an open love letter

to the tall, beautiful, kind-hearted brotha-i-don't-know-yet, 

i have to admit, i am a little nervous, writing to you.  see, some time ago, i thought i'd found the person i'd spend the rest of my life with.  things didn't work out.

that's where you come in. events appear to have conspired to find us here, searching for one another across these spaces and times.



candles and honey.

sandalwood-scented house under a full moon...

dreaming of new love as shakti dances up and down my spine...


about the author...

see here.


i hear you talking...

please know--
in the midst of your arrogant self defense--
i'm already treating myself better
than you ever could.

i'm not the one you need to worry about
or answer to...


brimming abundance

"long as you have your voice...you'll never need arms to hold you..."

i feel...full, self contained.
a world unto myself.
content as a well-fed child.

my entire emotional self seems to have shifted into some new phase of evolution.

although my loving, empathic spirit deeply fears loneliness in the long run, i have settled into the extraordinary power of this epiphany.

i can always share myself with the right person, but i will choose and determine the necessity of that sharing.

this is mine to know, to hold.

i am awake.

i have my voice.



~for c. 

i look down and notice
there are galaxies
behind his eyes

with me,
he remembers

pomba gira's song

i am enchanted by her rhythms, her colors...

as a child who'd newly overcome her fear of halloween,
i dressed up as a devil lady.
another time, a black cat.
no princesses, no cartoon characters, no tiaras...

as we stand in the light of growth
we cannot ignore the shadows
power lies in both sides - and all the shades of grey.


ain't no thing.

i can use my tears
to wash my floors;
heartache to dust the shelves.

the breath from my sobbing
fans incense smoke
through my rooms...

so i suppose
i should thank you all
for keeping my house clean...


being colored

today's my day
to be the lady in red...

she wd gather her tinsel &
jewels from the tub
& laugh gayly or vengeful
she stored her silk roses by her bed
& when she finished writin
the account of her exploit in a diary
embroidered with lilies & moonstones
she placed the rose behind her ear

then what?

there are no tears.

*excerpt from for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf by ntozake shange.


if i were...

until you lose the one you wanted
'cause you'd taken her for granted
and everything you had got destroyed...



i want some more and then some...


help wanted....

help wanted:
only true magicians, shamans and conjure men need apply...

inquire within.


one dream
one on-time understanding
one full week together
one song
one ritual
one flu-ridden hand held

one thing to hold
one something to grasp
one special birthday gift

one piece of evidence
that you were ever even here at all...
...any one
would have made us seem real,
made the pain worthwhile.

without it
i'm just crying over spilled love
and unsprouted seeds...

theme song

i'm at the borderline of my faith
i'm in the hinterland of my devotion
i'm in the front line of this battle of mine
but i'm still alive...



worse than the broken heart
and the disappointment
is the emptiness.

the hole left in my heart,
deepened by frustrated repetition,
missed opportunities,
and acute aching; knowing
that it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

my heart despises this
as nature abhors a vacuum.

it begs,
stands there staring.

i have nothing for it.

no matter how beautifully i manage it,
this emptiness is not the void of zen-ed out peace
nor the black primordial ooze of creation.

it is lovespace
that cannot fill itself.

it can only wait...



last night i woke up laughing...chuckling, really. 

i always find it interesting when that happens.  but i hardly ever remember the dream...



seeking sweetness
in the arms of my dreams...


all my relations

last night, i was led to a village like this by a black jaguar...

the clearing was familiar, and i had intuited the presence of indigenous people and holy places there before.  i could feel where the shrines had been and caught glimpses of them in my mind. however, i soon realized that i had only "seen" the ruins of the shrines; the real ones were much greater.

the houses were the same as the picture, only slightly smaller.  the area around it was mostly forest with some taller trees.  the people were brown and going about their daily business.  a pristine river ran through it.

i was showered in sweet water that looked like liquid crystal...it wasn't rain...it seemed to come solely from one of the shrines...

my clothes changed. my perspective shifted. i was one of them--a priestess or shaman. things i couldn't see before became clear.

...and, just as suddenly, i could sense the impending destruction. i began to wail at my companion, telling him i couldn't bear to witness it again.  it was also then that i realized the people couldn't really see us...i was replaying a moment in time--maybe a few days or weeks before my death in that life.

the only people who seemed to see us were two men around a fire in a grove of trees. they watched the jaguar lead us around the bend and into the clearing.  i turned away, thinking they were in the midst of some ritual. but somehow i knew they were the ones who gave permission to see. 

after writing down the dream and putting together some clues from past dreams/visions, i googled "taino".

and there was the village i'd walked through last night.

in the middle of a wikipedia article.


the island {part 2}

{part 1}

On a whim, Amil took Martine to see the ocean.

She had acquired a steady glow--nothing like the frightened, self conscious woman who'd appeared in the cottage a few mornings ago--and found comfort and beauty in the delicate fabrics and bright colors she'd been given to wear. All the fresh fruit and water had cleared her skin, and the massage oils Amil used smelled like flowers and herbs.


this isn't convenient.
that i know.

there is beauty here.

i cannot turn away.

odun mi

dreams for the new year...


iba oshun laketi

the healing has begun.

it stings like a paper cut dipped in salted lemon water, but the wound is cleansed.

i look forward to seeing my butterfly-scar.

{thanks to phoenix for reminding me that scars can be beautiful...}