i am reading my own scriptures.


this relationship
illuminated my gift
for creation: if
i did not create it, it
did not exist.


let me...

let me
somewhere beautiful



...if there's an island deep in the south pacific where black women's dreams come true.

it's gotta happen somewhere, right?


prayer to oshun

{shared by oyin}

Give birth to the world, River.
Give birth to the world, Running Stream.

We beg to be full, we beg to be full, we beg to be full.

Teach the head, teach the head, teach the head,
Embrace the head of mothers, make them wise again, wise again, wise again.
Teach the tradition to those who do not know.
Open your arms to women that flee to safety.

My mother, I pay respect, I pay respect, I pay respect.

We shout to your ear, mother.
Come continually mother, be patient and understand us.

Teach worthiness as we honor you on the ground.
We honor you on the ground, we honor you on the ground, we honor you on the ground.
Let our deeds of charity habitually pull you.

My mother, house of tradition.
Queen of the mirror, Queen of Dance,
Queen of Abundance, Queen of Joy, Queen of Health.
My wealth arrives, my wealth arrives, my wealth arrives.

Mother arise, Arise inside of us.
Arise inside, arise inside, arise inside.
Teach us to have understanding.
Help us to be revered Ancestors.

We humble ourselves before you.
You, who give effective treatment to children.
You, who give fertility to people and projects.
You, who are Queen of the river.

Osun, come into my house. Osun, come into my house. Osun, come into my house.

Prayer taken from traditional sources including: The Handbook of Yoruba Religious Concepts, by Baba Ifa Karade, Samuel Weiser, Inc., York Beach, ME, 1994 and John Mason, Orin Ori, Yoruba Theological Archministry, Broolyn, NY, 1992.



i have journeyed back to the deep darkness
the blackness of the womb;
inky nothingness of space...

the beginning.

relegated to the Source:
She who loves Her sons
but gives Her daughters Her secrets;
She's implanted them in our
songs we hum as dish-washing soundtracks
knit into sweaters
slide into soup spoons as we stir

whenever we return,
She asks, "who has harmed you?
and where can I find one so foolish?"

because we give thanks when we are far from home
(She's adept at feeding us from great distances;
we are meant to travel far)
but rarely do we return unless broken.

hearing Her voice, we cease being strong--
if we haven't already--
and pour out our hearts to Her;
we linger, enjoying Mama's bosom,
delighting in Her love
until we are ready to travel again.

we always leave bearing gifts
grander than the ones we gave,
smiling sweetly...sometimes still weeping.
but encouraged, strengthened...

and well aware
that our gracious, wondrous Mother
suffers no fools.


trying to remember...

who i was
who i am
my reality
what i want
my visions
where i'm going
what brings me joy
my smile
my desire
my reason for reincarnating

my dreams
my prayers

my voice...