do over

i just realized that i need to make up for my lack of a 30th birthday celebration.

for years, i said i was going to plan this HUGE party...i barely got out at all.

this cannot stand. i'll have to think on what i wanna do...


gratitude list #1539827

too many ups & downs lately...time to think on some of the things that keep me up...

ori mi
herbal tea
songs like this and this
essential oils
the coven/prayer circle
my womb
egbe mi
my familiar
good books
good movies
florida water
friends who make awesome gift boxes
ile mi
right-on-time phone calls & emails

omi oko meji*

i always thought i'd wind up with one of you.

i feel like i've been blissfully (and in sorrow...) torn between you over so many lifetimes it'd be inconceivable to go through one having loved and known both of you, but having to let both of you go.

it tears me apart.

i know there's evolution in knowing all this and releasing you both. i never liked seeing or sensing you fighting over me--well, maybe a little. sometimes a lot. but i never liked the consequences.

i wanted us to live harmoniously, somehow. i never wanted to hurt either of you...you were simply too irresistible to turn away. you both loved and adored me so, so much. you still do. how could i say no to that?

you've also hurt me. one would send me into the arms of the other, but before long there was another heartbreak...

then i went on to forgive you both so many times that it ceased to matter.

now, somehow, i know better, and i can't ignore that knowing--even if i'm afraid my heart will stop beating if i can't give it to one of you.

i have to find a way of loving you that saves me. love you and keep focus. love you and not get lost.

if i could find enough words/pens/paper/screens/pixels, i would tell you over and over again how much i love you,

how much you've meant to me,

how grateful i am to have known you and learned from you,

how i would have been honored and blessed to bear your children,

how the days and nights i've spent with you have been some of the best of my life,

how you left me better than you found me, and how i hope i've done the same for you.

how much i love you
how much i love you
how much i love you
how those three words just.aren't.enough.

...and how certain i am that the battle must end somewhere. the body/spirit integration i've sought through you needs to be achieved through different, but just as ancient, channels.

i will miss you more than you know: my warrior's earthy sweetness and smiles. my sorcerer's lightning, our space travel on waves of pleasure.

...but i'd be a fool to fight against my own destiny.

i have to hand you over to the universe.
i have to give you space and time to heal from your wounds.
i have to be grateful for our loving and put it in its place.

i have to let you go...

*water with two husbands


whenever you're around...

i was just talking about this feeling last night...

Mmmm hmmm,
Listen to me,listen to me,listen to me,
listen to me
Listen to me,listen to me,listen to me,listen...

I've been talking to this man
He's been saying what I like and
He makes me smile,
When I'm down,so down

He says sweet things in my ear
All the things that I needed to hear
But that's as far as it's gone
I promise,I promise

But I enjoy it,I love it so
Cause it seems like I'm always alone
You're at arms reach
But baby,
Where are you?
Where are you?

Cause I got this fire
Sweet and true
But I'm cold as ice around you

Cause I'm lonely
Whenever you're around
Cause I'm lonely
Whenever you're around

What happened to the wonderful thing we had
It seems like you're missing in action
And I'm tired, I'm tired
I'm tired,I'm tired,I'm tired,I'm tired

I don't wanna lose this good life
But I ain't scared
If I'm going to be the only one participating in it

Cause I'm lonely
Whenever you're around
Cause I'm lonely
Whenever you're around
Cause I'm lonely



i've been cleaning/clearing my space only to find a huge mess underneath it all.


i went out to get some lunch and had an experience/realization that shook me: i felt exposed.

being "attached" provides a sort of emotional insulation that i suddenly realized is no longer there. not to mention that the relationship itself removed some of my swagger--i got so used to him not being around, i sort of shut down, and i didn't wanna turn on the shine because i wasn't trying to attract anyone else.

i'm also realizing that i'm still not quite comfortable in this "new" body, even though i've had it for awhile. i have that feeling that i've lost my rhythm; like i wouldn't even be able to dance if asked. it's happened before, but i can't quite remember how i snatched it back...

i want to be the brazen hussy i used to be. i want to feel delicious, desired, and desireable. i want to regain the confidence i've always had in moving in my body. i want to hold my head up and SHINE.

and i know i will.
it'll just take some time.


future, meet the children.

if i haven't told you already, i love this man. highly recommended reading.

that said...

i can relate to the commenter who said when they were in middle/high school, their parents' reach extended much farther than the walls of the house. same here. not only would it have been considered unthinkable for me to act a fool in front of adults, but i never knew who might see me.

people knew my parents. whether it was because i looked like my father's folks, or my mom's connections with the school system, it was known that i wasn't to do anything that i didn't want reported back, 'cause folks knew folks.

increasingly, that's not the case.

to some degree, that phenom is more likely to occur in the 'hood than the suburbs. but still. folks don't know their neighbors anymore. gentrification has changed the game. so has the ultra-mobile workforce.

we also have to remember that many of these babies have been on their own for years.

there are AIDS orphans in this country. there are street children in this country.

for every seemingly intact family i see, i can show you at least two kids who have obviously been without substantial, dedicated adult support for quite some time.

honestly? i can't blame some of them, because many of them have never seen or known an adult they can respect. not one. families are depressed, overworked, and cracked out. schools are falling apart. politicians lie, use for photo ops, and bounce. rec centers and community gathering places are losing funding and closing in droves.

so, they test us all. their anger and lack of love and self respect is visited on strangers. a little something to project the pain.

and we all know there's no shortage of prisons for them. maybe that has something to do with the lack of programs and resources?

please don't think i'm saying all this because i feel like i'm better than anyone else. i see them and stay out of their way; i observe, but quietly. once or twice i've engaged a young person in a bit of conversation, but most of the time i hang back. i don't want to pull rank on the wrong one--the one with something to prove, or the one just angry enough to punch me solely to watch me bleed.

even so, i refuse to damn all of these kids. some of them will grow up and see the error of their ways. a mentor will come along. maybe a good therapist or counselor, a life-changing movie or book. for some of these kids, a light will come on.

but for others, it won't. they won't see better, know better, or do better. for any number of reasons.

those are the ones we'll pay for, whether we want to or not, whether we like it or not.


burying my savior complex

after journaling for awhile, i tried to write a letter to a dear friend of mine who happens to be very ill.

i wrote it longhand--he loves it when i write him actual letters. it was about four pages long--eight if you count the fact that i used both sides of the paper.

i looked it over.
added some things.
signed it.

reread it again.

then i ripped it up.

this sounds too much like a !@#$&*^ guilt trip with some desperate pleas thrown in, i thought. i'm begging this fool to talk to me.

it felt a little too much like what i'd tried to do with honey: make it all better. put myself up on some altar to be sacrificed for someone else's healing just because i have a little extra energy to spare.

and it's never because it makes me feel "better than" or special or anything like that. it's just because...well, that's what love is, right?

no. that's what trauma burned into my consciousness, but no, that's not really what love is.

after i ripped up the letter, i went back to journaling and asked myself, why did something i intended as a statement of love and support turn out sounding like a plea for validation?

i decided that my inner child tends towards internalizing everyone's pain; she falls into the trap of thinking it's her fault that everyone's bleeding, and she has to make it right.


honeychild, just because you can see it and feel it doesn't mean you have to fix it. your vision and empathy are gifts, but they aren't always going to serve you well in love--unless it's to show you which ones to steer clear of. and you can't necessarily pass on every gift you have to others, no matter how noble your intention.

there is no time or energy to waste on folks who don't wanna be healed--whether it's because they're not ready, they're immobilzed by their own pain, they feel that they don't deserve love...whatever. it doesn't matter. not even if they're facing death. you can't change their destiny or snap their ori into shape.

*end sidebar*

it's past time to seek and find love through a woman's eyes, fully, and that means rejecting broken trinkets and embracing true partners, mates, and kindred spirits.

i recalled my latest mantra: i do not have to diffuse my love externally, however plentiful it may be, to experience balance.

that doesn't mean i wouldn't be there if he needed me, if he actually asked me to be there. i would. in a heartbeat.

it doesn't mean that i have to stop loving him. it's silly to think i could.

whatever he's decided to do, for whatever reason(s) he's decided to do it, there's nothing i can do.

he knows who i am, where i am, and how to reach me.

until then, i'll keep him in prayer...

who? what? when? where? why?

this is just....no. it's one of those things that you know happens, but you never wanna see it spelled out for you...

A videotape found on a camcorder that was sold to a pawn shop shows a toddler being forced to smoke marijuana, police said. At first, it appeared a male was smoking marijuana through a pipe and the little girl was playing nearby. Then the male, whom police said was 18-year-old Melvin Blevins, was seen passing the pipe to the child. The tape shows the 18-month-old little girl resisting before the video cuts to black. Next, a 16-year-old girl is shown holding the little girl. The male then places the pipe in front of the child’s mouth. Police believed the videotaped child to be the man’s niece. The girl is charged with child endangerment and corrupting another with drugs. Blevins is in custody facing the federal charge of distributing narcotics to a person younger than 21. The child is now 2 years old.

this video, on the other hand, is funnysad. funny as in simply hilarious, sad as in:

1. these folk are wasting taxpayer time and money acting like a bunch of middle schoolers.

2. the website it came from is racist and inflammatory, essentially declaring that detroit is a mess because of the number of black folks there. sigh.



(from postsecret)

...minus the doubting if there is a god part, anyway.


the definition of irony

when i wanted to see you, you were never around.

i always wished you'd do this thing or that thing with me, but life always seemed to get in the way. you weren't at my one (and only) dinner party. i went to concerts and movies alone. the movies became fun. the concerts never really did.

there were several xmases and thanksgivings alone, sometimes 'cause of a breakup, sometimes not. i won't even get into the agonies of intermittent sex.

and now, when all i want is to be done with us, you're everywhere.

these unscheduled run-ins account for more sightings of you than in the last few months we were actually a couple. and we don't even live in the same city.


this is some new stuff here. whether through circumstance or lifestyle, i typically have the luxury of not having to deal with my exes on a day to day (or even month to month) basis after we've parted.

i don't like this. at all.

but there's nothing i can do about it, either.



it was a stressful and exhausting day. all i wanted to do was come home, smoke a clove, have a ginormous cup of chamomile tea, and go to bed.

i decided to walk while i smoked. i crossed the park near my house and remembered that there is a small stream just beyond it.

i had forgotten that yeye rests in my backyard.

i stood on the small bridge, puffing away, feeling tight, pressured.

but it's difficult to feel constricted in the presence of water.

so i relaxed a little, and i listened. the voices come easier these days...the almost constant writing and relative quiet have helped tremendously.

she gently explained what i should do when i came home. how to prepare my tea. what incense to burn. what offerings to put where. i didn't want to leave the stream, but she insisted. i needed to go home and take care. rest. forget about dinner and just drink my tea, apple juice, and water instead.

i cannot say that i left completely at peace, but it did put me in mind of my recent dreams and their messages: that the healing will take place because i know no other way to be. that bitterness cannot take root in a honey-child--at least not without a lot of work. and of course i'm not going to put in that kind of work when i'm trying to return to my nature, not run from it.

having prayed and reflected a bit more, i realize that all i can do is continue to pray for patience, strength, and iwa pele.

If you look for me in the morning, I will be at the River
Where the feminine mystique always reigns supreme.
At the first light of day I will be at the River,
Where grace and simple beauty comes alive.
I am going to see my great great Mother-
Osun who is so full of understanding,
Osun with large and robust breasts:
The River Queen that always sits on a cool fresh throne.
I am going to see my great great Mother-
She who weaves the waters of the heavens
With the gush of springs of the earth
With the very depths of the ocean:
Osun who gives healing waters free of charge.
maferefun osun
ori yeye o


seeds for the new moon...

as i was writing a wishlist for some collective new moon work, i started thinking about love.

i know that my loving has always been bound to energy; it's a kind of psychic play. spiritual gymnastics.

i don't worry over being alone, i just want someone to bounce some energy off of. the dance of getting to know a partner, navigate needs and desires, enjoying one another physically and emotionally--it all utilizes spiritual skills that i have learned to curb or suppress in other aspects of life.

when i was younger, this served me well. it introduced me to men who were markedly different from me, and i learned a lot about myself and about life.

i learned long ago that most people aren't as agile as i am. when real life sets in, my tumbling routine can end abruptly, knocking someone on their ass. now that i'm transitioning out of my last relationship, i can see just how my love logic has overstayed its welcome.

i need my lover/mate to truly and deeply enhance my life and compliment the self i'm cultivating. there are plenty of easy access karmic and psychic playmates running around out there--some of whom i could love profoundly and for years at a time--but i need to uncover my deep, authentic self. until i can see and celebrate her, my true partner will remain elusive.

i've often felt like i can only love myself so much before i run out of ideas. but if i'm going to love and be loved in a way that will truly fulfill me and who i'm becoming, i'll have to get creative.

my spiritual skills need and deserve outlets that involve my full self, not just socially acceptable scraps and remnants.

i do not have to diffuse my love externally, however plentiful it may be, to experience balance.


my people, my people (ancestral musings)

iba ara t'orun
we praise those who dwell in heaven/the spirit world

i dreamt of my pop-pop last night.

my general history with grandparents is a bittersweet one.

in previous entries, i've mentioned that i've never been close to my father's extended family and, in fact, only know a fraction of them. my father's mother has lived in virginia since i was an infant, and i saw her maybe once every couple of years growing up. i was a flower girl in her last wedding.

my father's father was murdered several years ago in a random robbery attempt. he was a conflicted man, at best. i never felt the comfort and familiarity in his house that i did in the houses of my mother's relatives. i never became close to him (somehow my younger brother did...), although i was fond of his wife, who passed maybe two or three years ago.

she had six children when she married my grandfather, and they had two together. in her youth, she resembled a cross between salli richardson and dorothy dandridge. she was a pescetarian, black belt in karate, and the neighborhood babysitter. sweet lady--although i'm told she chased one of my grandfather's, um, "friends" with a knife or some such decades ago...

but i digress.

for all intents and purposes, my mother's parents were my grandparents.

i've mentioned my grandma, who passed when i was three years old. another beauty. in the picture i keep on my egun altar--maybe from her prom? i don't think it's from her first wedding, although it could be--she's seated, legs crossed at the knee. her gown is light-colored and floor length; there is a corsage pinned to her left lapel and flowers in her hair. she's smiling in a way that reminds me of my mother. her dark eyes shimmer over high cheekbones and an attractive, but understated mouth.

in later pictures, the ones i grew up looking at, she's an older, streamlined woman with creamy skin, sporting cat eye glasses and the same pretty smile.

i can vaguely remember the clean scent of oil of olay hovering over her. my mother said she used it religiously, so i did the same for a brief period in my late teens or early 20s. i was trying to find some way to feel closer to this woman who so diligently protected me and her family, but that i'd never see, hear, or touch again.

i'm told i have her hands, which is interesting considering that the one concrete memory i have--which is always threatening to slip away--is of her hands reaching out to give me something or give me a hug.

her husband, my mother's stepfather, was my pop-pop. he was a large, gruff-voiced man, often prickly and ornery as hell. he wasn't mean spirited, but he could be nasty when he wanted to be. stubborn. but he was also sweet, loving towards children, and a hoot to be around. my mother is quick to mention that he never treated her or her sister as anything but his daughters. he never had any biological children and was an only child. the women in his family were known for living well into their 90s (sometimes 100s), but not physically aging much past 60-70.

he had debilitating arthritis later in life, so either my cousin or i would go over and help him clean up from time to time. that was the dream--my cousin and i sitting around his apartment talking to him.

i loved those days, despite the work. it's how i learned to clean a house. we also got to talk for hours at a time. he'd teach me about football (or whatever sport, military documentary, or show he happened to be watching at the time), and identify the birds and squirrels who'd come to eat the nuts and seeds he left on the patio. to this day, i don't know how he got the most brilliant cardinals and blue jays in baltimore city (city, not county, y'all. and the back of the apartment faced the subway and freight railroad tracks...) to come and eat on his back step.

in the first dream i had about him after he passed, we were in a supermarket together--he was a cook in the service, loved good food, and cooked wonderful meals until the arthritis slowed him down. he looked like his younger pictures: caramel skin, stern expression, dark hair and eyebrows. he had big circles for eyes, and something about the way his brow settled made him look perpetually surprised or deep in thought, depending on the way the rest of his face was situated.

in that dream, he had come to tell me he was happy and safe and not to worry--i've had similar dreams about just about all my mother's folks when they've transitioned. despite his reassurance, i still woke up with tears streaming down my face. i didn't this time.

i don't think that my pop-pop and grandma are together in the spirit realm; i think that their true loves/soulmates are elsewhere. yet another story. however, they come together to stand by and work for me, which i appreciate more than words can say.

about two years ago during a period where i had some profound spiritual experiences, there were several times when i strongly sensed my grandmother on my right and my grandfather on my left. they let me know in no uncertain terms that if i needed them, all i had to do was call.

so, to both of you:

may you always be well-fed and well rested in orun--you have done your work & then some.
i will teach my children your names.
thank you for all you taught me, for everything you do for me and the rest of us.
we remember you and speak of you with joy and praise.
we love you.

for mary elizabeth jackson, a.k.a. jackie a.k.a. bear
for earl major bolden


pardon my shimmer, beautification in progress

having recently realized how deeply affected i am by beauty, i have decided to beautify my life.

i don’t mean this on a wholly superficial level, but more a project designed to entice and enhance the senses; indulge my sensual self with the goal of discovering my true loves, passions, desires, and needs. it is also a means to spiritual symmetry and loveliness.

i am making an effort to dress in ways that are comfortable, yet flattering. since i’ve (unintentionally) gone down about 1 size, i’m having to rediscover what fits, what doesn’t, how my body has reshaped itself.

i bought a lovely new journal on my birthday. i’ve been carrying one kind of notebook or another with me daily for some time, scribbling thoughts and other things as they arise. the new, beautified journal was part of a commitment to (a) buy no more anonymous, spiral notebooks and (b) no longer compartmentalize my thoughts/feelings/words (typically i’ll have the "daily" notebook, something for poetry, a diary for journaling, another for spiritual matters, etc.).

the goal: regain my flow, let things spill out wherever they please. get messy. become reacquainted with myself.

so don’t mind the extra honey and glitter sprinkled around wherever i may happen to be at any given moment. i’m just working out a few minor details.



i am dantor dissatisfied.

dolorosa encased in tempered glass;
heart pierced and bleeding
despite her riches.

i hear gold is a wonderful conductor,
but i am not interested in intermediaries.

neither blood nor passion
run through my precious metals;
they can only be traded for more paper
to trade again...

je rouge,
focused rage,
bloodied femininity.

rum and perfume
my sword and shield;
i'll gladly run you through
laughing all the way.

who is brave enough
to construct my altar?