ethical sluttiness for the revolutionary sista

yesterday, i started reading the ethical slut.

so far, i like it. a lot.

however, it also illuminates the fact that there are so few tomes dealing with real-life, full, deep eroticism for women of color.

rarely are we asked about our needs.  it's even rarer to have those needs validated once they fall outside a set of very rigid parameters.  already you see that getting to the point of actually exploring those needs can be, at best, problematic.

...and we all know being "black enough" can be tough, especially when you're a black woman.  in that case, you've gotta be black enough and woman enough.

clearly, i love my people and i love our history. we birthed humanity--what could be greater than that? although i haven't technically traced my bloodlines, i recognize my connection to mama africa and encourage others to do the same. i am aware of and interested in black struggles for peace, equality and freedom across the diaspora.

i am also a sexual being.

a single, post-30, not-rushing-to-get-married-or-have-babies-type of sexual being. 

as such, i admit to having some anxiety around having my afrocentric/pan-africanist card revoked if/when sex enters the conversation.

why?  because i love for the sake of pleasure, companionship, and spiritual-physical-mental enrichment, not procreation and/or the "ultimate goal" of securing a monogamous, life-long relationship.* 

allow me to explain: most of the prominent voices in afrocentrism are male. these men talk about literal and figurative returns to africa with great aplomb, and many have learned the appropriate rhetoric and theory inside out.  still, they seem to neglect the fact that consciously-minded black women would love to see the kingman's guide to comprehensively loving the black woman or sacred man.** 

recently a wonderful sista sent me the prologue to the river where the blood is born.  those few pages reminded me that there is a deep, rich, sensual story within the hips of african women; one of pure feminine power independent of the men in their lives--when they choose to have them (note: the badu backlash).

it is a story i know, but can only hear in whispers.  so much of the story has been obscured, eradicated, twisted, or left untold.    

all that to say, as far as i'm concerned, ain't nobody's business if your fist is in the air in the morning and your stilettos are in the air at night.

loving yourself for who you are--in whatever configuration--is loving your people.

P. S. - if there's one thing ifa has taught me, it is that my destiny is not yours.  that is, our unique destinies flow into the community's destiny, and all is in divine order. to me, that speaks to the understanding that there is no need to control another or decry his/her choices--you don't know what god/dess has blessed them with, and it's not your affair. when you're working towards your highest good, you're not worried about it anyway; you have too much work to do.

if we are to live with good character--which is truly supreme--then we must be honest with ourselves and those we come in contact with.  part of that honesty, i would think, entails taking the time to understand how our circumstances are the same, and how they have changed.



* for most of my life, i have been a serial monogamist, but one with fantasies of polyandry and a recognition that some of my fondest experiences of loving have been tied to some degree of polyamory.


** ...that does NOT involve questionable power dynamics, domestic violence and other misogynistic tactics.  of course, i'm playing with the titles of shahrazad ali's the black man's guide to understanding black women and queen afua's sacred woman. to her credit, queen afua's husband does have a brief section in her book.  either way, some of you beautiful, goddess-appreciating, non-christian/hebrew/muslim brothas need to represent! 

vodou child

in the new orleans airport, i found voodoo dreams by jewell parker-rhodes. although it was published over a decade ago, i'd never heard of it.

after a few pages, i was reading it as if it were going to float out of my hands at any moment.

a few days ago, i purchased the sequel, voodoo season. i've started it, but haven't had time to make too much of a dent.

i am intrigued by parker-rhodes' intimate familiarity with the lwa damballah and the various manifestations of spiritual sensitivity. i hadn't seen so much of myself in a book since octavia butler's parable of the sower.

the fictionalized marie laveau felt like a past life; her great-great granddaughter, marie levant, holds parts of my present one. i'm sure it was no mistake that she renamed the heroine levant, "rising", to counter the earlier la veau--the (nearly sacrificial) calf.

also compelling is levant's connection to her unknown-to-her ancestry. since i began revering my ancestors, i've come to intuit that i come from a long line of priestesses and wise women--african, native american, and european.

understanding that, i realized that i am not as unusual as i believed myself to be.

but i have no proof.

that's probably an advantage to families that stayed in the south: they remained closer to the spirits of the ancestors, the fields they worked, the stories of roots women and hoodoo men.

as much as i love my concrete, i need those stories now.

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