:00

The Rebirth of love

2006-06-13T10:11:00.000-06:00

Rebirth of Love

There is a story resonant in my spirit of rebirth. When you are younger rebirth is a mysticism that we do not fathom exists. Talking to any experienced adult the haze of rebirth is no longer a whimsical concept spoken softly from the pulpit. At least for this experienced woman being reborn is more than a spiritual rite of hope it is an absolute requirement.
The prophet Jeremiah states it the best: (I have taken the excerpts that stress a certain point)
"I would comfort myself in sorrow; my heart is faint in me. Listen, the voice, the cry of … I am hurt. I am mourning; Astonishment has taken hold of me. Is there no balm in Gilead, Is there no physician there? ….. Oh, that my head were waters and my eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night …..! Oh, that I had in the wilderness a lodging place…..." (8:18 - 9:2)
Jeremiah was the weeping prophet. He had sorrow upon perceived sorrow. He embraced an isolation and loss of love so deep that the only result was to weep to the only one who could hear. How does that relate to my concept of needing to be reborn?
Once you have traveled down a path were sorrow blooms like flowers and you once had known the beauty of a wild orchid you look for the way back to the flowers. You no longer desire to accept the depth of your isolation in the wilderness, you want to walk away. Jeremiah wept and called to God. I weep call to God and ask for a rebirth of love.
I pray that I could crawl into my mother’s womb and start anew. I’d be born and take this life as a blanket of assurance that experience can be sorrowful yet comforting.
So as I recall the story not being able to reasonably be certain if it is one that I created or read scripturally, I understand. I understand the desire to start anew and wash away all of the mistakes of yesterday. I sympathize with a longing to have a fresh start. Many people say you make a mistake and you learn from it. After you learn you drop the baggage and try again weightless. Doesn’t anyone other than me recognize that life is not that simple? The human construct does not allow us to simply create a memory and destroy without causation either immediate or to be called upon again in the future.
“Our task is to make ourselves architects of the future”, Jomo Kenyatta states. If this is true as I believe it is then each step that we make is imbedded on the earth, the spirit and in the mind. If we are leaving these imprints and impressions on humanity each experience can not simply be washed away because we will it to. W\e trudge across the sands and grass dropping seeds and blowing winds spreading our collective experiences to the future. Just like Jeremiah and countless others who had and have seen the blossoms of discontent and connectedness we become afraid of the garden we lay and the blueprints we leave.
I am afraid at times of the harvest that I would reap. I wonder how my children will be able to follow the map that I have inked with my blood, love, sweat and tears. So I lay down my burden and pray for a rebirth. The only way to cease the weeping and be a better architect is to die and be born again. The ability to see life with fresh eyes before the canvas has become splotched with colors that do not mesh.
I don’t look at the concept of rebirth as a theology that requires years of study any longer.
To rebirth love is simple. Yet the simplicity is a choice. Either you choose to see the weight you have gained over the years and the impact it has on your outlook on life or you accept the weight and the conditions that it presents. I choose to no longer accept each day as the fate of sorrow, disappointment, stress and ill harvest.
I will accept the memories I have created and are choosing to destroy will cause a rebirth of a new life. In this new life I will be able to accept that the blueprints that I had been following were not created for me. I have chosen to allow a creation of love that is constructed by the greatest architect I have ever known. The tears that I had been shedding and allowing to drown myself in have blessed me in an unparalleled manner. It allowed me to die and give birth to a new vision of love.
The rebirth of loving without fear. The rebirth of loving to construct a future greater than me. The rebirth of hope that the weeds in my garden can be uprooted by the seeds of love, joy beauty and hope that I now plant. The rebirth of love does not exclude the reality of hurt and pain. It only allows a buffer to the penetration of those hurts. The memory of who we used to be will allow us to not hold on to disappointment as a comfort. The rebirth of love is new and allows us to remember that real love is a foundation and can not be conquered. I will die many times over to birth a new love and memory, to birth a new garden to reap a new harvest.
I will be a better architect for the future by re-birthing love.

Thoughts of Control

2006-04-17T15:20:00.000-06:00

I am planning out my evening today at work.
Yes I should be working and I am. But I am one of those that think about everything at once while accomplishing only one thing in span of hours. Insane yes I realize, but this is my life. You can count on me to get it done just don’t look too deep at how I do it or you will get lost in my chaotic inner workings.
So I look around and think quietly to myself how others honestly live their lives in such a controlled manner. I am not condemning them but I honestly view them with child like wonder. I feel as if the controlled ones of the world are something akin to natural wonders. Like Santa Clause on Christmas fitting his big but down a chimney that can barely fit a substance called smoke up the chute without help.
In my mind I truly wonder how they do it. Life is so imbalanced and chaotic that I spend so much time trying to catch the imperfections/perfections and endless changes I have no time to control things that were done before I was even thought about. Nor can I control things that are greater than me. So I simply let go, think and let things roll.
I have tried the orderly and controlled way of things. It worked in the beginning. My linen closet was perfectly arranged. Then life kicked in and now I know where everything is: strewn around the shelves somewhere but it is in there I promise you. Just ask me before you go peeking around in there. I can save us both some frustration.
So in the span of an hour I have determined:
I am having greens, meatloaf and potatoes for dinner
Watching movies with a friend while the food cooks
Cleaning out my oven before I cook
Finding the lyrics to Peace Be Still
Trying to learn the song Peace Be Still
Placing orders for a couple of accounts for work
Finishing up projects before I quit my job
Writing this blog
Making music contacts
And the list goes on….

I have managed only to complete one task: writing this entry.
To this day I still wonder how the controlled ones filter through all the mental garbage to get one thing at a time complete.

New

2006-04-14T13:54:00.000-06:00

I have written since I was in the womb-so it seems.
But I hated journal writing. It seemed like an invasion of my personal thoughts.
I shared what I wanted you to know and if I didn't ink it, it didn't exist.
So here I am year’s later digging into the recesses of my mind and sharing with others.
What road does life take us down where we wake up and try something new?
New with others that I have no idea what they are about, where they live or do.
Humm: liberating somewhat.
But isn't that what exploring something new is like. Liberating and new.
It allows us to shed the parts of ourselves we wish didn't exist.
And for a brief moment while trying something new I become something different from yesterday.
Today I am trying something new. I am digging in my minds playground and seeing what I find in the sand.