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.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Free
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
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Hope, expectations and reality
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2007
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.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
On black consciousness
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.
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.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Heartfelt details of nakedness
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Woman of Soul
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.
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.
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