spirit notes

you know how sometimes you need a little Spirit in your life? i picked up my book of rumi poems last week, and i've been reading ever since...

a favorite from this morning:

...i am apart from all that.
ways of worshiping are not to be ranked as better
or worse than one another...
it's not me that's glorified in acts of worship.
it's the worshipers! i don't hear the words
they say. i look inside at the humility.
that broken-open lowliness is the reality, not the language! forget phraseology.

i adore the concept of closeness to God...the notion that god is a mystery and/or can never be understood has never been logical or feasible to me.

i think the Universe craves understanding and knowledge. attempting to understand the Divine in relevant & personal ways brings us closer to understanding ourselves.

whatever medium you use to achieve that understanding, as long as it is done in the spirit of love, devotion, and humility, becomes Divine in the process. if you see God in everything, you begin to create your paradise.

feline adventures

ok. so i got a kitten monday. after years of petlessness, he's a joy. and i've never raised one on my own, so that's fun, too.

his name is oludare (o-loo-dar-ray). it means "god has judged me right/innocent". he was part of an unwanted litter, so i figure his life could have been much worse.

he is cute, affectionate, playful, and fully housetrained (without much help from me, thank u very much...i just showed him where to go, and he went. i was skeptical about that cat-claim, but it's true, ladies & gents).

he is my first cat.

he also wakes me up at 2am.

if you've never had the distinct pleasure of being awakened by something non-human tugging at your hair, you should try it sometime.

it was also fun having him think that there was some toy under the covers when i rolled over. he pounced on my backside a few times.

the little nose between my shoulderblades was kinda cute, tho.

i sprayed him with water, picked him up and put him in his bed (which he hasn't touched...probably due to the heat), all to no avail. he just kept coming back for more.

he didn't even realize he could reach the bed until yesterday.

in an effort to keep him off at least most of the time, i close my bedroom door when i leave for work in the mornings.

see, my dog used to rotate. one night in my parents' room, one night in mine, another in my brother's, and so on.

i am the lone provider for this little sweetheart.

it'd be fine if he just slept...

but i'm happy he's there.

a sort of solidarity

you know, folks wanna talk shit about women like her, but no one is born doing what she did to get by.

honestly? i could have wound up where she is. after reading a little about her background, there wasn't much need to go farther. or pass judgement. i could see what was coming.

many women have been bumped and bruised far too early in life. we carry scars we can't show and don't know how to talk about. result: a need for love, acceptance and validation, often expressed by usin what you've got to get what you want.

i often say that, had i not had the parents, family, and friends i did, my life could have taken a far different route. fortunately i was able to find myself in a overwhelmingly healthy, productive way.

but a lot of us are only one relationship or left turn away...

i don't envy her struggles or the karma she's built up over the years. but i understand her--at least to a point.

will i be buying her book? no.

but i support her struggle to redeem her womanhood.

sapphire does an excellent job of describing the fallout without the name dropping glitz.

karrine & sapphire are rather extreme sides of the same coin...but there are plenty of us who fall somewhere in the middle.

spirit notes

you know, since i've put up my altar, interesting things have been happening.

for one, an outlet in my mother's house that has NEVER worked started working a little while after i restructured my altar space.

i've also been running into people i never see and really don't have much to say to...one is my father's sister. i'm sure i've mentioned before that i don't deal with my dad's side of the family much, although i look a lot like them. running into my aunt has been....surreal at best. i pass her house daily going to work, and i live maybe 10 minutes from her. but i've never run into her until very recently.

the other is a girl i was close with years ago, but who i lost touch with almost immediately after we left high school. she hasn't been well ever since a breakdown she had around sophomore year of college. she's a distant relative through my mother's stepfather...no blood at all, although she used to harp on the fact that we were "cousins".

i have no idea why i would be seeing them. do they need to see me for some reason? what could i possibly have to offer them at this stage? it doesn't seem to make sense.

another thing: my grandmother was fond of scotch, so i wanted some to put on her side of the table. i had asked my mother to find out what brand she drank.

strangely enough, my mother told me on saturday. why weird? because (a) during my closing prayer/thank you at the end of the fast, i asked my egungun to let me know if they needed anything and (b) mom told me she'd found out what brand she drank a few weeks ago, but just thought to tell me saturday, the day after i mentioned it.

i'm keeping my eyes open...i just don't know if i'm seeing from the right angle.

while we're bringin up old stuff

..and by old stuff i mean emmett till and edgar ray...

i'm reminded of how my grandmother--courtesy of her not-even-cafeaulait complexion--was one of the first black people to work in one of the big department stores downtown.

my grandfather being relegated to waiting out world war 2 in guam. not to mention his less than dignified experiences working summers in ocean city.

the buried children in my great grandmother's basement.

my mother's memories of going to visit her grandfather in new jersey and taking enough to eat for the entire journey. 'cause, well, you know. nowhere to stop on the way.

apparently, it ain't over yet.

herbal haze

the shaman was in my dreams again...

i have no name for him. it's an elder, and he's native american. he's shown up in my dreams before. and, if i'm not mistaken, at least one other time it's been when i smoked a particular herbal blend (crystal ball). it mellows you out generally, but if you smoke it just before a nap/bedtime, it puts you into a rather deep sleep.

and i dream about him. and various other strange things.

he was reading my tarot...showing me how to lay it out. how to read it. i haven't read tarot cards since college, and then only once in the midst of some sort of spike in my psychic energy.

i have some cards i bought for their aesthetic value, but i have no connection to them whatsoever. they have remained in the bottom of various dresser drawers since i bought them in, say, 1999.

there was other information i can't remember. i should have written it down this morning, but i didn't think about it until i emailed a friend.

he's always teaching me. telling me how to see patterns in my life.

his dress isn't stereotypical...i think last night he was in jeans and a button-down shirt. he has long, steel-gray, braided hair. and he's obviously of some kind of native/indigenous descent.

sometimes i think he's an ancestor. other times i think he might be the spirit guide i've taken to calling "adam", who i've never intuited any visual for.

in the next room, the new pope (god only knows why...i'm nowhere near catholic) who looks much younger than he should was waiting for me to finish with the shaman so he could do some kind of mediation between myself, my best friend, and another friend of ours.

...ok. that doesn't really make sense w/out the background.

the three of us were the three musketeers. except we were black & female. then life--not to mention marriages, babies, and some more shit--got in the way, and three went down to two.

so here's the pope and the three of us in a room, sitting on the floor going over our friendship and what went wrong...

i guess i need to make some phone calls.

defies description

sometimes a small family is a blessing.

the service yesterday was beyond tacky. generic preaching, a blank program. not even any music piping in as you were settling.

i've been to memorials at funeral homes that were more personalized.

let's be real: any time the pastor starts in on scripture even i know?? all those kids/grown grandchildren, and no one bothered to sit down with him and tell him at least something about the woman? a few anecdotes? (bless his heart...he did the best he could with a (literally) blank program).

the damn funeral home people didn't even know what to do.

don't even get me started in my aunt in the prom dress from 1980something.

and i've seen it before.

if anyone put me away like that? i'd haunt them for the next 20 years.

granted, she passed suddenly, but they had a whole weekend to get things together. it was a memorial service, essentially. there was a brief viewing (who knew?), but no body there. she was cremated. i'm sure the church knew someone who could have donated some time to play the piano/organ. if they'd been given notice.

they had 2 people there who could sing...they seemed to get up when the pastor asked for various things...so i'm assuming they knew they were expected to get up and when.

i am so thankful i said my goodbyes in the hospital and saw her spirit smile. that satisfied me.

bless her life, and may her walk among the ancestors be a peaceful one.

ashe.

first love

it was 1992...

he was tall with deep brown skin and high cheekbones. goofy, almost-handsome. sweet. with the highest hightop fade i'd ever seen.


at 14, i was just as goofy.
but he thought i was beautiful.


we met thru a mutual friend and spent the next four years growing up together. planning weddings, naming children. valentine's cards and birthday hugs.


he got me through some of the worst times in my life. there were times when i treated him like shit, but, through it all, he stayed. and loved.


if it weren't for him, i don't even know if i'd be here today.


i outgrew him first. he ran to my friends for advice. i ran to another man a hundred miles away. i thought he was prince charming for real.


he wasn't.


but after he got over his broken heart, we got back in touch and managed to remain friends.


he can (still) pluck my last good nerve on occasion, but i'll always love him.


happy birthday, j.

land of liberty

america is
the little sister
who bakes you a cake
"all by herself"
with
not enough sugar
and
too many eggs
that you must
choke down,
smiling,
and call
delicious.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

nekhena evans vs. madame cj walker

just when i'm feeling like shit, enter my mother with the job/hair connection.

(every now and then she'll sneak that into conversation)

well you know what? fuck 'em. i'm tired of the lie. our hair isn't straight. get over it. it doesn't always lie down, it doesn't flip whimsically off our shoulders.

and if more of "them" knew what we went thru to make that seem natural, they'd probably deem us insane.

...well, maybe not. considering the popularity of taking botulism shots to the face.

still, if they think shit about me because i refuse to allow their standards to dominate me, fuck 'em.

most folks don't even spend time thinking about this on any conscious level. and they wouldn't really get it if the topic arose. so i really don't think it's that serious.

of course, mom's set in her ways and was raised in a house that didn't allow afros. so if an intelligent, young black woman like myself can't seem to get a job, it must be because my hair isn't bone straight.

forget the current economy, last hired first fired, overqualification for the bullshit that passes as gainful employment these days, the intimidation factor of an intelligent blk female, etc., etc.

but i digress.

the more of us there are, the more they will be forced to accept our true form when it appears. or they will show their true colors and turn up their noses at it. in which case we will just have to make our own way, something we should have made a priority years ago anyway. self-determination.

why should we buy into the bullshit anymore? it's been too long. and you can only lead by example.

all i have is my self-expression. if i lose that, if i give that up, i give up my soul. i won't compromise my soul. it's bad enough i have to fit myself in all these boxes to begin with.

i suppose God'll just have to make a way. i have so little in the way of freedom sometimes...i have to take what i can get. how else am i supposed to stay sane?

no matter how you look at it, it's an element of struggle.

i can accept that.

voices

birthed 2 different days under 2 different circumstances...still trying to figure out a place for them.

(one)
poetry calls
at the strangest times

like
after midnight
with work in the morning

after too much smoke
and not enough love

creeping under doors
repeatedly smudged against
intruders and unpleasantness

for instance,
when all i want
is for the ache in my side
to go away
i find myself
forced to pick up
paper and pens
sketch out thoughts
until watercolors
drip
drop
from white blue and black
alone

i've been trying
to write all weekend
but i mistook
brown skin for metaphor and
warm hands for synonyms

sometimes
takes me a moment to realize
what all that energy
is for

searching for inspiration in
mere acquaintances
is never enough
a muse
must love you exclusively
and
my lovers
are far too conflicted

i'm considering
remodeling
breaking myself down
to have something to do
a project
a worthy hobby

building a black girl
inch by inch
a reality show
few would watch

...shutting us down is the main attraction.


(two)
halting steps taken
in the
lost-found rhythm
of a groove i last heard
when someone mistook me
for a 1/2 white girl

my heart bleeds black
roots of hair
reddened by
nevershouldhavebeen nights
nights my memory
forces into herbal hazes

i am an addict
with no drug

exile
with no homeland

simply
out of place

a lit cigarette
becomes a microcosm
of the earth's core
in my hands
yet
i am nothing more
than a lost note or two
wafting in the breeze

my presence makes for
pleasant nostalgia
but my place in the present
is more than uncertain.


(c) 2009 l.a.m.

pressure cooker

my mother has always been fond of saying, "those babies didn't ask to come here". meaning, parents should never expect their children to save them. their responsibility is to raise them to the best of their ability, then allow the child his or her own life.

it is one of the most important lessons she has taught me.

children should not be used to correct your frustrations, only the last generation's mistakes. they are not (always) you incarnate. and if they appear to be, it is to teach you a lesson. i don't believe it is necessary to force their roundness into the square peg you should have fit.

our babies can only save us if we allow them the freedom to become their own unique selves.

the man of the house is never your 10 year old.

we have to find a better way to handle the fracturing of our families.

how many times have you witnessed a situation where everything's all good until a child begins to assert herself...and if she's not precisely what we groomed her to be, we reject her. no one bothered to take the time to see who she was, what she wanted. and, sometimes, she hasn't allowed herself to know, for fear of that rejection. only to have it happen anyway.

one glimmer of promise, and common sense goes out the window.

expect the best, yes. discipline, certainly. but do not forget balance.

you did not give birth to a protegee. a protegee comes to you of her own free will once she has decided what it is she wants to be in life.

you gave birth to a human being who has her own role and purpose to fulfill in this life, a role that one day will take her beyond being your baby.

nurture her in the world you make for her, but learn to let her go. be there when she falls, but don't cover her in padding so she's numb to the pain.

yeah...i can hear you now. "you don't have any babies...what do you know?"

ok.

but if/when i do, i can only teach them what i've been taught.

and this is one lesson i plan on passing on.

d.c. eats her young

.
the flutter of a desert fly's wings
reverberates
on the concrete
of my front stairs

the capital building
is ground zero

sins committed there
echo in the ears of children
with griot blood
who have not yet learned
how to ignore
their birthright

grandchildren of priestesses
in a godless land
reaping the harvest
sown by
demoralized parents
crooked systems
and apathetic idolatry

if we continue
to allow madness
in our house
it is our children
who will embrace it
desperate for
love and lessons
we've become too complacent to teach

like any gift,
they can be
stolen
returned
exchanged

we are
failing the test
god is not
on our side
and the sooner we realize it
the sooner we can heal.

II.
the prayers and curses
of a thousand lips
are blowing typhoon winds
into the center of chocolate city
escorting misery
to your doorstep
but your babies are the only ones
conscious enough
to hear her knocking

rage flows like water
rocking their souls to sleep
like you refused to do
for fear of spoiling them

we will lose
the war
at home or abroad
as long as we ignore the obvious
allow our youth
to play with razor blades
and walk barefoot
on broken glass

we kill them with our lies
confuse with our hypocrisy

suffer the little children

the leaders of the 60s
are returning as brilliant hoodlums
draped in white tees
they're trying to shape into priestly robes

suffer the little children

open your eyes
to the play on the asphalt stage

the ancestors will keep sending warriors
until we remember how to teach them to fight

but all we can think to do
is build more battlefields
for them to die defenseless on.

III.
blood spilled there
will fall on our heads here

the world
is not flat
and we are not
an island

the golden rule
doesn't stop applying
just 'cause you cross the border

fool me once
(vietnam)
shame on you

fool me twice
(iraq)
shame on me.

IV.
the flutter
of a desert fly's wings
is sending ripples
thru the streets
of concrete jungles
light years away.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

universal

i need God.

my neglect of my spiritual self is catching up to me. i'm realizing that i need to allow my spirit space to grow, breathe, and live. this is a major part of getting where i need to be in the other areas of my life.

of course, there are some conditions.

i will not be reverting to my judeo-christian beginnings.

i do want to continue my reading/study of the bible. same thing with the koran. i enjoy reading both--the koran especially--but the faiths themselves aren't for me.

long ago, i rejected the idea of a solely male, patriarchial godhead. everything in the Universe is dualistic. my disdain at the Holy Spirit being denied Her place as Goddess disqualifies me for blind faith in the christian trinity. the Divine Feminine must be recognized, revered, and considered just as important as the Male. it is my firm belief that the removal of this dimension in the lives & faiths of so many has contributed to the chaotic state of the world today.

(i also place some stock in the idea that people are becoming more drawn to these issues/ideas because the Goddess is restless in Her neglect. everything moves in cycles...the spiritual consciousness of humanity is no different.)

some historical origins and african prophets notwithstanding, christianity/islam/judaism are not the faiths of my ancestors. more and more, i'm seeing how these traditions have been/are being used & abused in the repression, oppression, and murder of my people around the world.

my ancestors revered nature, life, earth and sky. they understood and embraced the concept of masculine and feminine energy combining to form the complexities and balance of the Universe. every being on the planet does this--even hermaphroditic species need 2 sets of parts/cells to multiply. so why has it become so difficult to accept this premise in our spiritual lives? simply because a few thousand years ago (people wanna act like the world started with jesus. God lived long before yeshua) some dudes sat down and wrote a book and asked themselves, "why should women have all the fun?"

nope. don't buy it.

i am drawn to the more shamanistic/mystic ways of worship and belief. ifa, buddhism, rastafari, sufism, hinduism, and other similar traditions are far more attractive than traditional churches and mosques.

i know that i need a faith that will carry me thru every day, not just a few days a week. i require a sacred space in my home, not just a book or two.

either way, God & i have been playing phone tag for way too long. i will not allow myself to fear this aspect of my life any longer.

anamnesis

it must be in our nature to forget

the immensity of the planet

since we are taught

to stuff ourselves

in an assortment of boxes

that in no way fit

who we're meant to be

suddenly

we are individuals in every way

except our dreaming

what do you expect

when imagination is crushed

between the gears of the machine

we can't even sing anymore

melodies are regurgitated

instead of inspired

apathy set to sound

we are dying

and celebrate it

accept the worst kinds of nihilism

draped in hope's clothing

of course

the blind are the only ones

who see

depressed knowitalls

who love to wreck the party

everyone else

is having.

(c) 2008 l.a.m.

legacy

i do not like the energy of this place.

it has the feeling of a skin graft...naturally artificial. this place, much of it, has been transplanted here, imported. it does not belong.

the walls are invisible, but clearly marked. an abundance of urban blight surrounding the fortress/oasis...pleasant place to be as long as you don't go too far out of the box. when the lines have to be crossed, the fear is palpable.

there is something restless here. history razed to make way for housing, parking lots, new research labs and other assorted knickknacks.

but this place lies over years of memories, blood, sweat, tears. it is not just the antiseptic feel of a hospital that lingers. it is the image of the plantation. the memories of the homeless people who disappeared. the children and the lead.

it is the way black folks are kept in the basements.

the back entrances and lonely service ramps haunting the undersides of the sparkling new buildings.

hierarchy is in the bricks here. bureaucracy in the air. it is difficult to breathe.

40 percent

my dad finally got his disability from the VA for vietnam. he will now recieve 40% of the benefits owed to him.

this after 20+ years of struggle.

i've lived my entire life with the ghost of that war. many of us have...whether it was a dad, a favorite uncle, maybe a brother or sister.

for us 20-somethings, our movies started to reflect it--dead presidents, jason's lyric, ...more than a few of the movies in the 90s dealt with the consequences 'nam had on the children of vets.

i had an acquaintance in college whose father went thru some of the same things mine did....while we got along generally, that was the topic we first bonded over. it was the first time i'd met someone who understood.

daddy talks about the lighter side of things...the bbq featuring their pet pig, the 40 days and 40 nights of rain, that kind of thing. i used to love going thru the old photo albums and seeing the golden buddhas in the temples and the weird, sepia landscapes. and, of course, daddy sitting around with a cigar in his mouth, looking impossibly young.

but i know there are many other things he doesn't talk about...the things that took the light out of his eyes.

my mother always told me he came back a shell of himself, nothing like the guy who'd left home.

and even tho i didn't see the early effects, i still knew not to wake him up too fast...not to sneak up on him, ever...not to sneak into the house too quietly. i watched a lot of movies and skimmed more than a few books trying to fill in the blanks.

i've always counted myself fortunate that he came back in much better shape than most, but that's still little consolation to loved ones and children who grow up with ghosts.

there is no way a check's gonna make up for that. i don't care if it was 100%. but he fought long & hard for every single dime, and i'm proud of him for it.

at every anti-war rally i've been to, i've sought out the veterans (especially the vietnam ones) and shaken a hand or just simply said, "my father is one of you, and that's why i'm here today."

when people ask why i'm against war, i'll go thru some facts, but i make it a point to tell them, "i would never want anyone's daddy to go thru what mine did."

i'll never be able to support this country going into even a justified conflict while knowing they're just going to use soldiers as guinea pigs then give 'em the shaft once they get home.

but i'll take this small victory. 'cause every little bit helps.

earth & water

yesterday i found out my mother had a picture of me and a good friend of mine...

we're sitting on a couch...in some dorm somewhere. i can't remember what year it was taken or for what, but it's an 8x10 glossy, so it must have had some purpose. his hair was relatively short...my nails look like acrylics. it was probably around sophomore year...97 or 98.

my eyes are closed. i'm leaning against his chest. he has his arms around me....a very couple-esque pose. he's looking out towards something...maybe a television. maybe he's just deep in thought. he seems kind of tired. i look like i might be about to say something. or about to smile.

the last time i saw him was in 2001. it was early winter, and he came to spend a weekend with me...wanted to see the city & get out of boston for a second or three. he was ecstatic that i had (finally) decided to loc my hair--he was always asking me why i never wore my hair in braids or why i wouldn't just let it go natural...rock a 'fro or something. and his eyes would shine when he talked about it.

unfortunately, we lost touch pretty soon after that weekend.

strangely enough, i had a completely unprovoked dream about him the night before this picture resurfaced. i'm hoping this is a sign.

he nursed me thru a broken heart...introduced me to jerk chicken and the warm, brown-sugar sweetness of first generation west indian guys... took me to my first live reggae show... was always willing to act like my man to keep the undesirables away.

he let me twist his locs when the closest i'd ever gotten to a head full of hair like that was in my dreams... let me cook for him and fuss over him, and i was never anything close to being his girl.

we had some moments.

and a marriage pact ("if neither of us is married by the time we're 40...").

he made me feel beautiful in a place where i simply wasn't seen and at a time when i'd never been so unsure of myself.

you might know who you are by now...so, if by some strange turn of fate, you've come across this page, i hope you're well. something tells me you're probably all tied up w/ some wonderful woman & maybe even a kid or two (congrats), but you can call a sista, dammit.

i miss you.

primordial mama

the woman

i write for

is dark and deep

water-logged//

even her joy

is indigo//

she seems loose to you

but she is only

adept at providing comfort//

her womb's doorway can

house an army

as her rivers wash her clean//

she is

immaculately promiscuous

choosing

sacred prostitution

over

chaste bondage//

...it is a shame that

this language only understands

such rites thru a

bastardized expression

composed of two loaded,

opposing concepts

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

oz

you have to take my hand

follow me down the road//

it doesn’t have to be made of yellow bricks if you don’t want it to be

‘cause we’re not chasing the wizard,

he’s chasing us//

trying to bottle our kisses and

ground the harmonies we sing

into powders for his garden

(…'cause everyone knows

love makes flowers grow)//

we don’t need emerald cities

we’d rather slide into the ocean

on ghanian gold

spell our names in

semi-precious stonedust

on the sides of volcanoes

to make the Goddess giggle

(c) 2009 l.a.m.