An Ode to Self-Love

Multilayered
Complex
Hauntingly beautiful
Full of grace
If only one could capture,
Secure it
Hide it in plain sight
Or perhaps lock away in a dungeon
I hid her away for ages
Fearful of desecration
Resenting the worlds brutality
In truth, she deserves all of the roses
Molten-led whispers along her spine
Sweet kisses, foot massages
Divinity in the arch of every limb
Basking in her sublime time
As fine as well-aged wine
Sipping from her lips, I find my peace
Oh, this deeply-rooted woman
Her cries are my anguish
Her heart my salve
Peaking into the heavens I capture her grace
Teasing her light, balancing unconditional rapture on slick fingertips
Then shoving fingertips down her throat
She bursts into a symphony of luminous rays
When they saw black and white
She saw the world in color
A special woman, the feminine, the anima,
Yin
The Great Mother
Heaven!
The root, so deeply rooted
Attempting to siphon her light—she forever remains luminous
She brings weakness to my knees;
Clearing my minds eye
Easing my soul
The embodiment of heaven—
Love without the illusion of control

The Mirage of Pleasure

We are a society that is infiltrated with greed.

The demon of greed lingers in each one of us, a small voice that tells us “we need more”.

“No, I cannot stand by and simply let the breeze run through my hair, I need to fight against it”

“What? I cannot just enjoy the computer that I’ve had for 10 years. No, I need a new one”

“Why would I wear the same clothes I’ve worn over the past 2 years? Something newer would fit my style!”

We live in perpetual desire that leads to greed.

I reflect on the rumination of wanton and greed as I think of the current state of affairs in the world. I reflect on the reality that we are living on a floating planet, somehow charging each other illusionary currency to determine our livelihood and wellbeing. This currency gives us passage into our experience; who you will know, where you will be, what your health will look like. All in the space where everything on earth is arguably free.

All because of possession. And greed.

There is a certain amount of grief that arise in moments like this. A grief that we perhaps have made a much more construed existence than it need be. Grief, at the difficulty it is for each of us to be free. Grief, that even as I write this, I understand that each of us are simply trying to eat. Grief, that we have not allowed ourselves the real benefit and wholeness of living spiritually.

Grief so deep that I speak to my clients in the tongue of grief. Grief so deep that many “mental health” issues derive from this greed. Grief that I am a complicit participant in the world of desire, consideration and greed.

Grief. I feel it all over me. Recently, I’ve been debating on how I can go back to school and get my PhD and afford my cost of living. How can I provide people help and also not be rightfully indignant at the very system that claims to support me. How can I allow the gifts of my ancestors to slip my mouth and only be expressed when I am validated from the “yes” of the cursed man. The same man, who’s very breath is tainted with the sour stench of greed.

I am…in but so many words a kaleidoscope of emotion. Frustrating coats the shoulders that begin to ware in the face of inhume acts. To feel trapped in a system that is based on the selfish needs of the “me” instead of embodying the spiritual principality of “we”. To provide service to a people’s whom “mental illness” are derived from the very same exhaustion. And grief. To understand that many are ill because their spirit cannot hold them to the system that has betrayed them. And dampened the soul that God has given them — how could I look a reflect of myself and feel anything but grief?

And yet…I still hold the most silent prayer in a well so deep, I thought God Himself could not find it…A prayer that He will somehow deliver us and set each one of us free.

But we have to embody this freedom first between you and me. God, give us free.

Ameen.

The Tides of Destruction

I’ve been in a space of deep-seated anger.

Deep-seated anger—you know, the type of anger that makes you feel restless. When you hear something that feels so contrary to your nature, you feel the slightest bit of resistance in your body and suddenly, the need to lash out! To yell, to scream “SEE ME! HEAR ME! Feel me”

Yeah, that type of anger.

I think we each feel it. It’s been such a wild two years hasn’t it? All the hopes and dreams of what we built on the fragility of “security” wasted away as a virus came in and snatch the rug from underneath our feet. Reminding us that safety and security was never quite that safe. Oh but we knew this. We knew it. Don’t lie—haven’t there been a many of times that you walked outside to take a stroll around the block and a young man smiled in your face, his eye lingering a bit longer than you’d like? And you found yourself confused, wondering “do I have something on my face?”

You felt it—in times were you were prompted to speak aloud in front of a group of people and not only to speak aloud but to speak CLEARLY. Efficiently. Effectively. To move people with a deep sense of conviction and admiration. And safety was stripped away just as quickly as you were asked to speak, wondering “what would they think about me?”

Living in the illusion of safety has helped us only in as so far as we are able to see it’s illusion. To understand that safety means to truly feel that you have a right to be here. Deep in your bones, to feel it vibrate in your soul, “I have a right to be here. To exist”. But a good majority of us do not feel this.

How could we? Our history is convoluted with so much pain and suffering, the stripping of our very humanity and oh, the tales and stories of slavery! A sure disease that makes us feel so unworthy.

Yeah, this anger is layered deep.

I’ve been frustrated. How have we sold ourselves a tale of lies? Lies that have made us so unseemingly, we have forgotten that to walk on this earth is not a privilege but a birth right. That to exist is to play out Gods plan perfectly and to create is to truly be free. I’ve been angry.

And so many will say—“a woman?? Angry? A black woman at that, not a foreign sight—it’s to be expected! They walk the earth so bitterly, of course you would find the likes of her angry.”

But you see…my anger is holy. From the same womb that created this existence, I gaze into your face and witness bliss. The sweet symphony of all of humanity, a gift that has been graced to touch the Holy Mother, as feet kiss the ground that created our flesh. As spirit sanctified our breath.

So you see, hell yeah, I’ve been angry. We are so much more that we have become to be if only we would allow ourself to ascend gracefully. To remind each other that money, prestige, the likes of intellect and the mind can hardly superseded the stirrings of the heart and spirit that created all that be.

I hope our anger allows us to wash to the shore of God’s feet and infinite awakening gently.

I pray that our anger allows us all to be free.

Neu Religion

Please, don’t you lay waiting for me.

Please God, don’t you lie waiting for me.

When you first heard words uttered from the deepest place of my being, did you believe “wow, she is so free”? Did you hear eons of pain dripping free of the tightly coiled rope around my wrist and whisper, “God, she is a free as I hope to be”?

Who me? Not this young woman, afraid to walk outside naked—lo and behold my scars and stretch marks for all to see. Not this beautiful lady, peering deeply from the corner or her eyes, hypervigilant to any movement making sure she can count each moment, never to be caught lacking in her “freedom”. Walking the earth with a certain amount of insecurity—who knows what tomorrow will bring her wanton arms? But she waits with a smile on her face hiding the unrelenting anxiety.

And you say this here woman…is free?

No, no, you see, she recalls the pains of her ancestors. One could hardly leave the house without fearing for their safety; turn around the wrong corner and she might hear a shot ricochet between tussling leaves. Leaving her brown bosom wet with regret and solemn defeat, as its remnants trickle down to her knee’s—Lord the times where living meant to be in a constant state of anxiety.

You see, I’ve realized that the world isn’t always safe. I won’t always have the answers to all of the questions, even the things my parents shared with me being questioned under a microscopic lens until it begins to lose its form again. I wonder, how many lies were we sold as truths—as a young girl, believing that my parents had the key to insurmountable wonderful living. Now realizing that they only had one key in a sea of infinity. Whew! And how is one to know which one to choose? We cant say that one is mightier than the other, that one path is more true in might or size, this way makes the most sense, is the most pleasing to a God that is multidimensional. If only existence was that simple. It makes some of us feel insecure.

And why a sense of insecurity—it means that my life completely and totally depends on ME! A new feeling, some may meet with ecstasy – “ah! I get to live completely and totally for me!” But what if the “me” to get along with simply isn’t so easy? What if the “me” is outstandingly beautiful and also stemming with insecurity? What if the “me” writes so poetically but often times loses her will to speak? What if the “me” loved to be a healer, but also feels that “healing” is never-ending, perhaps the reality is that we may not find out way back to eternity. Not as we were but something completely different, something bitten by the sea of suffering unrelenting.

It seems to me, that perfection is an illusion created out of a deep feeling of apathy. Needing something to make sense, we whisper “lets resign to obtain the unattainable”, hoping for destruction or complete mastery. Perfection as an illusion because it prevents us from ever beginning anything; perfection as an insatiable need because it means that nothing is ever quite as worthy; perfection as a deep aching because it means that I don’t even get to see me for me; perfection created for a deep feeling of suffering.

Tension rolling through my fingers until I can write no more, there is tension rolling over the shoulders that one nurtured me, tension rolling through my sore throat as I swallow skin deep, tension as I admit that some days it is hard to be me. Tension as I hold space for these tears to roll down my cheeks. Tension.

So if you look at me and say “God, she is just so deep, so free”, don’t mistake my eloquence for mastery. In a sea of humans who are so beautiful to me, I am just as imperfect and confused and hopeful and needy and wanting as any other person could be.

This is the reality of the deepest layer of me.

I remember you

the lines of your face, deeply groomed grassy heaven

My tears furled in the crevice of dark tresses

I remember you

Dark, tall and handsome

An enigma

Not seeking to be chased but enjoying

The thrill of desire

I remember you

We lay, sprawled between silk lies

A tangle of webs caught between several truths

Things we’d hoped our hearts would hide

But see…I remember you

A wistful tale of love unrequited

Or perhaps too immature to ignite this fire

So important to my own song—

I suppose you’d helped me find my own

Touching traces of insecurity

So that I would unveil the real me

Not so pretty or so peaceful, no:

Painfully human, fleeing ease and flow

I recall—

Much laughter in the height of the morning

3am, hearts soaring

Recalling dreams of tomorrow

Though it’s actions turned sour

A hidden place inside of me

Stories never ventured, still unseen

You see…I remember you

The thrills of diving to the deepest end

Pulling me back to my waters ocean

Liquid desire tracing back to the Source

A sure testament of love as a compelling, mystique force

I recall, infinite stories of who we’d wish to be

Becoming all that God meant for me

Perhaps trading in another,

to reignite my own energy

Yes…you gave me a wonderful gift

The gift of remembering me

I remember me.

———

I guess love is never truly lost

Never taken or held behind

A finite fire smothered on a summers night

Illuminating the path to witness the stars shine

Gazing above, the heavens hanging on the edge of time

Reminding that it’s presence has always been alive

Time has taught me time and time again

Human love is only for the purpose of true remembrance

———

I saw God’s face

He smiled softly

Drove me deeper into the cold waters that met me

Cleansed grime and smut from clouded soul

Embracing insecurities and wounds of old

Salt stitching each layer of raw skin

Purging the cloud of sin from within

Loss and doubt that arose in a lack of faith

I’m happy that our imperfect love led me back to God’s face

Thank you

For leaving this memory of you.