kiddie dreams

i've been watching the olympics--as i'm wont to do when they come around--and all these visa (*blink*) commercials about olympians and their childhood dreams got me thinking: did i have those sorts of huge, grandiose thoughts as a little girl?  could they be a window into my purpose now?

obviously, it was nothing as singularly minded as mastering a sport or hobby.

but i did. 

whenever i watched the oscars, i'd practice/envision my acceptance speech.  for best original screenplay.*  

and i was always pretending to be interviewed about stuff.**   i expected that i would be important/cool/___ enough that folks would want to ask me questions about...something.

so...i should be a screenwriting actress who gives fabulous interviews.

i could live with that.


*in other words, when most little girls are probably dreaming about winning best actress, or at least being the star,  i'm sitting there thinking i'm gonna WRITE the best movie.  however, my mother maintains that i used to declare my desire to be an actress.  so maybe it was a little of both. 

**i still do, kinda (don't tell anyone...).  this is probably why i really like formspring.  somebody with that same childhood-based compulsion probably came up with it.

acknowledgement

i am afraid to open the door that will allow me to comprehensively re-envision my life.

but i know i have to let go; these new dreams, ideas and concepts must be allowed to flow in, out and over me.

it's the only way to move forward.

dream #1292905

i dreamt of a serpent last night.

lately my serpent-dreams have been filled with apprehension and fear. i often feel overwhelmed by the snakes, and i wind up trying to hide them, avoid bites, and keep them from growing. as a teenager, i often dreamt of walking with snakes literally covering my feet, and i was comforted by them--so this newer set of dreams bothered me greatly.

but last night, i simply carried the snake with me, wrapped around my wrist. it appeared to be something between a garter snake and a ball python, and was very sweet. occasionally it would "bite" me, but it was more like the love-nips you get from a cat than an attack. when i woke up, i could still feel the energy of the serpent lingering along my wrist and hands...

i'm grateful for the vision--i'm sure it is a step towards reconciliation with my unconscious mind and a fullness of self.

bad dreams & beautiful mornings

i had really bad dreams last night.

i may be in one of those phases where i can't watch any old thing before bed, or something gets disturbed. eastern promises wasn't any worse than many things i've seen, but sometimes i don't know what will set me off.

i think the moonstone i've been wearing has opened my perceptions and intuition. i'm probably more of a sponge than usual.

i miss new orleans...

the cramps are starting...

and i have to spend the next 90 min or so slogging through the mass of hair on my head--which is why i should have been up 2 hours ago and probably never should have gotten on this computer. you know, no matter what i do to it, it still takes me forever to deal with it. always has...

oh well. might as well start the day.

blending

the indomitable erzulie dantor has introduced herself to me...

considering some prior goddess card readings, i'm inclined to believe that she has emerged as the shadowy sister of my bright, sweet oshun self.

and i have been instructed to embrace the shadow.

looking back, i wonder if she manifested in the fierce self preservation and healing anger i experienced as a teenager.

she may have silently returned when i unconsciously began to seek out my wild woman.

i can see she's reminding me that i possess claws and teeth, that i can fight for what i want--a thing i know but can be very uncomfortable with.

she doesn't care about my nervousness. rather, that seems to drive her ambition to turn me into a skilled, fearless blade-handler.

as she stares me down, i realize that i can calm her, appease--but not subdue.

there's no escaping it; i must merge myself, be whole.

avek tout respe, maman. ayibobo!

#8 - stop compartmentalizing. find ways to be whole and express wholeness.

hello again,

i wanted to write again to let you know that i've come to understand a few more things.

it was hard to be you. i remember that. home was fine most of the time, but outside could be a nightmare.

you were teased and tormented.

sometimes you didn't like the right boy and wouldn't let him feel on you and he called you ugly.

you didn't always know how to protect yourself.

some of the boys you liked were into your cuter, smaller friends instead. and that hurt.

you had secrets.

you were often alone.

i'm sorry about that.

i'm also sorry about hiding you away because you remind me too much of my vulnerable, sensitive true self.

i didn't realize i had so many fears. now that i do, i'm going to work on them, even though it frightens me, because i love you, and i want you to feel free enough to express yourself. i also need you to be strong enough to help me when i need you, because you have knowledge and wisdom, too.

being in a situation where you were constantly invoked had the power to silence me--even as a grownup. at first, i didn't know what was making me so uncomfortable, because the fears were buried way down deep. down there, you still needed to be accepted and loved, and you cowered in the face of anything you thought would deny you that acceptance.

but the world didn't see you. the grownup was powerful and undeniably beautiful. she could defend herself. she wasn't afraid to be smart and outspoken, but you were: raised to be a good girl whose precocious nature did not override her responsibility to be respectful and defer to her elders.

it was a good lesson because it brought me closer to you. but it also meant saying goodbye to some things, too.

so let's keep moving, ok? i'll hold your hand. i promise.

love,

o.

~~~

obviously, this was a lesson that i needed to experience/learn from in order to grow spiritually, and i would not change anything about the way i went about my 2+ years of formal practice.

however, after quite a bit of soul-searching, i've realized that this is what reverting back to a somewhat literal parent/child dynamic brought up for me.

my ideal relationship to my godparent would be that of a mother to a midwife or doula: the universe is doing the actual birthing, with my godparent as the integral, earthly representative/assistant of that process.

while accessing and overcoming the aforementioned fears is necessary, continuing in that dynamic would have been problematic. it also makes me wonder if others have experienced the same when entering the practice of the traditional african religions as new-world/diasporan adults.

here, many of us are being called to the orisa/lwa/abosom with 20, 30 and more years of knowledge, understanding, and life experience intact.

respect is paramount and most certainly due (when earned). i have much to learn, and i am humble, but i have already been raised--not only by my parents, but an involved extended family. i need the power inherent in that acknowledged, respected, and implicit.

conversely, i now realize that my inner child needs to be on stronger footing before i can choose another spiritual home. it is imperative to keep that kind of silence from descending upon me again.

movement

revelations seem to come by the hour.

i need to do some work around money. there's something off about how that energy is working in my life.

probably said this a million times, but i really do need to commit to finding a way to move my body.

i need to revision my space.

this may be an example to follow.

smudging, bathing, cleansing...all very necessary. i have to shake off the last bit of this old skin and protect the new one.

i have blinded myself to something i desperately need to see. i am opening, but the mental blocks i put up to protect need to fall away now, even though i fear what will happen when they do.

i need more rest than i usually do. more quiet. my tolerance for nonsense, time-wasting, and other unnecessary things is waning.

my desert cravings are returning. i should probably research the symbolism of that.

this list will probably continue to grow...

innerscope

saw an interesting message on twitter yesterday from god the mother:

I believe that people are drawn to spaces in this world that reflect their inner landscapes. What does your personal utopia say about you?

i need sun, heat, and plenty of water.

something between a mediterranean and a desert climate would be nice: never below 60-70 degrees, but definitely hovering around 85-90 in the summer. little humidity, some coolness at night. i wouldn't mind rain now and then, but would prefer to avoid a whole rainy season.

my house would be large, but not imposing. i don't want something that looks like what most americans think of as a mansion. a colorful adobe or hacienda style building would be perfect.



wide open kitchen and living room spaces, a small loft for an office, and a lounging/entertaining room that could double as a guest bedroom. plenty of natural light and wood/glass/stone furniture and fixtures juxtaposed with soft pillows, throws and fabrics.

my bedroom would be a hidden nook somewhere, essentially unnoticeable from the rest of the house. the entrance could even be a sort of optical illusion: a door hidden behind a beaded curtain. it'd have its own full, private bath...probably decorated in blues and purples.




i suppose i couldn't live in the desert and near an ocean, so i'd rather have the ocean. if i could be 60-90 minutes or less from a large, clean, beautiful body of water, i'd be happy. storms and all.

the waters are home, shrine, playground, and spa for me. a daily swim would do wonders.

i want my golden summer skin all year long.

i want to never have to wear more than two layers at a time. tights/pantyhose would be obsolete (unless they just looked really nice with my outfit).

i want to see beautiful plants, trees and flowers within any given month.

i want to practice yoga in my garden.

that's my utopia.

maferefun sango

i had a dream where i was trying to avoid a lightning storm.
eventually it caught up to me.

when the lightning struck, it didn't kill or maim me, it surrounded me. it flowed with my aura as a sort of shield. i could direct it outward through my hands, or pull the energy within.

clearly, baba was teaching me a lesson.

it reminded me of when yemonja handed me rocks that turned into beautiful shells...i don't have to fear the energies that reside within. i need to use and manipulate them for growth and change.


Alaafin, ekun bu, a sa
Alaafin, (the king of Oyo) snarls like a leopard and the people run away

Eleyinju ogunna
One whose eyeballs glow like charcoal

Olukoso lalu
Olukoso, the famous one of the city

A ri igba ota, segun
One who uses hundreds of cartridges to win victory in war

Eyi ti o fi alapa segun ota re
One who used pieces of broken walls to defeat his enemies

Kabiyesi o
We honor you

Ase

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.
adupe-o.
ase.

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

moon dreams...

i was on a bus or van on the way to some kind of event, and remembered that i needed call queen afua, or someone like her.

she asks how my healing is going and what i've been doing, and i tell her that although i haven't started my detox plan, i'm having my first non-irritating cycle in months and that i've realigned with the full moon. she loved that, and spent a few moments giving thanks. i told her that i planned to start on the detox next week...

she told me i was doing well, and that i should continue to treat myself with care. i asked when she would be in the area again, but she wasn't sure. she assured me that she would be in touch, and i told her i'd return the gesture. and that was that...

i don't know if you've ever been on the "phone" in a dream, but it's always strange. like a cell phone with a crappy connection. you miss some things, but you hear what you really need to clear as a bell. sometimes things will repeat for you, like a record or cd.

i don't know who she was, or why she came in the guise of queen afua (probably so i would know that she was a healer...), but i am grateful to know that i'm being cared for and assisted by the spirit world.

maferefun egbe mi.
ase.

the dream

i could see the shirt slipping from my shoulders...
the slow, deliberate way he kissed my neck, collarbone, arms...

noted the symmetry in the way my neck turned to meet his lips and the arch in my back.

he was doing everything right,
and i didn't feel a thing.

i alternated between watching this scene and actually being a part of it, but my skin was a barrier, not a sponge. there was no electricity, no spark.

a perpetual motion mannequin.

i don't know if he entered me or just played at it.

it doesn't matter.
i never felt naked anyway.

psyched out

originally written/posted on jan. 4


i'm always walking a tightrope between two selves.
this fragmentation is what causes stops and starts in my rhythms.
it silences my prayers and my words.

one self operates from 9-5.

the other works in my real life. 6pm and beyond.
the one that wanders through dreams.

centuries ago i probably would have known many more women--surrogate mothers, sisters, friends. servant of the goddess, insulated by the temples, praised and protected for my sensitivities and ability to cross between worlds.

these days, those same proclivities are generally considered to be somewhere between insanity and naivete; modes and methods once essential to serving the divine and comprehending life reduced to vague dreamscapes or fleeting memories.

not many folks remember how to cultivate or harness them. myself included.
i am trying to--destined to, even--relearn.

still.
i'd be a basket case if i allowed myself to be myself 24/7.

my too-small house would stay full of stray animals and humans in varying states of homelessness. anyone who came to my door would be, at a minimum, fed.

against everyone's advice, i'd probably adopt a dozen foster children and teach them all how to read, sing, and dance as if their lives depended on it.

i'd kiss the sunlight back into any decent-looking man with sad eyes and hardened hands who crossed my path.

my heart would break. daily. maybe hourly.

i'd weep at the state of the world on cue.
(to the point of buying stock in kleenex...)

feel the pain of a thousand children in a breeze. and run to hold them.

the full power of my sensuality would be equally attractive and repulsive. i'd probably be a woman with many more lovers, but infinitely lonely as well.

i might bear several more children than i "ought" to--husband or no--unable to fathom why i should cease participating in the cycle of life as frequently and abundantly as god(dess) allowed, convinced the earth under my feet would provide everything we needed.

i sometimes wonder if i'll ever be strong enough to live that way. even figuratively.

for now, i'm grateful that i've learned how to survive. i do not live in fear of losing my mind like so many of my brothers and sisters on the street.

no one told them it was ok to be that way, that it was more natural than what they'd been taught was "normal".

some were berated and abused for being themselves. others were ignored, left with no mirror to reflect their lights back to them.

still others simply could not bear the weight of this world: the restless, forgotten, havoc-wreaking spirits; the lack of order and symmetry; the faces of those who have forgotten what love looks like.

it ain't easy.

sweet dreams

i was wandering around in a strange place--not totally forested, not totally urban--wearing a strange outfit. more a piece of fabric, really. it was plain when i first came to that part of the dream, but i turned it inside out, revealing a brilliant cobalt blue. i must not have wrapped it well because my right breast kept falling out.

i sat in this place, transfixed by the sight of butterflies mating and dying.

suddenly a deer showed up with her fawn, both with shining collars made of some kind of crystal or diamonds. the mother kind of wandered off, camouflaging herself here and there. the fawn seemed fearful of me at first, but soon he walked over and let me pet and play with him.

all of a sudden, a hunter appeared. i assumed they belonged to him, hence the collars. around that time, a third deer revealed herself--she seemed slower, heavy. pregnant.

the deer tried to run from the hunter, but he shot the mother and the fawn. the pregnant deer seemed less excited about running, so he kept her alive.

i cried for my little fawn. he didn't deserve that.

what were they trying to tell me?

i see deer as an embodiment of peace and sweetness. they also hold lessons in justified wariness, speed, and grace. lots of folks trying to hunt that down these days--if it was a totem dream.

i've been thinking about pregnancy again...maybe the deer were my fears coming back to me.

do i really feel that being a mother makes me a target? or that being pregnant saves me, but destines me to a life of some kind of captivity?

hm.

teleportation & gypsies

dream sequence.

i was walking through my old elementary school trying to find a "portal" i used in recurring dreams when i was younger.

as i went through the usual sequence to get where i was going, it didn't seem to add up. a door i thought i remembered using was suddenly too small for an adult.

a few nights ago i had a similar dream about another passageway i used to access through what looked like my parents' basement. i had to concentrate harder to open the passage, and when i got through, i had to use another route because, again, the old one was too small.

i suppose that's confirmation that the releasing of old ways and methods is beneficial. i have to make a bigger, better way for myself, and it probably has more to do with expansion and deliberate action than playing around with teleportation or whatever the hell i was doing in the childhood dreams.


*segue*


not that we had much fleetwood mac in the house--there was at least one manhattan transfer album, but no fleetwood--but everything about this video and song resonated with me. even stevie's twirling dance. i loved all that fantasy stuff--the dark crystal*, legend...

when i see it now, it makes me think of oya or oshun...





*if i do wind up getting a guinea pig? i'm SO naming him/her fuzzgig...

dreams...

i was in a haitian peristyle...very simply built with beige walls made of clay or stone --almost like an adobe.

in one almost bare room there was a mambo dancing, veves and candles all over the floor. the doorway to the room seemed to be shielded, so i never went all the way in and she never came out.

the first time i walked by, she was mounted by a spirit i didn't recognize. i greeted him/her and went on my way.

the next time i walked by, she was maman brigitte. her clothes reminded me of oya as st. theresa.

traditionally, oya is a wife of sango, the wind in the storm. she is the orisa who takes the breath of life back to olodumare and accepts deathbed prayers along with petitions to the ancestors. it's probably safe to say that oya and maman brigitte are essentially the same spirit that has gained different monikers and visages--not to mention a somewhat split personality--during her years in the diaspora.

anyway, i kept going between the shrine room and a bathroom that housed a tub filled with water and all kinds of herbs. it seemed that my goal was to take a bath, but i had to keep checking the water to see if it was ready. whenever i inspected it, this or that herb was needed...so i never actually stepped in the water, but instead wound up going back and forth, gathering herbs.

it was one of those dreams where i felt i was being taught some kind of ritual or recipe that is always maddeningly difficult or impossible to recall upon waking.

...but, i said i wanted to travel. so i suppose my wish was granted.

dreaming

i find it a bit unnerving that i can't remember my dreams lately. they just don't seem to be coming with the intensity and vision that they usually do.

on the other hand, that could mean i'm getting better at keeping in touch with the spirit world in my waking moments--which is good. typically my most intense dreaming comes when i'm going through some kind of transition or need to learn some lesson.

but i've been a dreamer my whole life. so when the hiatuses come, i notice.

the shaman with gray braids wearing a flannel shirt and jeans who reads for me...

serpents crawling over my feet and me walking, unafraid...

glimpses of past lives and times...

the oshun-woman who comforts me and gives advice...

the water dreams--rolling aquamarine waves and crystal clear waterfalls...


but i haven't seen any of them in awhile.

secular bibles

i started reading the temple of my familiar again last night. i consider it one of my sacred texts.

the ritual goes like this: i'll get an urge to pick it back up, and if i can get through the first fifty pages barely blinking, i know it's time for another reading.

considering the publication date, i was probably around 11 or 12 the first time i read it (the copy i have now was my mother's). i distinctly remember feeling like i knew those people, those lives.

later i came to realize that i am a version of miss lissie, only i wasn't fortunate enough to remember everything this time around. even so, i've surrounded myself with many women (and some men) who are cut from the same cloth. as they remember, so do i. we help each other.

as much as a book can, this one validates me, my essence. things i've known about myself and the way my heart and spirit work since i can remember consciously thinking about such things.

i've said it often: this book made me make sense.

needing to reread it is a sign that i'm keenly aware of my own evolution. it means i need to check in and see what spirits and worlds i'm identifying with in this moment, which ones i can leave behind, and which ones are coming.

other secular holy works:

sassafrass, cypress, & indigo (i intend on studying this one again, too) and for colored girls...

dick gregory's nigger

sapphire...american dreams and push

like the singing coming off the drums (haven't picked that up for awhile...)

saul williams' she

zami, a new spelling of my name

their eyes were watching god

mandela's children

baltimore sun three part series

journeying...

i traveled last night.

i felt like i was in a man's apartment, trying to find a quiet corner to rest in during or after a party. i found myself in his room--a very postmodern affair, something out of an r&b video. tan sheets on the bed, leather couches and chaise lounges, chrome accents. i tried to read a card he'd left on his bed for a lover, but couldn't make sense of it.

in another house in a very different kind of setting, i sampled heroin. the next day i had on a backpack, trying to get somewhere (was i a college student?) but found myself contemplating another high instead. (un)fortunately, the dealers were gone and the house had changed. seemed i was somewhere very european. cobblestones everywhere. something in me fought the urge to seek out another hit, knowing i didn't want to travel that road.

there were flashes of past lives.
forgotten and remembered loves, sensations, emotions.

it was a strange night.