lady isis, she of a thousand names

tonight i found myself in a church, praying*

and mama mary appears.
our queen isis, sans child,
draped in beauty and light;
not concerned about praying rosaries or arbitrary sin,
but standing as an example of pure devotion and the power of magick
radiating compassion for all.

she wonders why her true name is not known
why we refuse the truth that when she is called upon
so is the goddess
so is the womb
so is the source

but, having been summoned, she only sighs
part sadness, part sweetness.

she smiles slightly at me as if to say,
"i know there are some of you out there...thank you."
and prays for us, as the prayer goes...

pitying our forgetfulness
even as she holds us in her loving arms...

*i often dream of worshipping in veiled churches...euro plaster patterns covering hieroglyphs, blood sacrifices and veves...i spy the walls peeling as the preacher preaches...

retrograde blues

i dream
in a cruelly empty house
haunted by memories of lovers long gone...

my warrior has returned,
yet i still want the others...

impossibly brown skins
shaded with mahogany, copper, or chocolate
soft lips
gifted hands
ocean deep kisses
cologne and pheromone induced swoons

loving at sunrise
or sunset;
surrounded by spring buds
or summer flowers...
drowning in moonlight,
sweating in noontime sun
delighting in the treasure chest each brought to my door...

i have such a greedy heart...


...in remembrance of me.

in this day
in this time
on this plane of existence
it can be easy to forget who you are.

if you are not rich
if you are not attracted to the "right" gender
if you are not male
if you are not able bodied
if you are not white
...or even if you are
you do not always remember yourself.

i don't always remember myself.

one word, one glance, one gesture can erase the learning i've acquired over the years, negate my life experience and the gleam in my lovers' eyes.

i can, momentarily, become stupid, nappy headed black girl before i reclaim my rightful space as intelligent, naturally-minded woman.

in the inconvenience of having to bleed outside my moon lodge, i can see my keeper as a burden instead of a blessing.

not to mention all the stories, voices, visions and machinations i have to stop dead in their tracks in the course of a day.

it happens to all of us.

my reasons, my intentions, my goals and my dreams are often twisted and misinterpreted to my face, turned into caricatures of themselves by those too simple to understand them.

i do not always use your scholastic aptitude approved words because my ancestors knew that if you could explain the movement of the planets to a child, you could raise a nation that would last for centuries. obfuscation often proves nothing but intellectual selfishness.

i don't have to speak the english that was beaten into my ancestors' backs or rolled off their split tongues unless i'm speaking to their former masters. on my time, i choose the rhythms my mouth intuits. that's what i have left of the languages that have been lost.

my sight is far and wide, as it should be. i am not naive, soft, weak, confused or insane because i can communicate with the unseen realm. on the contrary, you who you refuse to vibrate in harmony with all your relations are the unbalanced ones.

i do not have to shout my recollection.
you do not have to believe me or live in my reality for me to know what is real.

you cannot shut me up
because you cannot stop my body from moving
because you cannot steal my smile
because you cannot still my hands
because you cannot stop my tears
because you cannot sell my mind
because you cannot keep me from my lover
because you cannot eat my spirit.

no matter what you say or do, i will remember.
and so will my people.