knowledge of self: a stream of consciousness.

understand me when i say i've had a breakthrough. about who i am, about where i am, about where i'm headed, and who i'm stepping into being.  i don't worry so much anymore, because i've never been this certain. i've never been this self-possessed.  i've never, in my life, been more aware of one simple fact: i'm the truth. i am the best thing that ever happened to me.  i have figured it all out: i am equipped with every tool i need to get to the next place, to do the next thing, to take the best care of myself and all of my needs.  when i really listen to myself and trust my own intuition, i am unstoppable.

i am bigger, better, stronger, and flyer than anyone's imagination -- my own included.  i will not be stopped by anyone else's fear or jealousy of me.

i am a walking miracle. my very existence on this earth is the product of praying grandmothers & my own resilience.  i will not lose. ever.

i am the first born daughter.

the mark i make on this earth will be indelible.

perfect doesn't exist.

yet i can comfortably say that i am perfect the way i am. every moment i change, i grow toward the light like a sprout. i am reaching upward continually.
striving toward my own satisfaction is what makes me perfect.
it centers me, gives me my reason for getting up each day, & will provide me with the legacy i wish to leave the world when i die.
i'm not here to lose, & quite honestly, i never have.

i've been journaling a bit.

so i'm kind of on blog hiatus.

getting back into crochet, maybe so i can do something other than scarves. (word to butta.fly wears, i may finally learn to make a crown!)

working on other stuff that will allow a pared down version of that imaginary resignation letter to stand as an official, all-the-way-live kiss off.

relaunched the bliss project, & damn happy about it.

basically lining the ducks up so that when i go into winter, i'm free to really work with my own rhythms.

i'm right where i need to be.

the resignation letter i wish i could write:

dear coworkers:

over these last 4.75 years i've had the opportunity to work with, laugh with, & occasionally cry with you all. i am thankful for the experiences i've had here, for without them i would not be the woman you have all come to know. it is after having reviewed these experiences that i must say that it's time for me to move onward and upward in the interest of my own sanity & safety as well as yours. you see, office staff, i hate this job & i'd rather contract scabies than deal with this shit beyond february 9, 2009 (my 5th anniversary).

i don't feel like we're a collectively highly functioning group of people. some of us are higher functioning than others, which is the norm everywhere you go. but a few of y'all are teetotal assholes who don't see past the ends of your own noses. in my 1.5 years of college & really expansively fly and dope 10 years of employment experience i have seen and done more and better than many of you. that is not to discount your life experiences, but simply to explain the stance i took when i began working here in 2004: this is not any place to build a career for someone like me. this job is, instead, a graveyard of dreams and hopes for me.

i am too much of a warrior to remain in a passive stance by working here. yes, we staff an agency that serves the public. yes, serving the public is important to me. but i believe that the bureaucracy and current structure of city government is a hindrance to giving the people what they need. while we're arguing over expenditures and waiting for the only person who knows the answer to the question to come back from vacation, folks are losing out. while we're trying to see who's gonna play along w/ the wonderful things the new mayor is trying to do, the ppl who're best-equipped to do the work are either giving up hope for change or just walking away from their "good city jobs" altogether. i don't have the patience to wait it out on this end. i'd rather wait while working. i'm more of a direct services kind of gal, i've remembered. i had to take some time after the heartbreak of working in the after school program w/ ppl who didn't care about the kids. i had to, after getting dropped from the ACLU, give myself the chance to say "no more temp jobs without benefits." it felt good. steady check, job security, no drama. i was able to pay down debts & move out of my mom's for good. yay, me! it felt great. but with the responsibility of keeping a roof over my own head came some massive epiphanies, the largest of these being my deep hatred of feeling caged. when i don't feel like i have options, i'm no good to anyone. i am an air sign w/ an air sign ascendant. you cannot contain air. shit. i am bigger than what you see, i am more dynamic than what you think and for crying out fucking loud i am better than everything you can try to saddle me with. no number of creative pet projects can satisfy me as long as i work here. you all don't seem to understand: i take community work seriously. it's all or nothing. after nearly 5 years of nothing, i'm preparing myself to give my all.

a few things i'd like to clarify:

doula work is not a novelty. it is serious, important, necessary work that improves the quality of birth experiences for women who need support during pregnancy, birth and a year post-partum. fuck you for calling it "cute."

becoming a midwife is neither a passing fancy, nor is it just some cute shit to do. there's a license involved & a fucking master's degree involved. not the same as your distance learning business writing courses, homie. respect my gangsta.

activism requires activity, regardless of how much i give to our truly awesome combined campaign program. financial contributions mean just as much as time invested.

covering my tattoos & dressing less like myself is uncomfortable. some days, i want to wear sweatpants. quit asking me why i'm wearing a dashiki. yes, those are suede ankle boots. yes, those are tweed sneakers. no, i don't think my earrings could be any bigger. kiss my ass.

talking shit about the food someone eats is not only disrespectful, but childish. it doesn't matter that i'm not indian but love channa, it's inconsequential that i'm not thai but live for green curry, and for the love of pete there's nothing wrong with vietnamese food. your asses might benefit from some daikon radish instead of the deep fried fuckery they serve at kennedy & crown fried chicken. grow up.

i don't have to explain to you how it is that i, a black american woman, have family in mexico. i do. quit meddling.

don't take for granted that everyone believes in jesus. i most certainly do not.

those with whom i've built friendships, i thank & appreciate you. you have kept me from certain madness on some days & been supportive to me from the very beginning. i will miss you, but you know i'm not gone from your lives.

the rest of y'all can kiss the pink part of my ass. i'm gonna go on down the list.

you, the meddling ass hater who copies what i do only after you talk copious amounts of shit about me to other people. you make twice as much money as i do, have a beautiful home & a husband who loves you. why does it matter if i'm following "god's orders" per the bible or the pastor of your church or your weave technician or whomever? i appreciate your came-up-from-nothing-i-was-a-teen-mother story. i do -- i know it couldn't have been easy. but try doing what my mom did with three kids, a terminally ill parent, a full time job and an accelerated master's program & then talk to me about what struggles are. then tell me my life should be a cakewalk because i don't have any kids. you insensitive, judgemental bitch, i edited my mom's papers & lit reviews because she was watching my grandmother die. try dealing with that & then tell me that i gave up on undergrad studies because i didn't believe in myself. it's called emotional exhaustion.

you, the sexist discipline officer: fuck you. you hate women, and i think it's despicable that you're the person who deals w/ sexual harrassment complaints. you are a phony asshole. whatever you're hiding can't be so serious that you need to act so terribly toward people. throwing tantrums is counter-productive if you do nothing with the feelings you realase. also: if you're gay, JUST COME OUT ALREADY. nobody cares if you are, i promise. you are too easily upset by the least consequential shit & that to me means something deeper is going on. fix it, cuz the next person might not be nice enough to deflect your shit. you do, after all, know that nobody has to entertain your shit.

former supervisor: jesus does not cosign your bullshit. your unwilligness to actually lend your energy to the people whom you feel are less fortunate than you speaks volumes about the kind of christian woman you are, versus who you tell everyone you are. get a life; nobody cares that you make greeting cards on the color laser jet at work especially when you aren't supposed to. stop wearing white opaque stockings with everything. nobody cares that your ill-behaved daughter won some bible verse regurgitation contest at school. you should be more concerned that she's so destructive, with no creative outlets for her energy.

there are some of you who just came on board. to you, i say: keep your eyes open. keep your ears to the ground. i won't even tell you not to get comfortable. just be aware.

i don't want a luncheon or a dinner party or anything, either. just make sure my last check is right & that you make my appointment at the pension board so i can get that good lump sum.

thanks!

he had a wife. & a girlfriend.

me.

well, they weren't legally wed, as far as i knew. but they had a baby on the way. they shared a lease. that was enough for me. i'm the product of a roaming dick of a father, and as such i've always felt like i had to respect others' exclusivity, even if they didn't. because that meant i respected myself. i prided myself on holding myself above and beyond all of that talk show shit. he said he did, too. but that began to unravel before long. he looked at me too longingly, was too quick to ask me out for drinks after work. he was entirely too quick, with the baby due any day, to ask me flat out, "when's the last time you had some good dick, girl?" i felt like it had to be the booze talking, we had been hanging out in a group setting, and he offered to drive me home clear on the opposite side of the city from where he lived, and we did decide to go cut a rug, and we both worked crazy ass hours, so why not take some time to ourselves to blow off steam? he'd just had too much to drink, and i needed a ride home . . . it was late. taking the bus home in january in philly . . . i wasn't really dressed for night time temperatures, just my work clothes . . .
but i knew he was wrong. he was wrong. he knew better. i knew better. at the time, i was a believer that anyone with 3 years of age on me and the vast life experience he had should have behaved like the mature one. above all, i felt like i had to remind him that he still had something/ someone to go home to. he had a reason not to be out with me at 3 in the morning, and it wasn't either of our obligations to work the next day. there was a baby that they had already named and prepared for. it was her possible entry into active labor. and what did i do?

nothing. let it progress. because i wanted, very badly, to feel admired. i am a sensation junkie. he stimulated my mind more than anything else, did a damn good job of it. most importantly, he represented an impossibly pleasant distraction (oh, the text messages, the myspace wall posts, the crazy ass emails!) from the madness surrounding me. at work. transitioning from my mom's (probably for the last time) to cohabitation with a girlfriend of mine. drama at work. there was so much to process, so much to ignore . . . the endless drinks (and nutritionally deficient "meals" at the bar) impeded the flood of madness that threatened to drown me. i had to move out of the old apartment in north philly and high-tail it to the land of trolleys and ethiopian restaurants. i was having what some may call a spiritual awakening in regard to my study of the yoruba faith. i was learning, growing, changing . . . and still shaking off the vestiges of old beliefs about myself. i don't say this to say that i didn't know what i was doing. i knew, but had no way of gaging the impact on myself. getting to know him was getting old, fast. but i wasn't quite finished. i have this thing where i always have to double and triple check even when i know i'm right in the first place (conversely, i never double-check the possible missteps or bad fucking ideas). so as i double checked and triple checked, it got uglier. things deteriorated.

i learned the hard way that a mutual friend (trust, i now use that phrase lightly) took my confidence in her and turned it into something it wasn't. all of a sudden i, the fiercely independent, perpetually single one was that bitch. hungry, needy, trying to get in anywhere i could for the sake of validation. it was a play upon fears and a major exaggeration of words that, in context, were more consistent with my real self than this skewed portrait she'd painted of me. at the time i wasn't even aware of the weight of it. but i became more clear on it after a while. a bunch of shit she was into, which is completely inconsequential to me at this point, had her acting like she had zero home training.
but, back to me. cuz this is my blog & it's about me.
i was in the early stages of picking the whole mess apart. i didn't wanna fuck him anymore. the one time we messed around left me feeling like anything further would be less than satisfying to me. i had already moved into my new place. i didn't need to vent to anyone anymore about the bobby & whitney ass shit my roommate was into. i didn't need him for the distraction anymore. just as i was figuring out exactly what purpose he served in my life, we had this mindblowingly unilateral conversation (i let it be that way, i know when to shut my mouth) & that was that, for the most part. some other shit popped off months down the line that is not even worthy of note here.
years removed, i've gained a lot of clarity. i've lost contact w/ most of the folks associated with that mess. and i rather enjoy the distance. i have no regrets. i know now: the first time should be the last when it comes to being offended. you can't trust anyone who's afraid of the hair that grows out of her own scalp (at least, i can't). if he's dumb enough to bring you up in his house after the fact, you need to make that the last interaction. follow your gut instinct; call a spade a spade.
above all: no matter what they say or do, they are only human & therefore no more important or special or favored or loved by the most high than you are.

be bold, be red: october 30.

mil gracias a nezua for posting this on umx, and reminding me to begin with!

Be Bold Be Red Goes Viral Loco Visual

Beloved Survivors, Warriors, Allies, Activists, Organizers, Artists, Healers, Visionaries, Sisters and Friends,

In October 2007 people all over the United States gathered physically and in spirit to speak out against violence against women of color. Some of us wore red all day and explained that we were reclaiming and reframing our bodies as a challenge to the widespread acceptance of violence against women of color. Some of us wrote powerful essays about why we were wearing red and posted them on the internet. Some of us gathered with bold and like-minded folks and took pictures, shared poetry and expressed solidarity.

This year, on the first anniversary of the Be Bold Be Red Campaign, we invite you to make your bold stance against the violence enacted on women and girls of color in our society visible. In D.C., Chicago, Durham, Atlanta and Detroit women of color will be gathering to renew our commitment to creating a world free from racialized and gendered violence, and this time, we’ll be using a new technology called CyberQuilting to connect all of these gatherings in real time. To learn more about CyberQuilting, which is a women of color led project to stitch movements together using new web technologies and old traditions of love and nurturing, visit www.cyberquilt.wordpress.com.

This letter is an invitation for you and yours to participate in a gathering in your city on Thursday, October 30th that will be webcast to similar gatherings in other cities. We are calling on you because we recognize and appreciate the work that you and the organizations you work with are doing everyday to make this a more loving and less violent world for women and girls in oppressed communities. Please join us on October 30th so that other warriors in this struggle can be strengthened and affirmed by the energy of our collective ferocity!

If you are not located in D.C., Chicago, Durham, Atlanta and Detroit for the webcast, you can still participate by wearing Red on October 30, 2008 and send us your pictures to beboldbered@gmail.com

Also we are asking once again that people wear Red on October 30, 2008 and send us your pictures to beboldbered@gmail.com

As we receive them we will upload your pictures under “Red Pictures Today.”

Also, as well as to share your stories of Red on this website under “Why are you wearing Red on October 30, 2008.”

So, are you ready?!

a lesson from the mind of my genius friend oyin:

she calls it the m&m conversation. it's what happens when you don't let go of old shit. i'm totally paraphrasing, but when/ if she posts up a specific example in her own words i'll be sure to post & share it here.

the beginning:

you have a particularly wounding conversation with your mom. she says some terrible things to you that pretty much make you feel like the lowest being on earth, like you aren't important to anyone, not even god. you remember everything about the conversation. you remember the look on her face, and you remember most of all what that day looked like. you were 10, so you weren't @ eye level with her. it was april, 1988 and that day was unseasonably warm. you were in the parlor and wishing like hell that picture of your dead great-aunt wasn't so spooky looking. you had on your favorite pair of la gears. your mom had on a yellow dress.

the middle:

you never say to your mom that what she said hurt you. you never tell anyone that she wounded you with her words/ actions. you carry that shit with you for years & years. you develop stomach problems. you become crippled when you end up in a confrontational situation.

the end:

one day, years later, you're hugged up w/ your boocakes on your sofa and he is fucking up a bag of peanut m& ms. you say to him, "boocakes, may i have some of your m&ms please?" your boocakes, being the kind of generous soul he is, shares the peanut m&ms with you. you look into your palm, and you see that most of the candies are yellow.

you throw the candy to the floor & begin to spaz the fuck out: "motherfucker, what the FUCK is wrong witchu?!?!?? yellow m&ms? i ask you for candy and you give me some terrible ass yellow m&ms? I HATE YELLOW M&MS AND I HATE YOU, TOO! rat bastard!" and so on and so forth.
because you never released that old hurt about the day your mom made you feel terrible, whether you told her later about that shit or not. whether you talked to a therapist or trusted friend or not, your lack of release put you in a position where the most random thing triggered you.

the moral of the story: let that shit out. before you end up doing something preposterous with the leftover negativity.

until she puts it up on blogger

i'm sharing with you dear readers a declaration posted by miss oyin on behalf of the buckwild family (just as adorable as the care bears & their cousins, but way more serious). a declaration of war, of sorts, against the kingdom of niggadom. after an experience w/ two of TKON's most fierce warriors -- women i work with, both of whom espouse SO MUCH PRIDE in black folk/ blackness, i felt it necessary to remind myself why i don't subscribe to that school of "thought."

Me and some otha membas of the Buckwild family have been chit chattin. We been doin some sharing of stories and some truth tellin and just some general vibin about the stuff that niggas get into.



How they abuse

How they manipulate situations

How they hurt us and themselves

All for The Kingdom of Niggadom!



And how no matter how enlightened a brotha is

At the end of the day

Should he choose to do so

He can lay all that to the side and post up in The Kingdom of Niggadom (TKON)



TKON is a terrorist organization. It is, among other things:



Anti-Freedom

Anti-Woman

Anti-Bliss

Anti-Peace

Anti-Cooperation

Anti-Truth

Anti-Erotic



TKON endorses the wholesale rape and destruction of womanhood. And it offers us either a pornographic cardboard cut out OR a whitewashed passionless virginal caricature to replace that destroyed womanhood. Now this don't mean that TKON is necessarily physically raping a woman, (tho TKON isn't above that either) cause TKON can be very subtle in its ways and workings.



TKON will have you to believe that your main purpose in life as a woman is to bear children and be a helpmeet of a nigga. And should you not want to devote your life to bein a helpmeet then something is wrong witchu, or maybe you're a lesbian or perhaps you done picked up a evil spirit from yo woman friends: "Whatchu mean you dont feel free??? You be sittin up letting them women you hang around wit fill yo head wit all kinda nonsense. You betta watcho self or you wont neva have no manTHEN whatchu gone do? It say in the Bible that a womans place is . . ."


One of TKON's favorite threats is that you gone end up in Hell, or even worse...old and alone.


TKON will have you to believe that the abuse that it hands out is really somehow all YOUR fault because you are too free, or too pretty, or too nice, or you smile at men too much or you don't clean house the way that it should be cleaned or on the day that it should be cleaned, or because you don't worship God the correct way.



TKON doesnt necessarily hit or yell, TKON is highly skilled in the usage of painful snide remarks and public humiliation. TKON will also withhold affection to teach you a lesson/punish you for not acting in accordance with the bylaws of TKON. For example, you may not get kissed hello because the house ain't as clean as its supposed to be even tho TKON will NOT clean anything or pick up anything because that is womans work.



TKON promotes listening to your boys before you listen to anything that your woman or your mama tries to tell you because all women want to do is get over on you anyway or tie you down. TKON is the origin of the rumor that "she got pregnant on purpose."



TKON likes the THEORY of a relationship with a woman, but actual intimacy without manipulation of some sort is usually beyond the capabilities of TKON.



TKON ultimately believes that if you don't agree with it, its because you don't UNDERSTAND it,



Cause you ain't deep enough,

You don't fast enough,

You don't read enough,

You don't pray enough,

You don't watch the right tv shows,

You watch tv,

You wear yo stomach out,

You be temptin' men

You haven't read freud or jung

You straight

You gay

You dress too flamboyantly

You don't own enough white linen

Yo jeans too tight

You got a perm

Yo hair is too nappy

You have locs but you don't talk to them

Yo diet has too many carbs

Yo diet don't have enough wheatgrass

You don't eat no meat

You be burnin' all that incense

You don't neva burn no incense

Etc. etc. etc.



When grievances are brought before the court of TKON



1. TKON ignores the entire case because listening and being transformed by what is heard is outside of the capabilities of TKON

2. TKON will flip the entire scenario and make the entire incident/issue out to be some fault of the plaintiff OR circumstances surrounding TKON, because of course TKON is flawless in EVERY way and obviously anyone who doesn't agree is crazed or should be in therapy or on some kind of medication

3. In very special cases, when TKON has cut to complete craziness and stayed crazy for a long period of time, TKON will institute surface level changes that will cause the plaintiff to believe that he/she has been heard. This keeps TKON in its position of comfort and power, with minimal effort. Note: these changes have a shelf life of 3 days-6 months, however based on our field research, the most common length of time is 2 weeks.



Sistas who have fallen victim to TKON typically react in one of two ways:



1. The denounce TKON and say fuck it and they mean it and they spit on the foundations of TKON.

2. They try to prove to TKON that they are a different kind of woman and therefore worthy of the love, affection, and esteem that TKON has on reserve for that perfect woman/queen.



I am a category 1 up in this piece. I say FUCK IT!

I SPIT on the FOUNDATIONS of TKON

LET THAT SHIT CRUMBLE!!!

I will get me a sign and picket outside the gates of that muthafucka

I am SICK and goddammit TIRED of NIGGAS WINNIN

I am TIRED of NIGGAS not bein held accountable for their actions

I am tired of Niggasebein put up on pedestals cause we scared of how they gone act if we worship at our own shrine instead of theirs

FUCK that shit

I am shootin TKON in the stomach and blowin air in the hole

I am breakin TKON's fingers and wigglin em til he pass out or die of a heartattack

I ain't keepin TKON's secrets NO MORE

On THIS day in MY NAME, by the power of my womb, the power that I use to create the life that I love, I withdraw my ASE from The Kingdom of Niggadom



I am exitin' stage left and takin' up residence in The Town of Women

And I got my yam pounder cocked and ready for any muthafucka who feelin squirrely



When the men are ready

we can move to a new place.



But from now until the time that the dust settles on the destruction

I will shake my red tailfeathers in the general direction of TKON



And I will chant that shit down like they be chantin down Babylon



Num Yo Ho, No Mo Niggas Winnin © Beauchamp de Leau & Sugarlee Buckwild



I cordially invite all like minded persons (women in particular) to chant that shit down WITH me.



***Babylonian Sidebar***

we need to find us another name for Babylon cause in ancient times the chief problem that folks had with Babylon was the freeness of the women so I'm actually a Babylon SUPPORTER.


in the name of all that is on point & wonderful in the universe, i wholeheartedly second, third, fourth, and umpteenth that. shit.

feeling like my fulfillment is on hold

like i have to shake my ass a lil harder for those tips
smile bigger when they ask how i'm doing, so massa & them don't know i'm planning to leave
i'm growing impatient &
full of myself, certain that i'll strike when the iron is hot
my hands itch to pull at that other shoe, instead of letting it drop on its own
trying to slow this mess down just enough to savor the last days

i'm more aware now than ever of how this is gonna go down,
where my support comes from
what i need to leave alone
& ultimately, i'm fully able to see where i ought to be
what steps to take, where to plant my feet.

i just have to breathe & take care of this stuff first.
the babies will come
the money will come
the new home will come.

i just have to make it so.

i feel very protective of my dreams right now.

i'm not sharing with too many folks. that is, i'm not talking to anyone whom i know to be negative or whom i know for a fact doesn't really know me. i can stare into a person's blank face every day for nearly 4 years (like i do at work with some ppl) & know that they've no clue about how to treat me. & i am, for all intents & purposes, my dreams. whatever i conceptualize, whatever i decide to become, that's me. that's where i'm headed if i'm not there already. & if that person should treat my developing self poorly then how can i ever expect her or him to be good to me once i arrive at my destination? that's got to be im-fucking-possible. i'm not buying that jack-nicholson-as-the-joker smile & hands open only to make mincemeat from my most tender parts.
my dreams are not meant to be picked apart or turned into a frankenstein monster by anyone except me. there will be no opportunities for detractors to take from me or lessen my potency. there is not any good reason for me to take my brand new dreams out of my pockets to show to/ share with any person who isn't also nurturing a dream. & i don't mean simply thinking of something to do with the rest of her or his life -- i mean someone who is actively putting together the pieces of that one thing they're meant (or are trying) to do w/ the rest of her or his life. i'm tired of being exposed to folks whose uncertainty about their own places in the world serves as a platform (or a castle tower) from where they pass judgment on everyone else's situation. that mess is sickening, anti-productive, & a huge waste of my time.
in short, i'm not having this bullshit for much longer. it seems that there's a grillion ways to take the piss out of the good thing someone else has got going, but not as many ways to push that good thing along. anyone who's well versed in the pushing along & forward movement is welcome.
all others may fall by the wayside. period. i am speaking power to my situation, regardless of what anyone has to do or say about it.

addendum:
mel, post this on your mirror or something. happy birthday. stay motivated, beautiful, & strong. i love you to pieces.

i just had a great idea for a blog entry

when i was in the shower. something about how i'm realizing that people give academics & whomever else deemed as 'experts' all the power when it comes to discussing situations that they live every day.

on some, "how dare you question your doctor/ boss/ landlord/ the police/ anyone who's got a higher degree than you (or a degree period)?"

granted, i know absolutely nothing about being a dentist so i follow my dentist's instructions, but not without asking why or what certain procedures do.

*sigh*

i guess i'll go back to bed & pray that these thoughts come back asap.

red tail feathers: a story from the holy odu.

retold by my dear sister/friend myra louise jenkins the fifth who knows everything.

from the odu Ose

Parrot
was the favorite wife of the king
and AAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL of the other wives were jealous of her

the other wives decided to paint Parrot's stool with a poison
so that when she sat on it
her back side became red

Parrot was HORRIFIED!!!!

and to top it all off
there was a huge festival coming up
all of the king's wives were supposed to dance
and they'd all decided that they were going to dance in the nude

Parrot went to the king
sayin' "baby i can't dance in the nude like THIS!!!!"
so he told the wives not to dance in the nude this time
they all agreed
and chose another dance to do

the day of the festival arrived
and the time came for the dance of the king's wives to begin
the drummers started to play the rhythm called
"in the nude"
"in the nude"
and the other wives began to take their clothing off
Parrot stripped down as well

and they all began to dance in the nude

the rulers of the neighboring kingdoms saw parrot's red bottom and said
"what is this wondrous thing???"

"we have never seen its like!"

"our destinies are not in order!"

"if you will not give it to us, will you sell it to us?"

and Parrot and the king
began to sell red tail feathers
and Parrot became very wealthy
and the king became very wealthy

what was once Parrot's blemish
became her blessing

"Spoilers are not as rare as Improvers
Improvers are not as numerous as Spoilers
but those who seek to spoil me actually improve me."

exhaling can be so freeing.

the other night, i had something resembling a panic attack. i saw someone who reminded me of some things that i'd spent the better part of a year trying to shake loose/ bury/ empty my mind of. i felt like i was losing my grip on the little shell i'd built for myself to live inside of. sure, i'm social & sweet & all that other shit . . . but can we be for real? i was so shook that i was trying to avoid talking to a woman whom i know from the neighborhood . . . & all she wanted to do was say hello. it was really crazy. i felt like she didn't deserve to be treated like that. of course, i threw on the warrior face & put those feelings aside long enough to carry on a little bit of walking-up-the-block chitchat. i felt a little normalized, but mostly still fucked up. i was definitely in the beginning of a disconnect from my immediate surroundings. interacting with her was actually a really good thing. i was gaining some perspective on my situation. that's totally invaluable. i was beginning to feel a bit better.
i decided that i had to feel all of it, though. trying to avoid those feelings had me jacked up to begin with, you know? emotional presence is one of those things that can be nearly impossible to practice if you've never known you were conditioned to keep your feelings to yourself. the more i remind myself of the conditioning that has essentially made me feel like i was wrong for even having feelings, the more i'm able to see where it's stopped me. of course, there's such thing as balance. i don't necessarily need to tell the lady in whole foods that i feel victimized by those damn dialoguedirect employees down the block, but i also needn't bite holes in my tongue when i'm at a family dinner & someone's praying against gay marriage. (they did it at my cousin's wedding, so why not over turkey, collards & cranberry-orange relish?)
i'm being tangential again. i had to work these feelings out on my own, like a grownup. so, i did what any wise conjure woman does: i took a nice, relaxing bath & prayed/ meditated myself into a better mindset. i couldn't possibly waste my time crying or fretting, wondering what to do next. i knew what to do.
i did it.
sometimes, exhaling is all you need to do.

maybe i'm just a mean old heifer.

i don't know. basically, yesterday, my intern (he's 16) asked me if i understood what mos def was talking about in his songs. that is, asked, "you hear the messages in his music, talking about the third eye and all that?" i blinked. i replied, "yes, i hear him. & i don't think what he's saying is wrong, necessarily." intern then says, "it's a shame that he thinks that way," or something like that. i had to take a deep breath, then politely inform youngin that no matter how much you listen to someone's music, you're only gonna begin to align your personal beliefs with what's expressed in their music if you feel you should. i give my brain more credit than that. i also had to let intern know that it's not ever okay to assume that (a) someone is a particular religion, (b) that they wanna have religion-based conversations with you, or (c) that anyone withn hearing range wants to be party to such a discussion. we work in city government. that's a really bad idea. i also had to let him know, that whatever a person believes (or doesn't believe) about god, it's not any other human being's business. period. he got kinda quiet. then said "i didn't wanna get up in your business, i was just sayin . . . he shouldn't think that way." i didn't waste time asking why. because i choose not to have that kind of talk with ppl at my job -- i barely talk to ppl outside of work about my faith tradition or anything religion-related. i just reminded him that assumptions aren't okay. i left it at that.

i know this child to be very much into church, into being a 'warrior for christ,' as i've heard him say. (that shit makes me cringe, just for the record) i know that he reminds me of myself when i was about 12. i thought i had to be extra preachy gospelly . . . that i had to tell the world about jesus & tell ppl they're wrong for being non-christians. of course, as i got older, i realized that i love secular music. i also realized that i didn't necessarily think jesus was my savior. i had questions that were not being answered by anything i read in the bible, nor did i have questions that were being answered by my elders. i also found that i disliked the idea that i had to maintain some standard of purity in my life, lest my humanity allow me to fall prey to the tools / whims of satan . . . who really was just a disgruntled former angel in the first place. there were too many holes. too many things that made no sense to me. so i kinda sat back & watched. i let everyone who identified as a christian show me how they were far from emulators of jesus christ himself. i shrugged, shook it off, & kept moving.
i dunno, my whoooooooole entire family (save my grandfather, one uncle & maybe one or two relatives by marriage) lean on jesus extra hard. that's cool, if it works for them. i think my baby sister might be one of us witchy yoruba santeria lucumi vodou candomblé goddess worshiper types. but i dunno for sure. my overwhelming feeling is that black folks allow whether or not someone is a christian be their deciding factor in regard to whether or not that person is acceptable.
there's a fatal flaw in that: there are folks who you may attend church with, who still don't have the same values you do, for whatever reason(s). i come from a family that values dialog but is still at times very authoritarian. my mother taught my two sisters & me to be as critically-thinking as possible. that didn't go terribly well with my grandmother, grandfather & two uncles. but they all managed to get the hell over it at some point -- they created little encyclopedia-reading monsters who never stopped wondering/ creating/ thinking. & it became okay. nerdiness is woven into the fabric of my family, & along with that comes talking & introduction of new ideas. my extended family identifies as christian, but what about the nurturing of growth/ encouragement of education that i experienced at home? if it doesn't apply to them does that automatically make them bad/ wrong?
but i'm getting off topic. my basic idea about exclusively using your religion as a measuring stick for others -- especially & including those who identify within the same religion -- is that your measuring stick is the result of your interpretation almost exclusively. that's not accurate. furthermore, variables are unavoidable. people vary. period. that's a dangerous thing. it's like fitting a square peg into a very round hole.
i hope intern learns as he gets older that that kinda shit isn't okay. he may not -- he comes from a position of privilege within the social circles where he exists. patriarchy rules supreme in his world (the worst thing i've ever heard come out of this child's mouth is that no woman should ever break up w/ her high school sweetheart just because she doesn't wanna have a long distance relationship), & it guarantees his comfort. so, i don't know. he has no idea what this wide world holds for him as a black male in america.
i hope he he learns, though. gently, easily, gradually. because the next person may not even entertain the idea of being sweet or diplomatic. i know what it is to have everything you believe in snatched out from under you. but then again, he may need that . . .

i'm not a huge fan of

the studio version of jill scott's "hate on me," because it sounds kinda overproduced . . . & sort of um . . . canned, if you will. but she sang it at the black lily closing show in may & i loved it. maybe it was ?uesto & the band, maybe it was because amy fucking winehouse had shown up. or maybe because i know just wtf she's talking about in the lyrics. my sista said if i gave you diamonds/ out of my own womb/ would you feel the love in that/ or ask, "why not the moon?" can we pause, reflect & breathe on that for a moment, please? i mean, damn. there are some folks on this earth who will tear every last tendon & bit of muscle from your bones & seek more if they believe you've got more for them to take. there are sometimes instances when ppl will show you precisely how ridiculous they are, & it's like katt williams said: "you mad at breakfast? nigga, you gangbangin on bacon?" pissed, desperate. grabby & needy for no reason other than their own exaggerated sense of entitlement & sadly inflated ego. tearing apart everyone around them in the name of being whom or what, i do not know. but they do it; & think that shit is peace. isn't.

the thing is, we are all humans
& we all have our moments where we have to think critically about others & by extension ourselves (i hope we all think critically about ourselves at some point or another). not to take away from or tear down anyone, but to really see who we are & what it's hittin for. head on. & truly, i think that within such processes, we kinda gain a clarity. a perspective that shows us a little better how we simply aren't ever really in a position to shit on someone else's situation. yes, someone may be troubled or misguided or whatever. but is that really a reason to decide that they're undeserving of your keeping your nose out of their shit?

i don't mean people who maim bunnies or kidnap elderly women or pee on teenage girls on videotape and then blame the shit on their brothers. i'm talking about your homegirl who's trying to finish her master's degree & make herself a better person at the same time. i'm speaking of anyone who's just living her or his every day life & is most likely progressing with it. nothing wrong w/ wondering about why your people are in the mess that they are. there's no shame in venting about the one friend you have who continually places her or himself in situations that always require mediation or some large amount of financial assistance. you can wonder all those things -- i think it's normal, to gain the best perspective possible on how you may or may not fit into all of this.

but if you're just plain pissed at someone's existence on this planet & instead of ignoring them you're seeking out reasons to talk shit on them, then perhaps you need to go rap w/ dr. phil or somebody. cuz that's just ridiculous.

straight vampires, yo.
leave that shit alone. some of us work to get where we are, while others just end up there serendipitously. either way, i'm not in a position to judge.

i'm not afraid of/ what i got/ i paid for . . .

okay, i get it:

i have to stay a little while longer. even though i don't want to. even though every day i find myself thinking that i'm gonna have to run away to new york or pick up all my shit & hide out at my mom's house for 8 weeks of intensive "i can't really hack it as a grownup" therapy (better known as working the same fucked up 12 hour days no fewer than 4 days per week, not paying ANYone's bills except my own, looking for a new job on craigslist & watching a lot of crappy tv w/ my sisters). it's really obvious. it is. i complained rather audibly to one of my at-work play auntie type coworkers & then in the afternoon, what happened? my division manager announced that basically she wants to utilize the knowledge of myself & some other support staff to turn us into . . . wait for it . . . are you ready? paraprofessionals. i know! basically she wants to find a way, even within the civil service system (which, though it is not inherently racist but definitely antiquated & still fucked up), to pay us what we're worth. make sure that our skills & awareness don't go to waste & ooze out of our ears. that's what her predecessor did. constantly. i can't say i'm terribly excited, because this is not where i wanna be for the rest of my life. i don't even wanna hit the five year mark (the very idea makes me nauseous as shit) at this place when i never intended to stay beyond two. at the same time, i've been itching for the opportunity to be smart for a living -- to really know that i come to work & use the talents i already have.
i complained & got a very obvious response. i'm like . . . okay, but i don't have forever. & i don't care who's a great coworker, who has my back, who really looks out . . . i hate complacency.
& i feel kinda complacent.
i don't wanna give this place the rest of my life, so i won't. i don't want to fester & just sit & stagnate. so i won't allow myself to.

& i'm having the hardest time understanding what might be on the horizon in regard to the work situation, but i'm gonna shut the hell up & say thank you. i just know what i really want deep down inside. i'm tryna learn patience so i don't rush into it just so i can say "i quit my day job to do this!"
cuz let's face it, i need to get the money up. there are folks i want to include in my plan who are currently doing other shit (hey karas!). there isn't any way i'm gonna even feel okay doing this without a few crucial things having been taken care of first.
i don't know wtf is going on
but i know the universe answered me before i even got to finish bitching.

adupe-o.

vamp.

i've never been one to do a lot of red. i always thought big girls ought not rock colors that bright; i always used to want to be left alone, to my own devices & business without drawing attn to myself. i already stood out physically. why add to it?
then one day when i was in high school my grandmother, mother & i were in the jc penney outlet. & there was this shirt i wanted. i loved it. i wanted it in navy, but it only came in red. with simple white piping around the collar. my concession, since momzie & mommy thought it looked so nice was, well, to get it in a 3x (just for the record, no part of my body has ever been a 3x ANYTHING, even at my heaviest). so i had this tent-like shirt. it was part of my "going away to college" arsenal. so, i only wore it when everything else was dirty. because it was red. & my simple ass didn't realize that more fabric = bigger clothing = more attention.

as i've aged, i have more or less stayed away from brights. red, green . . . as accent colors only. i have print clothing that tends to be on the docile side (w/ the exception of a cocktail dress here & there). . . & the only bright i ever really stuck with was bright pink.

then i found out that i'm omo sango. his colors are red + white. when olaomi told me that i was like "dangit. that means i'ma HAVE to wear red at some point or another. i don't do red." i kinda panicked. red hair is one thing (auburn is my summer color of choice), but red clothing? eh . . .

but i'm getting better. tryna grow into who i am. baba's got me. yeye & my ancestors have got me. most importantly, my ori is doin its thing. i even own a red dress(!!!)

at 26, my first red manicure. hmm. i kinda like it.

i guess it's my turn now

to declare it, once & for all, so everyone can know:

i wanna get knocked up. i want to be pregnant one sunny day & know that soon, the life in me is going to come forth. i want to smile very coyly at my man & giggle when he talks to my belly. i want to be secure enough to trust enough to get pregnant with a man & know that he's someone whose seed i'm not afraid to sow. i want to brew me a warrior child w/ pacifist leanings, activist tendencies, & a great love of life. i want the initial shock of finding that i'm pregnant be the prelude to gloriously blissful feelings. i want to welcome motherhood. i want to feel the baby turning around and getting excited when i'm excited. i want to sing lullabies in different languages & give thanks to the most high every single day for the blessing of carrying a life into this world. i want to take henna to my belly as it grows & make it look extra fly as an extension of me. i want a home birth with a nurse-midwife (hi, aba! can't wait until you're fully legit, girl), a doula, & an ob-gyn i trust on standby. i want my man to be there & as involved as he wants to be in the actual delivery. i want my mom to quit trippin long enough to appreciate how differently i'm finna do it; i want my sisters to be the best aunties ever. i want my maternal grandfather to be around to see, appreciate, love & acquaint himself with his first ever great-grandchild. i want my dear, dear girlfriends (all 834 of them) to send love & good energy more than i want them (or anyone else) to buy fly gifts. i want pretty dresses to wear once i'm too expanded for my regular clothes. i want to give birth in what will be the baby's room. i want to make baby food outside of my body. i will breast feed. period. i want to travel with my baby. i want to teach my baby ASL. i want to make the transition as pleasant as possible for my baby. i will not be in anyone's stark white florescent hospital room with people yanking & talking loudly; it would drive me crazy & i know it would be traumatic for baby. i want a peaceful situation during the gestation. i want to know for certain that i'm safe, loved, & secure in my home. i want to feel free enough to do it, & aware enough of what's going on around me to make informed decisions about mothering.

i'm just sayin. i want to do this. i'm not as ready as i know i need to be (i don't mean just financially), but i'm getting closer. i'm comfortable with the idea. i'm not rushing into motherhood.
but i trust my highest self enough to know that the time is coming one day soon. it's more realistic than it ever was before, & i'm making myself ready.
may my unborn child(ren) know that i'm not doing this alone. send your daddy my way, okay? don't rush, dearest. but send him along so we can do this.

i think myra, omi, atlanta & myself need to start a club or something. lol.

i think

that the whole "my period is terrible & i hate myself for being a woman" thing is stupid.

that is, it's born of ignorance & conditioning, sometimes of a shitty diet or stress. when i eat well, when i live my best life, & when i do what it pleases me to do i feel wonderful. if i eat poorly (or consume foods that cause disharmony in my body) i am a total wreck & there's suffering to be had. & i hate feeling that way. but, without fail, the sooner i let my body do its job the more i feel balanced. i feel right again. so i'm learning every time that i'm magic (& to quote atlanta, i'm sorry if u can't see it).

i will not be mad that i'm so snippy. it's necessary sometimes. i'm most myself today. so i'm gonna tend to my own needs first, forsaking all others. my mission is to handle my own business.
it's so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day bullshit of life. but what's really important is the laundry list of dreams, desires, wants & needs that i have. if i leave those unfulfilled, i run the risk of being permanently fucked up and miserable.

one foot in front of the other.
looking forward, period.
let's do this.