light and dark

a few nights ago, someone posted Alexyss Tylor's latest on tumblr and i went ahead and watched.  after that, i happened to find a Vice magazine piece where she told a bit more of her story.

now, i have a couple of issues with her--similar to the ones i have with Kola Boof, minus the twitter experience--but i also have a new-found respect.  she's a survivor.  i don't always dig the way she gets the word out, but i understand that she speaks to realities i have not lived and pains i do not know. 

i've noticed that many women labeled "crazy" or "wild" carry an abundance of Dark Goddess energy.  Her names are many: Kali, Nana Buluku, Pomba Gira, Pele, Maman Brigitte, Iyaami, Ezili Je Rouge, Sekhmet.  all-seeing eye havin, fire-spittin, ass kickin and name takin Divinity.  the Mama that brought you in and will take you out.

in this incarnation, my path stresses peace, light and balance, but i am aware that many sistas choose differently.  i can hardly blame them; the help and privilege i've been afforded don't come to all of us.   


when tragedy strikes or for those born into or out of pain, despair, and struggle, the light doesn't always make it through.  sometimes the darkness comes first, and it comes strongest. 

using the dark to heal is dangerous; it is the underworld journey, lonely and fierce.  the light is safer, calmer, sweeter.  but no matter the road, deep healing always carries the risk of no return.  you can get lost in the dark, struggling against your own demons. you can go too far into the light, becoming neglectful and drifting into the next world before your time.

only those who remain on the surface forget the sanctity of balance.

so to Kola, Alexyss and others i say: there but for the grace of God/dess go i. 


it's not an endorsement, or full agreement. i have my reasons for sticking to my way, as they do. still, i know that my way is only a way, not the way, and i'm not gonna reach everyone with it. 


this is a recognition.  an understanding. 


i'm in my lane, they're in theirs, but we're all on the highway to the same destination: the empowerment of our sistas and the reemergence of Goddesshood.  

THANK you. FINALLY.

someone said it:

So it is extremely intellectually disingenuous to suggest that a specific critique is exactly the same as a fullscale attack. It seems that what you are really saying is that racism beats Black men down so much, that even when they do sh*t that’s clearly egregious, we should let it go, so that we don’t ally with THE MAN against Black men. And that argument is the height of whackness, not to mention the fact that it makes me think you’re living in 1970 and not 2010.

We make no apologies for critiquing brothers when they deserve it, or for speaking unapologetically about the concerns of sisters. We also don’t buy the logic that our failure to speak about every instance of sexist activity in the mainstream undercuts the legitimacy of our feminist politics or makes us call Black men into question. If you had actually checked out the articles on this site, you would see that in the last week, the most viewed article was a critique of Regis Philbin for grabbing Nicki Minaj’s ass. And the comments that we got from many brothers was that she deserved it.

So since many of you aren’t down for the cause, we are down for own. Unapologetically.

this is an excerpt from one of crunktastic's comments, but you can see the entire, fabulously executed post here.

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! 

princesas

it's been quite awhile since i've seen a movie that broke my heart.

princesas made me think of many things...not the least of which were the issues surrounding sex work, the women who do it, and the myriad dangers they face.

i would try to deal with this on the sexy blog, but it's entirely too raw and too personal.

it may sound positively insane to some of you, but i can very deeply recall a time when this work was not stigmatized or demonized. it was a part of life, and it was protected. sacred.

i, and possibly many in my family line, did this work.

now it is a vehicle for depravity and desperation--not because these are "bad" or "fallen" women, but because balance and wholeness are not valued states of being in this culture.

who can sell prozac and narcotics to balanced, whole people?*

as i watched the story unfold, all i could think was, it shouldn't be this way. it didn't have to be this way.

i am thankful that i have learned and remember that lesson and came into this life with a different purpose. the temples are long gone, and it could have been deadly.

i think the same thing when i see real whores on the streets.

it shouldn't be this way. it didn't have to be this way.

and...

it could have been me.



*i had some issues with this film, but it did make an interesting point (blink and you'll miss it...) about the advantages to controlling people's thoughts/feelings around sex/sexuality.

me, myself & i: omo oshun, (un)reformed courtesan, student of erzulie and lover of the virgin

warning: contains triggers.

inspired by a comment conversation from this post over at incredible juju.

#8-9 on the list.

~*~*~

before kindergarten, i knew what sex felt like. i knew i wasn't supposed to, but somehow--along with the trauma and the misplaced emotions and all the rest--i gleaned some things from it.

i've spoken about the details, but sparkle's blog got me thinking about the lessons i learned from one of my underworld initiations.

let me make this crystal clear at the commencement: i am in NO way suggesting that anyone should go through this. it is not a desirable situation by any means, in any way shape or form.

however, as part of my healing, and as with most things in my life, i had to come to understand it as something that had happened in order to shape me in some way. i had to learn from it.

it has shaped me, and i have learned. how i knew it as a pain-drunk 16/17 year old considering cutting herself just to get through the day and how it has evolved over the years through my study of self, womanhood, and woman-centered spirituality have been vastly different, but all part of who i am.

that said, i am now certain that it has informed and formed my attachment and attraction to men. there were instincts raised in me that, under normal circumstances, probably wouldn't have come into being until i was a teenager or woman in my 20s.

i had "strange" urges that i learned to fulfill alone, as a secret. there were none of the more innocent "if you show me yours, i'll show you mine..." moments. i felt like i knew way too much to get into anything like that, so i'm glad the opportunity never presented itself--at least not to my recollection.

none of it made much sense until i got into books like aphrodite's daughters and read stories of women who had not been molested, but also felt these things. women who had been sexual and sensual from a very early age, but (for the most part) blessedly spared the years of therapy and the other pain i endured.

although i must say, being an unapologetically sexual woman in a patriarchal socio-psychological context comes with its own struggles and pains--something the daughters of oshun, aphrodite, venus, het heru and all the other love goddesses know well. the womb-deep, watery knowledge never went away, and neither did the power of the pussy portal. only our circumstances have changed.

the first time my mother saw it in action--i, not even a pre-teen, flirted with the boyfriend of a college-aged cousin on a family vacation--she didn't explain what might have been happening so much as scare me out of it (the dangers of strange men, etc.). she was right to put some fear in me, but, in hindsight, i would have preferred a conversation about who i was becoming. i think that seeing me exude that energy with some measure of skill at that age scared her, and she acted out of fear.

but, for whatever reason, i liked him. of course i wouldn't have known what to do with him, and he was probably thinking "who is this kid?", but it felt good to make him pay attention to me. to wield that kind of power, even without a woman's obvious attributes.

fast forward a few years, and i learn that there's something about me that men like. i seem to repel guys my age, but the ones 5, 7, or a decade older are interested, sometimes overly so. and i liked them, too, long as they weren't old enough to be my dad.

i recall another incident: it was during a trip home from college, if memory serves. a friend of the family threw a pool party and i openly flirted with a 30-something year old man who, an hour or so into the conversation, almost didn't believe i was as young as i said i was. my mother was present then, too, but didn't fuss this time.

i've always attributed their interest to my figure, not my face. most days i describe myself as "moderately attractive", but i've assumed that what they're really attracted to is my figure: model height with amazonian curves, ample bra size, birthin' hips, shapely legs, and, for a black woman, some unique coloring.

during my healing, this attraction frightened and repulsed me. i didn't know what to do with it, whether or not i should say "no"--i wasn't in any danger, right?--etc.

no one taught me how to use my sensuality or that it was even there. i was told to be careful since i was a "big" (read: curvy) girl. between my mom and health class, i knew the ins and outs of safer sex & avoiding pregnancy & std's, but no one got personal about it.

the point of the story is this: male attention can be worked over and diffused. it doesn't have to scare you into a corner, or make you feel slimy, even if the guy is.

eventually, i learned how to flirt with a man and leave him smiling--without my phone number and sometimes without even a name.

saying "no" can be as sweet as birdsong or jarring as a rape whistle, and equally effective in either situation.

i can allow, disallow, engage, and repel all in the same moment, if i choose.

my side eye doubles as the evil eye in emergency situations.

i get the same respect & attention whether i'm in a sweatshirt and jeans or a cleavage-shattering blouse and tight trousers. it all depends on how my light's shining.

...but all that came with its price.

...what ppl don't tell you is the disclaimer: innocence doesn't really get lost, just violated. stolen from. afterwards, it hangs around the victim trying to remember what it was, and all its requisite pain must be given its due respect and expression.

~me, april 2007

suggested reading
~the temple of my familiar
~mama gena
~aphrodite's daughters (link in entry)
~sisters of the yam
~intercourse (for the other extreme...)
~the color purple
~our bodies, ourselves

my comments are turning into conversations...

so i went over to dark daughta's house and saw the slut manifesto.

and i'm reminded that i carry a sizable "s" on my chest...albeit quietly kept and largely subdued.

she gets out sometimes, tho.

so i said:

hm...

this is really interesting. mainly because it's a lot closer to my true nature (with the exception of "relationship busting"...ha) than what's "expected" of me. i tend to be flirtatious, free loving, and highly sensual.

i would have to disagree with her re: the pussy in & of itself not being powerful...birth. period. nuff said.

that said, my mother and i have had several arguments over marriage and why it is(n't) important. i know she probably thinks i've had more boyfriends than is "good" for me, or suspected me of sleeping with people "too soon".

i've spent the last few years relatively torn (emotionally) between two men i love very much, knowing i can't have both, etc. and so on.

largely, i am a serial monogamist, and i have no problem with that. i enjoy the connections and intimacy that come with a single (primary, at times) partner. at the same time, i often wind up sacrificing some of my physical/sexual needs (to touch and be touched, daily. longing for new & different sensations. deep and full orgasm) for my intellectual/emotional ones (friendship, intimacy, passionate conversation, shared outlook). very mixed bag.

i see it, i own it, and i accept it...but there have been eruptions. when i rebel and/or have an ache for freedom, it's typically resulted in a breakup. just about every year honey & i have been together, we've separated, sometimes for several months at a time. and almost each time, i wound up with several suitors (or one in particular--the other love) filling in the gaps. but even that gets tiring because, for whatever reason, i'm usually on that "high price" end (i guess 'cause i'm a "closeted slut". ha), and fools always wanna lock me down or some shit. i learned the hard way that most men (people?) don't think of sex as something to be enjoyed, savored, and let go of with no hard feelings. for me, it's like getting to know someone, a conversation. i don't need to spend my life with you afterwards...

on some levels i'm still coming to terms with the parts of me that remember--and love--my past lives as courtesan, sacred whore, and harem girl. some part of me remembers babylonian and kemetian love temples and sacred fertility rituals. how am i supposed to fit into the narrow way(s) offered me?

i'm still trying to figure out if the notion of truly settling down--whatever that's supposed to mean--is actually for me. some days i think it is, other days i don't know.

this might be a "part 1" of something larger...