mayo

i went to girl scout camp for a couple of years, probably when i was 8-10 years old.

as at most sleep-away camps, many things revolved around the dining hall. we learned how to fold and unfold the flag into a triangle. we put it up in the morning, and retired it at night.

we literally sang for our supper: you sang to get in the hall, you sang to see who would get served first, who got to leave to go to the pool first (loudest group won)...we sang grace, too.

each day, one camp would arrive early to set the tables and serve. that meant one or two people from your camp sat at each table, and you were something of a waitress for everyone else that day. everyone rotated, so everyone had the experience of serving and being served.

one of the folks in the kitchen was a black woman named mayo--at least that's what we called her. not even "miss mayo", which--as a properly raised quasi-southern young girl--would have been her proper title. just mayo.

mayo loved us. she gave us treats for our hikes, smiled at us as we came through the kitchen. she probably called us things like "baby" and "honey", too.

i'm sure she gave everyone those treats and those smiles. but--in the spirit of the best teachers and grandmothers--she had a wonderful way of making you feel like you were the only camp she was giving treats to that day.

i'd never seen anyone like her. i was used to large people; my family is tall on both sides. but mayo was tall and wide.

it was impossible to tell how old she was. she could have been 40, she could have been 80.

and she was dark. up until then, i'd never met anyone who was as literally black as this woman was. she wasn't what we'd call blue-black, but she shone.

she was loud, too, but not crude. her voice had a natural resonance that she either could not or did not want to contain. if she was annoyed, it was rolling thunder. if she was happy, it was an endearing, steady hum. there was something utterly southern about her.

i am certain i had to have had ancestors like her, but she's the closest representation i've seen in the flesh, before or since, of what we must have been like somewhere between africa and the first couple generations who had english as a first language.

obviously, she left an impression.

every so often, i think of her. i have no idea why.
but, it moved me to write, so i went with it.

mama mayo, wherever you are, i pray you are blessed.

ashe.

show of strength

some days it's amazing that i find a way to keep from screaming.

i can't believe that i'm not sitting here in tears, babbling like an idiot.

i don't know if this is strength, or stupidity.
probably survival.
i do need a job, after all.

but this is one of those days i have to hold my breath.

on my way to work, i almost got caught up in the breeze and the sunshine and the brilliance of the trees...not to mention cassandra's voice on the stereo...

and i had to stop it.
suck it all in.
hold back the poems trying to bubble up,
hold back the instinct to find a spot to pour libation and pray,
refuse to dance to the drums playing in my head.

because i knew i had to come in here, and i haven't figured out how to balance ecstacy and professionalism just yet.

obatala, keep my head cool.

today i am grateful for sunshine, laughter, jasper, and just the right song at just the right time.

why the new name, you ask?

ok.
so i made some sweet tea last night

and sitting here, writing poems and junk, trying to embrace an odd mood of combined
inspiration
boredom
prayer
stress (if i don't remind myself of the stress, i'll attempt to gloss over it)
and a particular sort of loneliness
i drank two glasses of it

and now i have a headache
'cause i used white sugar
(bein bad)
instead of the brown sugar and/or honey i've been using in my teas

*sheepish lil girl voice*
i just wanted it to taste like mommy's...

oooohhhh lordy no (c) olly

a moment in psychobabble

this morning while i was in a *yawn* meeting, i decided to write out a list of emotions. i thought it would help me feel a little less haywire. strangely enough, it did. so here goes:

what i'm feeling right now
fatigue, love*, restlessness, faith
anger, resilience, frustration, joy*
happiness, shifting/change*, annoyance, boredom
burnout, patience, decisiveness, effects/passage of time
arid, aggression, fractured, spirit
moody, openness*, power*, blockage
fear, bliss*, impatience, softness
blindness, acceptance, pain


what i need to feel
healing, power, hope, joy
health, bliss, relaxation, compassion
peace, connectivity, accomplishment, abundance
stimulation, love, inspiration, passion
openness, movement, eagerness, change/adaptation
release, beauty, progress, inspiration

*where things are matching up

i'm not sure what i want to do with this information yet. maybe just bringing it into consciousness is enough for the moment.

burnout

i need a break.

i've come to realize that bliss comes in moments when i'm not at work, and don't have to worry about going to work for at least 48 hours. but as soon as i know i need to go back...

he's got a hell of a battle ahead of him.
there are no words i know that can convey how much i love him.
i want him to be ok.
but my ok and god's ok might be very different.

i'm tired of money issues.

i'm tired of working so hard at love that i forget how to play at it.

i feel like i haven't truly relaxed in weeks. the baths and prayers aren't working like they used to.

i don't want to run away from my problems.
i want time and space to regroup so i'll have the strength to face them head on.

i want to feel at peace.
i want to breathe.

to all the girls...

courtesy of group hug:

to all the girls who think they can't have orgasms: you can, you will. just know that the entire issue is mental. there is most likely nothing wrong with you physically. pleasure and pain all exsist in your mind. you have to be turned on. you have to turn yourself on. you cannot allow yourself any guilt over your pleasure. you have to push yourself beyond being uncomfortable with pleasure. expirement [sic] with yourself. and don't be afraid. there is nothing wrong with you. and anyone who tells you that pleasure of that kind is immoral has no grasp on morality. you are normal. you are healthy. and you are allowed to feel good. it's alright.

ecstatic

i'm feelin a way (c) myra

it's like the slightest breeze/touch/bit of perfectly applied pressure will set me off into waves of bliss.

even cooking has given me a slight buzz. the feeling of the food in my hands and the scents of the spices are exhilarating.

there's a feeling of
ripeness
wholeness
warm ripples of honey
fresh water

(i can't even imagine what it would be like to swim right now...good god)

i'm very aware of me. fully in my body.

i think it's been a long time since i've allowed myself that. for a lot of reasons. but it feels fantastic.

i'm gonna have to ride this til the wheels fall off. gotdamn.

today i am thankful for oshun's blessings.

goddess be praised...

i always love being a woman, but there are days when i am simply in awe of it.

understanding the power and beauty inherent in my bliss is simply...thrilling.

i've found a groove, and i'm grateful for it.

up earlier than i wanted to be, but that's all right. i have more of the day to play in. and it will be a beautiful one: plenty of heat and sunshine, low humidity...ahhhhh.

gonna do a few sun salutations before i get in the shower...

i'll make a heavenly shea butter concoction to rub into my scalp after my shampoo. treat my ori to some deliciousness.

still planning on getting some writing done...

this is gonna be a good weekend. finances be damned.

adupe egungun mi
adupe ori mi
adupe osun! ori yeye o!
adupe sango...kawo kabiyesile! baba aladufe!

peace & sunshine, y'all.

the magdalene

...and jesus had a wife (c) saul williams

...peter added:
"how is it possible that the teacher talked in this manner with a woman about secrets of which we ourselves are ignorant? must we change our customs, and listen to this woman? did he really choos her, and prefer her to us?"

then mary wept, and answered him:
"my brother peter, what can you be thinking? do you believe that this is just my own imagination, that i invented this vision? or do you believe that i would lie about our teacher?"

at this, levi spoke up:
"peter, you have always been hot-tempered, and now we see you repudiating a woman, just as our adversaries do. yet if the teacher held her worthy, who are you to reject her?

~the gospel of mary magdalene, p.17, v. 14-20; p.18, v.1-12

feelin like...

feelin like
brown sugar bubblin up into
sweet sticky caramel

full of
sweet things and
fire

illuminated
golden

me.

feed me...

i've been feeling hungry again.
so, naturally, now i want to know what i'm hungry for.

it doesn't feel so much like a need for travel like last time. could be related to the baby issue. maybe a reminder to get crackin on the job hunt? i don't know.

last night i did some offerings, but i couldn't really bring myself to pray--at least not aloud. i rested in my sacred space, trying to focus and make an effort to be present. there wasn't much else i could bring myself to do aside from listening to the thunder.

i've been working with my energy a lot lately...noting ups and downs, channeling it into experiments with card reading, prayer, sometimes writing. it's been a challenge, trying to keep from falling into old patterns of inaction and apathy, but i think i've done a good job.

but the hunger is a sign that i need more.

the journey continues...

today i am thankful for...

mothers
shea butter
prayer
old navy
candles
breakfast. at 2pm. with him.
thunder
love
sunshine
comfortable beds
cats
clean kitchens
possessing a gspot
books and the time to read them
peace
orgasms
music
cool summers
forgiveness
tank tops

possibilities

i've had several conversations lately about children...how someone's babies were doing, how they're growing, and when i'm going to have some of my own.

most of my life i've been pretty ambiguous about the prospect of being a mother. my mother's family is not what anyone would call prolific. it's never been impressed upon me that i must have children. it's a choice that i've been taught to treat with the utmost care, esteem, and respect. you don't just have babies just to have them, and you don't have them young if you can help it.

that said, something in me fully awakened today.

i want a baby.
i want to experience gestation, creation.
facilitate the entry of a new/old soul.

it's like...there's a room in the center of my body that wasn't there before. i want to decorate it with flowers and beautiful colors, soft light and sweet words.

i want to be full of life and love and possibilities--not that i'm lacking that, but to share those things with the universe in the process of developing a human being...

wow.

flying jewels

i went to feed my meter this afternoon, and there was the most beautiful black and gold dragonfly resting on my radio antenna. it looked like a golden brooch with onyx accents.

i didn't even think we had pretty dragonflies here...i've only seen the dull gray-blue ones. i love when nature gives me pretty little surprises.

caged bird seeks opportunities for flight...

i'm beginning to soften a bit about honey.

i don't feel as angry. but i'm still distrustful. he's being very gentle, loving. but i'm more closed to it than i'd like to be.

i miss him, i love him, but i still need time.

time is something i've taken more than a few liberties with when it comes to my heart. i have this way of using stepping stone relationships to fill the spaces between more in-depth encounters. very interesting people tend to fall across my path. i think "why not?".

there also tend to be consequences--at least for the poor fellow(s) who happen to wander my way.

i admit that i enjoy being liked. i like being fawned over. i enjoy flexing my empathic muscles during the game of getting to know someone.

i've done all my self examination and checked in with my feelings and this and that...

i understand the need for grounding. but i also want to spread my wings. it's becoming very difficult to think of this relationship as something other than a weight on my ankles.

i know it can be more than that, however, a lot of that potential rests on his development.

can i wait for that?
and if i can, what do i need to do for myself in the meantime?

mr. j. medeiros

please support this man and his crew.

"constance" and "keep pace" are two of the best songs i've heard in the last few months, genre notwithstanding.

hip hop's still out there, ppl.

venom/antivenom

the cycles of death and rebirth in my relationship are maddening. there's an almost constant pattern of contraction and expansion, labor pains, births of "babies" that prematurely grow into rambunctious teenagers. the strength and frequency of the births make them almost unbearable. the periods of rest are too few and far between. there's a sense that my spirit's being abused for another person's growth.

i recognize my resistance to change--not in the sense of being inflexible, but i enjoy stability and comfort. i don't like being roused out of my cozy corners and forced into motion unless it's a matter of survival. if i am, i often come out hissing and ready to strike.

i'm coming to understand that if i'm going to remain in this situation, i need to find a way to experience these cycles in a positive way.

i also feel like i'm flying blind. i'm normally able to strategize with more confidence, but i can't make plans, i can't anticipate his reactions, i never know what's going to happen next week or next month. there's not even an outline of a plan, ever. i'm just hanging here, assed out, saying i love someone with no sort of determination of what that means for either of our futures--except that whether we stay together or split up, it'll be ok (no shit...but i digress).

there are times when i want to completely check out and just sit there, watching him wither from the effort of trying to keep things together on his own.

i suppose that would be cruel. but at least maybe he'd know where i've been. and where i still am some days.

he says he knows, but i don't always believe him.

rationally, i know and accept that he doesn't do any of it on purpose. he's just going through his growing pains.

my primal survival reaction is to strike back anyway. who cares if he didn't mean it? even if you don't mean to walk up on a lion's den, there's a good chance you could get mauled. lion's gotta be a lion.

when i start thinking like that, i know i need a break.

basking in my sunshine

he says i'm "dangerous" when i'm in this mood.

impish. flirtatious. daring, given the right situation.

i have some of my best times in this mood. i seek out fun and enjoyment. i find myself especially beautiful, play with my hair, clothes, scents. i indulge myself.

there have been times when he's benefited from this mood, but that comes with certain conditions. i have to be around you enough, trust you enough, and you need to know how to ring my bells and blow my whistles well enough first.

there is an element of guilt that comes with this blend of emotions...but that's only pesky social conditioning. you know how it is--as a self respecting black woman, i'm probably not supposed to

~feel unlimited bliss
~take but so much time for myself (even if i don't have a husband/kids, i could be sacrificing myself at someone's altar, right?)
~see myself as a fully integrated, in control, sexual being who can accept or refuse at will (NOT the oversexed slut existing only for masculine enjoyment)*

somewhere along the way, even though my upbringing avoided much of the direct brainwashing, i've picked up a few things by osmosis. thankfully, they're relatively easy to shake off.

my pleasure is just as important as my intellect.
my desires are just as important as my work ethic.
my needs are just as important as my patience.

i'm striving to become completely comfortable with that.
i'm more than halfway there.


*for more on this phenomenon, please see this sistagoddess' blog

when divinity meets humanity

i am rebelling against the spiritual lessons of my current relationship.

i'm coming to realize that it is attempting to ground me, to firmly reestablish my connection to the earth and all her concerns.

over the eons, i have spent quite a bit of time as a very free woman. i've spent more lives as a courtesan and/or priestess than i ever have as a wife and mother.

the snatches of motherhood i've gleaned from my dreams and visions have been very, very pleasant. i think my lingering love and respect for children comes from those times.

marriage has been somewhat stifling, confining. often, i seem to have found ways to wiggle out of or around that.

since i was a child, i've known that i wanted to spend this life with one person. as a teenager and young adult, i developed into a serial monogamist.

i've been blessed with several very ethereal, spirit-based relationships. the kind that take you off the planet and out of your body. of course, i was still confronted with the usual, human issues, but they were more easily dealt with (at least on my end) because emotionally and spiritually i was being so deeply touched. what's a traumatic childhood or two when your souls can touch?

then came this.

i recognized early that honey was someone i could look to in a pinch, a great friend. someone i genuinely liked and respected as a human being, someone i could talk to and have fun with.

over time, though, his fear of opening to spirit and lack of emotional development had me seriously doubting the viability of our union.

that said, my spiritual life has been opened greatly by my training over the last few months. that takes some of the pressure off my relationship, but it's still a disappointment because it's such a large part of who i am.

i have a deep need to be loved in the way i know how to love. love breaks down my barriers, it doesn't put them up. i show up with my current and past selves--a sort of ghost-dance that allows me to know you as you are and were.

if you don't know yourself, if you're still lost in the forest of childhood scrapes and bruises, if the smallest details of how to express your love/adoration/bliss are confounding to you, we're gonna have problems. you gotta show me you're part medicine man, demonstrate command of your shamanic essence.

psychologically, i completely understand his issues, and i sympathize with them. they are by no means unusual or insurmountable, and i know he does the best he can.

but as a lover and a woman, i don't have much patience for the "human" stuff. dealing with mortals is a tiresome, painstaking enterprise.

yet, there are countless myths where the divine falls in love with the profane.

of course, the human tends to fk up.
and i'm just as human as he is, trust me.

i've left three times already. incident #4 seems really close some days.

i recognize that some of my impatience is ego-driven (e.g., "he is SO not on my level...")

however, the divine love wants to see this through. i have to try to teach him as he's teaching me.

the challenge? he's trying to show me something i don't always want to see, and he needs to be taught something i've become angry and resentful that he (1) doesn't already have and (2) is still developing the tools to learn. i'm the type of teacher who's quick to ask, how dare you come to my door unprepared?

i can see that the ancestors want me to have an anchor 'cause i probably won't have the privilege of getting to languish lovingly on top of a mountain, running with my wildcats and listening to the birds. not daily, anyway.

i love the city too much.
i want to be actively helping my people.

i know he'll work hard to pay the bills.
i know he's a good father.
i know he's a good person.

but we gotta work on that magic part.

laboring

in response to my last blog, the lovely ms. oyin sent me a quote:

do you love who you want to be enough to give up who you are?

i believe i may have finally reached that point.

the lack of fulfillment in my life is staggering. and i refuse to accept it any longer.

thankfully i am aware of the abundance around me. i feel beautiful and loved--even if my relationship isn't pleasing to me at the moment. i still feel whole, secure, and safe in the knowledge that i am on the right path.

i've taken to listening to my inner aspects...there's quite a dialogue going on.

the fearless bitch goddess says to run/leap/jump/swim to freedom, by any means necessary. take no prisoners, and claw anyone who gets in the way.

the compassionate mother goddess wants to make sure that everyone's taken care of and smiling--even if a farewell is imminent.

the love goddess wants to adorn and pamper herself, find someone to hold, touch, and stroke her curves. she's tired of fleeting encounters between too-short visits. she reminds me that being desired is nice, but it's even nicer to have desire envelop you, to want to want. it's been a long time.

the water woman stands ready to wash me clean any time i feel i need it. she keeps all kinds of potions and magic ready for me, and conspires with the honey-woman to make me feel good.

the earth lady begs me to walk barefoot in the grass, let the sun kiss me, embrace the rain, and listen to the lessons in the thunder. she reminds me that she's always there to ground and balance me, and that i don't have to be so worried about falling--she's more than willing to catch me.

it's not an easy time, but it's an exciting one.
the pains will pass and i'll be left with the joy. isn't that how it goes?

ashe.

"we can't stop being african women..."

this article is from a few yrs ago, but a newly released book cited it & i thought it was worth a look...


African mothers see baby strollers as abhorrent fad
Tradition of carrying children upheld; 'they can't sit like lumps'

Emily Wax, Washington Post
Thursday, May 20, 2004

(05-20) 04:00 PDT Nairobi , Kenya -- Irene Wambui can't imagine why anyone would buy a baby stroller. She says she sees it as a cold cage filled with useless rattles, cup holders and mirrored headlights. Imagine children being stuffed into such a contraption and pushed around town like some kind of pet.

Yet here she is in the middle-class Westlands shopping district, trying to sell her store's newest merchandise, the four-wheeled plastic and metal tool of modern motherhood. But so far, strollers have been a flop in Nairobi, an affront to tradition.

Across Africa, women can be seen carrying sleeping or sometimes giggly babies on their backs, swathed in cloth. The babies move to the sway of their mothers' hips, synchronized throughout the day, bending with them as they collect water or sweep the floor and rising again when the women stop to rest. They hang on as their mothers sell food in the market or pray at a church or mosque.

The introduction of strollers and baby carriages, both known here by the British word "pram," horrifies traditionalists, even someone such as Wambui, who sells them. The stroller is appearing in major cities around Africa, but so far it has not been a hit.

"It's not so wonderful. In Africa, we just carry our children or let them roam. They can't sit like lumps," said Wambui, 24. "Besides, our roads aren't even good enough for these devices. If everyone had a pram, it would cause jam- ups in traffic. Then we would be bad to our children and bad to our roads."

Wambui's boss and manager, Zara Esmail, was pacing back and forth in front of the strollers one recent day. She said the store had sold only one baby stroller in two months, and that was to a visiting U.N. worker from Britain who complained later that she had been disappointed by the small selection.

"In general, I thought they would sell far better," Esmail said. Perhaps, she added, it's a question of directing more advertising toward middle-class, working moms. "We thought these modern ones would be a hit."

The stroller has sparked debate among African pediatricians who think the device -- first crafted as a labor-saving tool for the European middle class -- may damage the relationship between a mother and a child.

"The pram is the ultimate in pushing the baby away from you," said Frank Njenga, a child psychiatrist in Nairobi, Kenya's bustling capital. "The baby on the back is actually following the mother in warmth and comfort. The baby feels safer, and safer people are happier people."

In the United States and Europe, strollers have long been controversial. Recently, some doctors and child psychologists have blamed them for everything from pediatric obesity to low self-esteem later in life.

Jane Clark, professor of kinesiology at the University of Maryland, said there was concern that Americans were overusing strollers for older children, causing toddlers to be less physically active. A growing movement among child advocates promotes the idea of carrying babies more and getting them out of their strollers.

At the same time, Web sites and magazines in the United States and Europe dedicate a lot of space to the subject of choosing a style of stroller or carriage -- front-to-back or side-by-side, a jogger or a sleeper, with or without a lightweight titanium frame, pneumatic tires, rear suspension, mud flaps and/or battery-operated blinkers. Some European-made antique carriages are status symbols for celebrities such as Madonna and Celine Dion, who spent $2,600 on the classic Balmoral Pram, described by some Web reviewers as a tiny Humvee.

Africans consider the traditional method of toting their children the only true version of day care. When it's time for feeding, the food is right there as a mother shifts her child to the front of her body, nestling the infant to her breast. The baby stroller could change all of that. But many people in Nairobi said they thought the devices would be just another instance of Africans adopting the worst habits of industrialization.

"There are customs from a hundred years ago that are not relevant today for Africans," said Carol Mandi, managing editor of EVE, an East African women's magazine. "Our challenge is to pick the good from the bad. But carrying on your back, well, that is just a wonderful custom that keeps the baby emotionally stable and lets the mother feel bonded. We can't stop being African women just because we are suddenly thrust into the modern world. What next? They will tell us to stop breast feeding in public? No way."

from the mouths of babes...

who can doubt that our ancestors return through the children?

the trials and tribulations of a wild woman with a lingering case of the blues

i started working with my goddess cards a few days ago.

the first question i asked was about feeding my spiritual self.

first card i pulled? betrayal.

according to the guidebook, the card in this position represented the needs of my "wild woman".

of course, there were other cards. but having betrayal stare me in the face lets me know i won't get far until i work with the entities that are feeling lost, lonely, and abandoned by my life as it is in this moment.

i knew from reading dr. estes that i'd betrayed her (she uses wolves, i use tigers). i'd made the bad bargain several times...always burning my creativity and feral nature at someone's stake.

while i've forgiven myself for my choices, the card helped me realize that i've never really had a conversation with my my deeper, darker-but-by-no-means-negative self and explained where and how i went wrong.

even writing about it is a struggle. i've been trying to kick out this blog for two days.

i'm at a crossroads.

the sense of several selves competing for attention is all but gone. however, the integration has caused me to begin to sympathize with the parts of me that have been starving. i have to re-learn what they need, how to feed myself.

i'm becoming more and more aware that several of my current circumstances and situations do not speak to who i am.

maybe it's my empathic tendencies, but i need to be immersed in ideas, situations, people, and thoughts that speak to the highest and best parts of my self.

seems that many folks are just fine with the opposite, but i'm not.

(sidenote: i totally recommend the goddess oracle for any woman blessed with a healthy dose of intuition, but who may not have the time or inclination to learn how to read a full, traditional set of tarot cards. the accompanying book is short and easy to read--particularly if you already have a basic knowledge of goddesswork/belief. it's an excellent tool of self-discovery and reflection. check out hrana's site, too. i linked to amazon 'cause it was easy, but please look into purchasing them at your local goddess-owned or witchy-type book/candle store.)

quickie

nothing's effin with this blog entry right now.

why have i never heard of her?

where are my panties?
(just kidding)

liberation

there are times when i feel like i have to suck myself in...create a vaccuum to preserve my integrity.

there are so many words/thoughts/ideas/conceptions entering my mind i rarely feel like i'm at rest. there's always something else trying to be born.

i find myself longing for an extended period of bliss. experiencing somewhere new and different where all i have to worry about is my next smile...listening to the wind and feeling out the rhythms of trees.

heaven would be soaking my spine in the sun and exfoliating the soles of my feet with sand.

for now, i suppose i can work with a cup of green tea, a few deep breaths, and a brief libation to my ori.

status report

i've come a long way over the last few months.

i have stopped attempting to split myself into digestible pieces. instead, i have made a conscious effort to integrate my selves in a way that pleases and energizes me. now the challenge is learning how to settle the bursts of energy and brilliance into place.

cleaning out the self-imposed spiritual and mental barriers has sparked some strong physical reactions.

while i'm enormously grateful to feel my creativity working again, i can't always stay up half the night writing. i need to find a way to hold on to the ideas without sacrificing too much sleep.

there are times when i wonder when the next battle will come, but only in the name of preparation. fear isn't the readily available option it once was.

if this is what almost-30 does for you, i'm glad to be nearing the end of my 20s.

gratitude

i'm declarin', claimin' and testifyin' today, y'all. it's really starting to feel like my time is coming, and i'm just gonna keep my arms wide open.

today i am thankful for...

rivers
prayer
teachers
DRUMS! and the ppl who give them a voice
oshun--adupe yeye kari, yeye 'jo, yeye opo...o san rere o
kawooooooo kabiyesile!! adupe, sango, baba aladufe.
my hips--for being so wide that i can never forget where i'm from
egungun mi of good character, known and unknown
familiars
elders
flowers
baba mi
manifestations of the triple goddess
road trips
yeye mi
clean kitchens
omiera
honey
ebo
iyaami, primordial and present
nature
trees

check yourself before you wreck yourself.

if i had the money, i'd put billboards up all across this country showing the borders of mexico before all the wars perpetuated to steal their land.

at the bottom it would read "where are your ancestors from?"

please, someone, steal this idea. i won't even be mad at you. it needs to be done.

ppl REALLY need to get a clue. and a history lesson.

...and that sista in the video oughta be ashamed. if that boy was gonna miss a party for anything, it should have been a protest against this endless war he could grow up to die in, the proliferation of the industrial prison complex, or the shitty educational system.

maferefun shango

driving home a few evenings ago, i saw lightning streak across the sky.

for the first time in my life, that sight didn't force me to seize up with fear.

modupe, baba.

things i am coming to accept

1. i'm dope.

2. despite my naysaying & shit talking, i'm 99% certain i will give birth at least once. and i'm sure that after the first time, i'll want to do it again.

3. i am a channel. i exist as a gifted conduit for divine energy. fully accepting that fact in spite of the skepticism of most of the world around me will lead to my bliss.

4. i am a child of sango.

5. i have everything i need to become everything i ever wanted to be.

6. the only thing in my way is me. 'cause...well, see #1.

7. i can write. i need to make that known so ppl will buy my books and i can make money and keep writing instead of sitting at other ppl's desks withering away. toni morrison is an inspiration 'cause she didn't get going until her 30s...einstein, too.

8. water is my lifeblood. oceans, rivers, lakes....lately every time i see one i want to jump in and walk the bottom.

9. i am loved, protected, cherished, and looked after. in other words, ain't shit i need to be worried over. moments of negativity are simply bumps in the road.

10. i'm dope.

tonight, i pray

i have my obstacles all lined up and ready for burning. ashe!

i'm going to clean my house and wash my hair.

i get to see the babies tomorrow. that always makes me happy.

i'm feeling better today than i have in awhile. i can't tell if it was being able to treat myself to a yummy dinner, or just having a little money in my pocket. sometimes i forget that as a child of oshun, having a little change to jingle around can make all the difference.

the moon's probably helping as well. having a full moon to work with in the midst of my cycle can be a very rejuvenating combination, even if i have to walk through some flames to get there.

i wrote a little last night. the project is still evolving. maybe that's the embryo i was trying to name yesterday. i just have to keep twirling it between my fingers, shaping and molding until i start to see a shape i like.

it is a fantastic moment when all the hormonal fog clears and i start feeling and thinking like a rational being again. yes, there is order in the chaos, but yikes.

today i am grateful for clarity, owo (money), moon magic, and words.

about that galaxy...

the one i mentioned a couple of days ago...

there's a sort of formless mass bouncing around in my head. i suppose it's something of a zygote--recently fertilized, but still relatively shapeless. in the process of deciding what it's going to grow into. i know i can't rush the process, and i'm not trying to, but boredom's making me restless.

i've often said that my post-college years have been the most boring of my life. i'm not used to the extreme lack of mental stimulation the work world has provided. reading and music have been my salvation, but seeing as i haven't had much money in the last year and a half or so to support either habit, there are many times my brain's felt like it's just seeping outta my ears.

so now i'm faced with trying to balance the part of me that needs healthcare, food, and gas in the car with the (larger) soul-driven part that wants to skip through daisies, heal folks, write all day, or something else equally non-profitable--at least in this society.

i'm still trying to figure out how to clear the hurdle of being terrified of sharing my work...

i need to feed my artsy side, but don't have enough artsy friends. and i think the idea of making some is horrific 'cause that'll force me into thinking of myself as an artist...

sometimes i think i'm ready for a leap of faith...but on some levels i don't know which direction to leap in...

eh.

well, i know a way is being opened and prepared. i'll just have to keep my eyes open so i know when to veer off the rat race highway.

gotta get it together...

i started to write a long list of hates and wants today...but i didn't get a chance to post it.

there's a lot on my mind. and i'm not sure how to organize it all.

there's also a full moon coming.

i need to write some things out...strategize about what i want to see happen over the next few months. it's time to get focused and visualize my new hopes and dreams.

for months, i did very focused, intensive prayers on the full and new moons, and many of those things came to fruition. once they did, i stated my gratitude and decided to lay low and see where things stood. i think it may be time to renew the practice.

i've been uncomfortable lately because i need to be. the universe knows that as soon as the fire under my ass goes out, i'll make do where i am. but as long as i'm missing the bliss, peace, and comfort i know i deserve, i'll be forced to work until i get it.

i see you, esu.

"wanna say 'wait' but you're scared to ask..." (c) e. badu

these days, i'm trying to figure out what i need to pray for—and how i should be moving my feet.

giving thanks is relatively simple. however, it's difficult to determine what to ask for. i can’t tell if the inability to speak comes from a fear of getting what i want, or a fear that i’m not worthy.

i'm trying to keep in mind that if it comes upon my mind to ask, then the universe will conspire to get it for me.

but i have to put it out there. that’s the bargain.

exhaustion

last night i cried more than i have in a long time.

i hate feeling helpless. one of the worst feelings in the world is wanting to be there for someone you can't be there for.

but...i have to let it go. it's outta my hands.

still, between this and the other craziness of the week, i'm starting to feel kind of knocked around.

i'm gonna try my damndest to pull myself together and get my house clean before the weekend. i feel like i need to make my surroundings as new as possible.

i have to remember to eat and stay hydrated. those are the first things i neglect in moments like these.

i am, once again, quite hateful of the fact that honey is so conspicuously absent. i know he doesn't mean to be, but he's gonna make himself sick--if he hasn't already--running around for this jackleg job of his...

sometimes i feel like screaming, "when am i going to get taken care of for a change? when are you going to learn to take care of yourself?"

i suppose that's pointless at the moment.

gotta pick myself up off the floor and keep on going...

the struggle to keep one's head up

i still need shampoo and soap,
the house is a mess,
supposed to get away this wkend,
folks are fkin with my money (i'm not even joking)
and, by extension, my plans.

but i'm gonna rise above it.

vengeance is unecessary.
i trust that all will be handled by the ancestors and the orisha.
they know the heart & mind of my enemies just as they know mine,
and they'll deal with it as they see fit.

i'll seek to let go of anger
pain
betrayal
annoyance
mistrust

and keep on living my life.
'cause i know i'm on the right side of the fence.

ashe.

rage

by nature, i'm not an angry person. however, i seem to become very aware of my capacity for rage when i'm hormonal. it's uncanny.

maybe i should think of it as a power surge; a sudden awareness of what i could do if i really put my mind to it.

the anger probably comes from not being able to manipulate and shape the power to my liking. who has time to sit in the garden (eh...what garden?) and write or dream up spells or potions or prayers or incantations or whatever? i gotta sit up in this office for 8 hrs and some change and try to act like i don't have a galaxy brewing inside me.

ah well.

i try to keep it all in perspective.

keepittogetherkeepittogetherkeepittogether (c) eddie murphy

i'm starting to feel like i've already checked out as far as this job's concerned...

but technically, i haven't. so i gotta keep my mind right until i can truly get the hell outta dodge.

some days that's hard. but i take a small measure of joy in being able to put a line through one more day in the calendar.

i know i shouldn't worry. i know the universe has my back. but that whole humanity thing tends to get in the way...

not being able to see the process can really fk with you sometimes. they say the journey's part of the fun, but i like to be assured of a destination. the downside of the relative stability and normality of my life is a need for security that simply isn't always available in the cold, cruel world.

leaps of faith used to come easier. now i envy people who can just let go and grab onto straws on a whim. i'm easily lulled by the promise of a rock to lean on, no matter what might creep out from underneath it.

gotta change it up.

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.

thank you, malcolm

malcolm little
malcolm x
el-hajj malik el-shabazz

5/19/1925-2/21/1965

blessed

i'm finding that ifa requires a great deal of discipline. it's not so much the unfamiliarity with the language and culture, but the preeminence it takes in one's life.

but even though this is the most time-consuming spiritual practice i've experienced up to this point, it brings innumerable blessings and intimacy with spirit. i am reconnecting with myself and enjoying a whole other level of being.

ifa helps me to remember who i was as a child--when i accepted my gifts and didn't think about nasty things like limitations and labels. i'm getting to know ancestors i could never have known otherwise. building bridges with the orisha. plus, i know i'm being groomed for the work i will be doing for the rest of my life, the work i will raise my children to continue.

sometimes i wonder if people shy away from traditional paths because of all the rituals, offerings, orikis, etc. but when you consider all the things we ask god for, all the things we have that we take for granted--even when we're in a place of gratitude--the beauty and generosity of the planet we live on, the gift of life...it's really a small thing to do a few ebos every now and then. and, truthfully, once you've established and learned how to maintain a relationship with your egun/orisha/spirit guides, they don't ask for much. when they do, it's a sure sign they're working on some blessing for you.

it's definitely worth it.

...that said

paying bills is still depressing.

my people, my people

thank you for posting this, jendai.

while we all know blk folk need to learn better and do better, it's kinda hard when the folks you're racing have had a several-centuries long head start. when have we had the time/money/energy to build up a wall street? a lloyd's of london?

it's gonna be a long, hard road to recovery.

the story of the wall family of mississippi

talaam acey responds to saul williams

talaam acey's response to saul's letter
i think this is a great dialogue any way you slice it...

Notes on "An Open Letter to Oprah Winfrey" by Taalam Acey

I want to approach this critique cautiously if only because these ideas are among my most sincere. I applaud you for writing your "Open Letter to Oprah Winfrey," and though it took me awhile to get around to reading it, I'm glad I did. When James Baldwin remarked that, "The poet or the revolutionary is there to articulate the necessity," I'm sure that your open letter was the sort of agitation he had in mind.

I was not born of a minister and school teacher. Instead my parents were Black Nationalists in Imamu Amiri Baraka's Committee for a Unified Newark. Unlike you, I was influenced by both Rakim and June Jordan. I affirm these things because they will no doubt color the critique that follows.

As for the illustrious Ms. Winfrey, I too grew up watching her on television. As a teen, my mother had me read Alice Walker's "The Color Purple." In the film, Ms. Winfrey's portrayal of Sofia was exactly how I envisioned it. It was not surprising that she garnered one of that film's 11 Oscar nominations (though, the film somehow didn't win a single Oscar).

Of more relevance here, however, is that Ms. Winfrey, ironically, played a major role in my appreciation for gangsta rap. In 1989, Harpo, her company, produced (and she starred in) Gloria Naylor's "The Women of Brewster Place." Back then I was sure that white America despised young black men. However, in my 18th year, her mini-series convinced me that black women might hate us even more. I felt demonized. Though, I didn't care much for "hard core rappers" beforehand, after Brewster Place, my feelings of betrayal rendered their messages vital.

A few months later, when Ms. Winfrey donated $1 million dollars to your alma matter. I remember thinking it had to be a function of her guilt.

Since then, she has given repeatedly and contributed to the education of hundreds of Morehouse students. I no longer doubt her sincerity. Still, I have come to believe there is a dichotomy in her perception of young black males. She has gone on record about being sexually abused by relatives (including a 19 year old cousin) beginning when she was 9 years old. However, she also credits moving in with her father as saving her life. In fact while Vernon Winfrey was named by her mother as only one of a few potential fathers, he nevertheless took responsibility for Oprah and refused paternity test throughout her life.

I mention none of this to be disrespectful to Ms. Winfrey. She is a self-made billionaire, Television Hall of Fame inductee and media mogul. Yet, she is also human and, like the rest of us, her past experiences may shed light on her current convictions.

Thus, having discussed the above, I'd like to assert that many of today's rap lyrics conform more to the values of her 19 year old cousin than they do those of her father.

I love Hip-Hop. It is and has always been sacred to me. There was something spiritual about Rakim's flow and something evangelical about KRS-One's diatribes. In high school, I spent time with Queen Latifah and was pretty close with Cut Master DC (of "Brooklyn's in the House" fame). I attended shows at Union Square, The Tunnel and even The Castle in the South Bronx. I almost don't know where to stop...during my teens, I got to drive Red Alert from a show in Jersey back to NY and talked him to death. I remember dancin' to Crash Crew records, arguing over who was the best emcee in the Fearless Four, losing my mind when the Sugar Hill Gang and The Furious Five did a record together. There are entire Slick Rick, Rakim and Biggie songs that I still know word for word. Believe me, I too am a hip hop head.

Hip Hop in it's organic form is Melle Mel's, "The Message." Nevertheless, there's always been room for Ice Cube and Snoop. They had a story to tell. Our problem now has become that the stories are being told ad nauseam and by people who not only haven't lived them, but aren't inspired to tell them.

I'm into Spoken Word, one of many forms of poetry. There can be no doubt that rap is another. True, all rappers are not poets. But, even by the definition you applied, all Spoken Word artists aren't poets either. Few artist of any art form operate from a sincerely vulnerable place. That is not a Hip-Hop phenomenon.

The problem is bigger than vulnerability. When you declared "There is no true hatred of women in Hip Hop." I can only assume that you meant in the Hip-Hop that you and other "Backpackers" support. Those of you who choose "to associate...with the more "conscious" or politically astute artists of the Hip Hop community." Surely you don't believe that today's rappers intend their endless litany of "Bitch," "Ho," and "Slut" as displays of affection.

I agree with you that, at our root, we inherently worship the feminine. Sadly it seems that for most of us now, at all points above our root, we've begin to worship money more. The problem with most of Hip-Hop is that it's being co-opted. I cannot imagine what, if any point, you were attempting by mentioning that 50 Cent and George Bush share a birthday. I agree that George Bush is one of the gangsters that control this country, but I am certain that 50 Cent is not one of the "gangsters" that controls Hip-Hop. He may control his entourage and his bank account, but not much more. Curtis Jackson is an "artist," not a mogul. So can you tell me if Lyor Cohen or Jimmy Iovine share a birthday with Bush? That might be slightly relevant.

You are right that "Censorship will never solve our problems." Boycotting the sponsors of a radio show that made disparaging remarks about young black girls isn't censorship though. In America, dollars vote. It is not censorship to use your dollars to vote a bigot off the air. The dramatic decline in the sale of rap records since 2005 is also not due to censorship. People are voting for change. We no longer care to support songs about how your car and house are better than mine because you're really good at selling crack to my children.

This is a serious social issue and has nothing to do with the depiction of G*d in Christianity or any other religion. I've heard the argument about the proper Holy Trinity being man, woman and child, previously. I've attended lectures about instances of chauvinism in organized religion. Still I take issue with the logic that the Western depiction of G*d has driven emcees crazy.

You concluded by saying:

"If we are to sincerely address the change we are praying for then we must first address to whom we are praying."

That's the point, emcees have begun praying to mammon. Most mainstream rappers no longer take pride in their lyricism. They simply write whatever the record company believes it can easily sell. The problem is selfishness, not religion. Believe me, we haven't reached this point in our history because too many rappers have become obsessed with studying the Bible.

This particular weapon of mass destruction is NOT the one that asserts that a holy trinity would be "a father, a male child, and a ghost." This weapon of mass destruction IS wealthy racist white men who exploit and mass market poor young black men who are willing to denigrate themselves for money. We do not require disconnected excuses, only change.

The primary problem with rappers today is selfishness. That's the very quality that separated Oprah's father from her 19 year old cousin. I'll end by saying there's nothing more vulnerable than a broke talentless rapper in the hands of a racist white media mogul. In the end, I hope you understand that these notes are not about you and I but, instead, the masses of oppressed people who deserve to know the truth.

In Brotherhood,

Taalam Acey

may i be frank for a moment?

once, a man i was incidentally dating asked me to shave my flower petals.

not because it was causing any particular problem, mind you. he just decided to make his preference known. shortly after the first time he even saw me naked, even.

he didn't seem to object to anything else.

had the nerve to threaten the withholding of head.
too bad i wasn't pressed.

head's always best when i give a shit about the mind between my thighs, and he didn't quite qualify.

i didn't even care enough to explain that i'd earned every one of those hairs.

i remember changing in the girls' locker room at camp some 20odd years ago and having the girls look at me like i was nuts 'cause i had hair there.

like most women who've had a similar experience--i also had to contend with being "too tall", having too deep a voice, etc.--for years i considered myself some kind of freak.

then, one day, the opposite sex began to consider most of my previously offending traits "sexy".

the hair now proved i was grown. it was even deemed pretty, thanks to my complexion/coloring. it inspired love names, interested stares, and lingering lovemaking sessions.

so, while i totally and completely support necessary waxes, appropriate trimmings, and all the usual generalized grooming and hygiene habits, i'll politely tell you to go fk yourself for attempting to de-fuzz my blossom over some bullshit notion of what it's "supposed" to look like.

it ain't like i'm fittin into a bikini any time soon...

~~~~~~
addendum: and look what i find on postsecret just after posting this.

whoever you are, free yourself sistren.

blissful

well...

i got to leave work early friday

got back in the kitchen sunday

spent some time with honey

treated myself to a few things

saw the godkid play baseball

...not a bad weekend.

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.

queen?

ok, we've all heard it: before they put us on the ships during the maafa, we were all kings and queens, living gloriously in the beauty of africa, etc.

the beauty of the continent i don't doubt.
and the trauma of the journey is undeniable.

however, to paraphrase my girl aulelei, somebody had to be hauling the holy water to the kemetian temples and drinking the cheap beer.

seeing how ifa is growing and moving in the lives of the descendants of those who arrived on these shores, i do believe that many of us are descendants of powerful spiritual lineages. we see constant evidence in the way our spirituality (i'm distinguishing that from religion), art, dance, music, and culture has survived. sometimes hidden, sometimes in plain view.

that's not to say some of us aren't linked to royal families. in fact, i've come across a couple of stories of blk folks discovering just that, particularly since dna testing has made it easier for folks to discover exactly where they come from.

as for me, i don't know if i was anybody's queen or princess.

but i'm pretty damned sure about my spiritual warrior heritage.

and i can live with that.

omo sango....kawo!

Oriki Shango

Kawo Kaiyesile,
(Hail to the Chief.)

Etala mo juba gadagba mo juba.
(I greet you thirteen times.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Baba aladufe.
(Father who is loved by everyone.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Shango pele o.
(Spirit of Lightning I am greeting you.)

Ni igba meta.
(I call you three times.)

Shango nuaa jeke awon o'iku.
(Spirit of Lightning protect us from disease and death.)

Ma ja kiki wa Òrun.
(Praise the power of Heaven.)

A dupe.
(I give you thanks.)

Ase.
(May it be so. )

serpentine

i would run from goliath.

large, looming things intimidate me. even if it's a goal i'm dead set on attaining.

i've learned that i work best when i can surround the problem, see it from all angles.

then i start dissecting it.

i take out the easiest parts first. feet. knees. make it a non-moving target. then i determine how long i can let it live before those feet and knees grow back. that's how i get my time frame.

then i start to disable it. use my snake venom. remove its senses, muddle its brain...the body becomes simply a formality to be swallowed, whole.

visualizing a huge wall a few miles ahead is not motivational. i don't have a battering ram mentality, nor am i fond of explosives. i don't have an "against all odds" sort of spirit.

sometimes, after a few strikes, i find i have to let the problem run away. even so, i keep it in my sights. run occasional reconnaissance missions. however, i don't relentlessly persue. i occupy myself with smaller prey.

bit by bit we eat the head of the rat...

but because i also have the gift of seeing quite far ahead of myself, i can get frustrated with this approach. there are times when it puts me in mind of stagnation. i start wondering why things don't move faster, why i can't have it NOW...etc.

but in times when i'm faced with the possibility of being overwhelmed, i have to think about things differently.

bit by bit...

gimmegimmegimmegimmegimme

ok. so normally i follow a bitch session with some gratitude. but while i am always grateful, i also realize that i am in need.

some "needs" are really wants, but that's ok.
i need some bliss. stat.

so. here we are.

the new job needs to have
my own office...that i can shut the door to. even if it's small.
more than enough liquid assets.
benefits (medical, dental, vacation/sick time...)
decent coworkers i can at least tolerate and at best enjoy as people
a balance of male & female coworkers.
a diverse group of coworkers/tolerance.
downtime when i need it, but generally a steady work pace.
opportunities for promotion.
no phd's.
some mechanism whereby i don't feel like i'm babysitting. or anybody's mama.


my new apartment/house needs to have
an area for a shrine room (large den, 2nd bedroom, basement...)
a large living room/common area
rent within $100 of what i'm paying now--incl heat, gas & hot water
plenty of windows/light like my current one
plenty of room for 'dare to run around in
windowsills for 'dare to sit on
ample storage/closet space
a tub i can soak in
heat efficient windows
if no a/c, good ceiling fans
a bedroom big enough to put a chaise/loveseat in
a decent laundry room. or washer/dryer in unit


general wants/needs
new clothes
new shoes
new bras/undies
ideas for rearranging the house
white clothes, especially skirts
a larger cat scratchy loungy thing
more music...& to be able to spend $50-75 on cds whenever i damn well please
a blissful vacation featuring an ocean
more time w/ honey. lots more.
pay off my credit cards
a decent savings account (coming soon!)
new computer (coming soon!)

"hurray, hormones!" pt. 2

i'm feeling weepy today.

admin day blows. i try to be grateful, but...eh. i'll say thank you 'cause that's what mommy taught me to do...but as ms. mcafee said,

Some bosses feel compelled to take their secretary, assistant, or whoever out to lunch on Secretaries Day. It's a nice gesture, but who wants to sit through that awkward meal? Anyone who has seen the Curb Your Enthusiasm episode in which Larry David takes his maid on a squirm-worthy lunch date at his country club knows the potential disaster of forced boss-employee conviviality. Instead of Secretaries Day, why not just chip in for a big cake on the Friday before Labor Day and toast everyone in the office—wouldn't that be kinder, not to mention easier? I'd much prefer that to a holiday that's a catch-all for "attagirl," "I'm sorry for being an insufferable employer," and "we should talk about that raise."

here, here.

speaking of raises, i didn't get the money i wanted. i did get a decent boost (we'll see how cruel uncle sam is shortly, i'm sure), but it's still barely what my starting salary would be elsewhere for the same work. so...i will be moving on.

i'm not mad, per se. my prayers were answered. it's a little frustrating, because even though i'm not fond of the job, i do like the people. and i know they appreciate me in their...way. but i need more money. period.

i really, really, really want to move, but i don't know how that's gonna work out. if i can get a moment to breathe, maybe i'll try looking online again today.

every time i think about the fact that i have not bought myself a new outfit/pair of shoes/even really cute underwear in godknowshowlong i want to scream. just about everything i own is practically worn out, hopelessly faded, or just plain old. it's like, i actually need shit at this point. it's not even about just buying stuff to have it.

food is about the only decadence i'm allowed, but i'm trying not to re-gain the weight i lost in february. and the farmer's market in all its cheapy goodness doesn't open until later next month.

honey's job is still working him half to death, and i miss him terribly. he's as supportive as he can be (he was angrier about the raise than i was...ha), and he says he's doing all this so that we can go somewhere this summer, but...i don't know. sometimes i'd just rather have him around for dinner and a movie instead. even so, getting to a beach this summer would greatly improve my mood. i just hope he's not so worn down he can't enjoy it, too.

maybe i need a few days off to get my head together.

or maybe i just need my period to start so i can just stop worrying over all this shit already.

sigh.

open ltr to oprah winfrey from saul williams

long, but worth it. any emphasis is mine.

April 18, 2007

Dear Ms. Winfrey,

It is with the greatest respect and adoration of your loving spirit that I write you. As a young child, I would sit beside my mother everyday and watch your program. As a young adult, with children of my own, I spend much less time in front of the television, but I am ever thankful for the positive effect that you continue to have on our nation, history and culture. The example that you have set as someone unafraid to answer their calling, even when the reality of that calling insists that one self-actualize beyond the point of any given example, is humbling, and serves as the cornerstone of the greatest faith. You, love, are a pioneer.

I am a poet.

Growing up in Newburgh, NY, with a father as a minister and a mother as a school teacher, at a time when we fought for our heroes to be nationally recognized, I certainly was exposed to the great names and voices of our past. I took great pride in competing in my churches Black History Quiz Bowl and the countless events my mother organized in hopes of fostering a generation of youth well versed in the greatness as well as the horrors of our history. Yet, even in a household where I had the privilege of personally interacting with some of the most outspoken and courageous luminaries of our times, I must admit that the voices that resonated the most within me and made me want to speak up were those of my peers, and these peers were emcees. Rappers.

Yes, Ms. Winfrey, I am what my generation would call “a Hip Hop head.” Hip Hop has served as one of the greatest aspects of my self-definition. Lucky for me, I grew up in the 80’s when groups like Public Enemy, Rakim, The jungle Brothers, Queen Latifah, and many more realized the power of their voices within the artform and chose to create music aimed at the upliftment of our generation.

As a student at Morehouse College where I studied Philosophy and Drama I was forced to venture across the street to Spelman College for all of my Drama classes, since Morehouse had no theater department of its own. I had few complaints. The performing arts scholarship awarded me by Michael Jackson had promised me a practically free ride to my dream school, which now had opened the doors to another campus that could make even the most focused of young boys dreamy, Spelman. One of my first theater professors, Pearle Cleage, shook me from my adolescent dream state. It was the year that Dr. Dre’s “The Chronic” was released and our introduction to Snoop Dogg as he sang catchy hooks like “Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks…” Although, it was a playwriting class, what seemed to take precedence was Ms. Cleages political ideology, which had recently been pressed and bound in her 1st book, Mad at Miles. As, you know, in this book she spoke of how she could not listen to the music of Miles Davis and his muted trumpet without hearing the muted screams of the women that he was outspoken about “man-handling”. It was my first exposure to the idea of an artist being held accountable for their actions outside of their art. It was the first time I had ever heard the word, “misogyny”. And as Ms. Cleage would walk into the classroom fuming over the women she would pass on campus, blasting those Snoop lyrics from their cars and jeeps, we, her students, would be privy to many freestyle rants and raves on the dangers of nodding our heads to a music that could serve as our own demise.

Her words, coupled with the words of the young women I found myself interacting with forever changed how I listened to Hip Hop and quite frankly ruined what would have been a number of good songs for me. I had now been burdened with a level of awareness that made it impossible for me to enjoy what the growing masses were ushering into the mainstream. I was now becoming what many Hip Hop heads would call “a Backpacker”, a person who chooses to associate themselves with the more “conscious” or politically astute artists of the Hip Hop community. What we termed as “conscious” Hip Hop became our preference for dance and booming systems. Groups like X-Clan, A Tribe Called Quest, Brand Nubian, Arrested Development, Gangstarr and others became the prevailing music of our circle. We also enjoyed the more playful Hip Hop of De La Soul, Heiroglyphics, Das FX, Organized Konfusion. Digable Planets, The Fugees, and more. We had more than enough positivity to fixate on. Hip Hop was diverse.

I had not yet begun writing poetry. Most of my friends hardly knew that I had been an emcee in high school. I no longer cared to identify myself as an emcee and my love of oratory seemed misplaced at Morehouse where most orators were actually preachers in training, speaking with the Southern drawl of Dr. King although they were 19 and from the North. I spent my time doing countless plays and school performances. I was in line to become what I thought would be the next Robeson, Sidney, Ossie, Denzel, Snipes… It wasn’t until I was in graduate school for acting at NYU that I was invited to a poetry reading in Manhattan where I heard Asha Bandele, Sapphire, Carl Hancock Rux, Reggie Gaines, Jessica Care Moore, and many others read poems that sometimes felt like monologues that my newly acquired journal started taking the form of a young poets’. Yet, I still noticed that I was a bit different from these poets who listed names like: Audrey Lourde, June Jordan, Sekou Sundiata etc, when asked why they began to write poetry. I knew that I had been inspired to write because of emcees like Rakim, Chuck D, LL, Run DMC… Hip Hop had informed my love of poetry as much or even more than my theater background which had exposed me to Shakespeare, Baraka, Fugard, Genet, Hansberry and countless others. In those days, just a mere decade ago, I started writing to fill the void between what I was hearing and what I wished I was hearing. It was not enough for me to critique the voices I heard blasting through the walls of my Brooklyn brownstone. I needed to create examples of where Hip Hop, particularly its lyricism, could go. I ventured to poetry readings with my friends and neighbors, Dante Smith (now Mos Def), Talib Kwele, Erycka Badu, Jessica Care Moore, Mums the Schemer, Beau Sia, Suheir Hammad…all poets that frequented the open mics and poetry slams that we commonly saw as “the other direction” when Hip hop reached that fork in the road as you discussed on your show this past week. On your show you asked the question, “Are all rappers poets?” Nice. I wanted to take the opportunity to answer this question for you.

The genius, as far as the marketability, of Hip Hop is in its competitiveness. Its roots are as much in the dignified aspects of our oral tradition as it is in the tradition of ”the dozens” or “signifying”. In Hip Hop, every emcee is automatically pitted against every other emcee, sort of like characters with super powers in comic books. No one wants to listen to a rapper unless they claim to be the best or the greatest. This sort of braggadocio leads to all sorts of tirades, showdowns, battles, and sometimes even deaths. In all cases, confidence is the ruling card. Because of the competitive stance that all emcees are prone to take, they, like soldiers begin to believe that they can show no sign of vulnerability. Thus, the most popular emcees of our age are often those that claim to be heartless or show no feelings or signs of emotion. The poet, on the other hand, is the one who realizes that their vulnerability is their power. Like you, unafraid to shed tears on countless shows, the poet finds strength in exposing their humanity, their vulnerability, thus making it possible for us to find connection and strength through their work. Many emcees have been poets. But, no, Ms. Winfrey, not all emcees are poets. Many choose gangsterism and business over the emotional terrain through which true artistry will lead. But they are not to blame. I would now like to address your question of leadership.

You may recall that in immediate response to the attacks of September 11th, our president took the national stage to say to the American public and the world that we would “…show no sign of vulnerability”. Here is the same word that distinguishes poets from rappers, but in its history, more accurately, women from men. To make such a statement is to align oneself with the ideology that instills in us a sense of vulnerability meaning “weakness”. And these meanings all take their place under the heading of what we consciously or subconsciously characterize as traits of the feminine. The weapon of mass destruction is the one that asserts that a holy trinity would be a father, a male child, and a ghost when common sense tells us that the holiest of trinities would be a mother, a father, and a child: Family. The vulnerability that we see as weakness is the saving grace of the drunken driver who because of their drunken/vulnerable state survives the fatal accident that kills the passengers in the approaching vehicle who tighten their grip and show no physical vulnerability in the face of their fear. Vulnerability is also the saving grace of the skate boarder who attempts a trick and remembers to stay loose and not tense during their fall. Likewise, vulnerability has been the saving grace of the African American struggle as we have been whipped, jailed, spat upon, called names, and killed, yet continue to strive forward mostly non-violently towards our highest goals. But today we are at a crossroads, because the institutions that have sold us the crosses we wear around our necks are the most overt in the denigration of women and thus humanity. That is why I write you today, Ms. Winfrey. We cannot address the root of what plagues Hip Hop without addressing the root of what plagues today’s society and the world.

You see, Ms. Winfrey, at it’s worse; Hip Hop is simply a reflection of the society that birthed it. Our love affair with gangsterism and the denigration of women is not rooted in Hip Hop; rather it is rooted in the very core of our personal faith and religions. The gangsters that rule Hip Hop are the same gangsters that rule our nation. 50 Cent and George Bush have the same birthday (July 6th). For a Hip Hop artist to say “I do what I wanna do/Don’t care if I get caught/The DA could play this mothaf@kin tape in court/I’ll kill you/ I ain’t playin’” epitomizes the confidence and braggadocio we expect an admire from a rapper who claims to represent the lowest denominator. When a world leader with the spirit of a cowboy (the true original gangster of the West: raping, stealing land, and pillaging, as we clapped and cheered.) takes the position of doing what he wants to do, regardless of whether the UN or American public would take him to court, then we have witnessed true gangsterism and violent negligence. Yet, there is nothing more negligent than attempting to address a problem one finds on a branch by censoring the leaves.

Name calling, racist generalizations, sexist perceptions, are all rooted in something much deeper than an uncensored music. Like the rest of the world, I watched footage on AOL of you dancing mindlessly to 50 Cent on your fiftieth birthday as he proclaimed, “I got the ex/if you’re into taking drugs/ I’m into having sex/ I ain’t into making love” and you looked like you were having a great time. No judgment. I like that song too. Just as I do, James Brown’s Sex Machine or Grand Master Flashes “White Lines”. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll is how the story goes. Censorship will never solve our problems. It will only foster the sub-cultures of the underground, which inevitably inhabit the mainstream. There is nothing more mainstream than the denigration of women as projected through religious doctrine. Please understand, I am by no means opposing the teachings of Jesus, by example (he wasn’t Christian), but rather the men that have used his teachings to control and manipulate the masses. Hip Hop, like Rock and Roll, like the media, and the government, all reflect an idea of power that labels vulnerability as weakness. I can only imagine the non-emotive hardness that you have had to show in order to secure your empire from the grips of those that once stood in your way: the old guard. You reflect our changing times. As time progresses we sometimes outgrow what may have served us along the way. This time, what we have outgrown, is not hip hop, rather it is the festering remnants of a God depicted as an angry and jealous male, by men who were angry and jealous over the minute role that they played in the everyday story of creation. I am sure that you have covered ideas such as these on your show, but we must make a connection before our disconnect proves fatal.

We are a nation at war. What we fail to see is that we are fighting ourselves. There is no true hatred of women in Hip Hop. At the root of our nature we inherently worship the feminine. Our overall attention to the nurturing guidance of our mothers and grandmothers as well as our ideas of what is sexy and beautiful all support this. But when the idea of the feminine is taken out of the idea of what is divine or sacred then that worship becomes objectification. When our governed morality asserts that a woman is either a virgin or a whore, then our understanding of sexuality becomes warped. Note the dangling platinum crosses over the bare asses being smacked in the videos. The emcees of my generation are the ministers of my father’s generation. They too had a warped perspective of the feminine. Censoring songs, sermons, or the tirades of radio personalities will change nothing except the format of our discussion. If we are to sincerely address the change we are praying for then we must first address to whom we are praying.

Thank you, Ms. Winfrey, for your forum, your heart, and your vision. May you find the strength and support to bring about the changes you wish to see in ways that do more than perpetuate the myth of enmity.

In loving kindness,

Saul Williams

welcome to another edition of "hurray, hormones!"

ugh.

i've probably said this before: i almost prefer mood swings.

being totally and utterly dissatisfied with your life situation and wanting to change it within 24-72 hours isn't realistic. yet, lately, i go thru this just about every month.

normally the dissatisfaction isn't that much of an issue--i can give myself a little pep talk and be fine. but when the hormones get involved, i want to set ablaze any and everything i percieve as an obstacle so i can move on.

i want results. yesterday.

i demand to know why i'm not living in a palace on a mountaintop, soaking my feet in a beautiful, clear stream. and why life has to be so goddamned hard all the time (mind you, i haven't lived a hard life. it just feels hard right now 'cause i can't go out and buy myself 5 pairs of candy-colored shoes or hop on a plane on a whim).

i want to be catered to, pampered. or at least be allowed to sit and meditate at will so i can consult intuitive solutions to the things i find dissatisfying. 'cause after 8 hours in my "cage", i'm usually too tired and irritated to meditate about anything.

i want peace, quiet. i want to be allowed to dream for as long as i want and wake up when i want, not to the sound of a shrieking alarm clock, which leaves me feeling disoriented and groggy.

but...i'm here at work, as usual. trying to make it through the day without snapping--verbally or otherwise. and i always manage.

but the process can be exhausting.

water

work in progress...started last night

puts out fire
quenches thirst
melts ice

seeks its level
wears away stone
washes away uselessness
mixes with anything and becomes
a solution

i was born under the sign
that has no enemy
osmotic and self-purifying
i can etch my name in mountains

there is a waterfall
between my thighs
warm and undulating
accepting of warm men
gateway for returning souls...

the essence
of my spirit
gives life to the world

(c) 2007 l.a.m.

adupe pupo (thank you very much)

for...

prayer
good food
pens
notebooks
egungun mi
vacation days
smiles
COUPONS!
laughter
ile mi
cats who curl up next to you just when you need it
inspiration
motivation
tofu!
cars
idile mi
trips to target
def poetry on dvd
hugs

what is it about taxes

that just makes you wanna jump off a bridge
or scream incessantly for hours
or march to the irs offices with torches like they did in the monster movies...

i need to have some kids
buy a house
get more student debt
something...

actually, i need to stop forgetting about them and have a professional look at the stuff so i don't get screwed, 'cause this time of year, i can ALWAYS feel the changes in the tax laws, even if i have no clue under god what they are.

hell, i don't even wanna pay taxes, seeing as most of them seem to get used for some wasteful, corrupt, or otherwise heinous shit.

at least the state gave me $8!!

ah well.
it's done for now.

i'm going to bed. lol.

sometimes i can't keep up with my mind

stories and poems race through, trying to be caught and heard
but i can only do about three things at one time well
get into four or five and i start slippin on at least one
but the words want all my attention
they abhor multitasking

my creativity is pretty overwhelming
which is probably why i've spent so much time trying to
tame
bend
subdue and/or
harness it

by now i understand that it's like my hair:
does what it wants when it wants
and grows like wildfire
or weeds
different textures and colors
all thrown into one me

and i gotta try to make sense of it.

don imus is an ass, but

there is something to be said for the fact that i can turn on just about any radio station right now and hear someone saying, in some capacity, that "we don't love these hoes..."

and they don't mean caucasian hoes.

so...yeah.

we have to remember that we're not the only ones listening.
and some folks don't know where to draw the line
or when to shut their mouths.


(addendum 4.13.2007: they said it better.)

(addendum 4.13.2007: newt gingrich is also an ass. but we knew that.)

light years

If you don't know you can be light years
Away from your true destination. No conscious escalation
Until I get with good vibration
I'm never gonna get to use that
use that earthly power
Substitutes
Can never take the place of peace of mind
Losing all sense of direction.

~jamiroquai, "light years"

i'm trying to refrain from saying i hate my job until i have someplace else to go.

still, having to deal with my inner child's temper tantrums upon waking on weekday mornings has become a little tiring.

i feel like i can't understand my dreams because i'm too busy trying to fight off the bullshit and boredom of my days.

my spirit isn't the only thing that's free. sometimes i feel like i was born to be freedom, period. but that's not something that's easy to be when you're trying to be a "grown-up" in this society. saving up precious "vacation" days just to have a little time to breathe...and hell, at least i get vacation...wtf is that about?

you know what? fk it.
i'm grateful for what i have
and where i am.
i'm aware of my progression
at least i'm writing fairly regularly again...

this situation has always been temporary.

i'ma be aight.

still. when that alarm clock goes off...

emotional detox

these prove far more potent than the physical ones. at least for me.

when you fast, cleanse, etc., you have much more control over the process.

your mind/spirit doesn't have the 24 hour window your digestive system does. it might flush out at random, hitting you with all kinds of craziness.

i woke up from one dream silently screaming

another had me frustrated, hurt, and even a little jealous

yet another made me remember there are things you don't get "over". ever.

the one that had me terrified really shouldn't have. a swarm of red ants crawled up my legs and over my body. at the time, i was (supposedly) filming a movie. had i remembered that, i would have known it was all an elaborate fake and could have learned something from it all. ah, hindsight.

instead, the ants started coming (until they "touched" me i "knew" they weren't real...), and i started screaming. i opened my eyes with every nerve in my body tingling, cottonmouthed, praying i didn't really scream that loudly.

the frustration dream put me within almost-spitting distance of someone i miss terribly, but i couldn't go to him. in the last dream i had of him, i figured it wasn't worth speaking to him, but now--even though he was much farther away physically--i despised not being able to run to the street (i watched him from a window) and make myself known. when i saw him invite a woman to sit down with him, obviously flirting, i became livid--but only for the second it took me to realize how irrational that was.

in the next scene, i saw him, obviously ill, in a wheelchair (on tv, of all places). i was maddened. how could that have happened to him? where was i? couldn't i heal him? i sensed he might have been sick when i saw him from the window and hated myself for not getting to him then.

the third dream had me speaking to a jennifer hudson clone who was also a therapist. she spoke-sang all these questions to try and gauge my feelings about my 20someodd year old molestation and i'm wondering "who the hell is she & what business is it of hers?". all the while, i'm in a house that i'm told belongs to me, but is full of a stranger's things. obviously that one drudged up quite a few emotions.

i've dealt with that situation via all the proper channels, but 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.

i woke up feeling relatively rested, considering.

all i can do is be grateful i see this for what it is and pray that it has cleared the way for much more positive, illuminating dreams for the rest of the week.

i say all this to say: don't run from your nightmares. look them dead in the face and figure out what they're trying to say.

maferefun egungun mi

if you are of african descent
no matter your current spiritual path
please, please, please do yourself a favor:
commune with your ancestors.

it doesn't take much.
and it has nothing to do with replacing god.

uplifting those who have gone before is just as necessary as uplifting our people on this plane.

ashe.

free floss!

apparently they have some "get your floss on" campaign for the students here at my place of employment.

so...i now have a pretty little (free!) blue box of dental floss from "united concordia"--a group of ppl concerned with "insuring america's dental health".

at least that's what the box says.

the fact that this was pretty much the highlight of my day should strike you as rather tragic. lol.

happy friday!

goddess garden

i've decided that once i get my house, i'm going to build an outdoor goddess garden. i'll need statues, incense holders, places for candles, baubles, pretty stones and shells, etc.

pantheon to include:

quan yin
kali ma
oshun
yemonja
maybe aida wedo
definitely some kind of replica of the venus of willendorf
something for saartjie

what i can't decide is if i want to just scatter them throughout the garden or just set aside a particular corner as sacred ground. i'm sure it'll depend on how much space i have...

if i can get something fenced in i'll even go out and dance in the moonlight! if not, i'll be content to quietly meditate in front of it--for the neighbors' sake, of course.

more gratitude...

'cause that's all i can think to write about today

balance
warm showers
flowers
love love love love love
sacrifice
intuition
smiles & laughter
clean sheets
rain
egungun mi
crock pots
diners w/ yummy veggie food
decaffeinated (sorta) coffee
orgasms
yoga!!!