z. soledad

i have been opening to the blessings of solitude
since, in some ways, i have no choice.

i thought again of names.

zefina soledad

she that god has blessed with increase
yet who is often alone...

some part of my soul has named herself.

and it is good.

inception

Sat., Aug. 23, 1986

Dear Diary,  

I just got you today. I'm going to write a [sic] lots of stuff in you. 
I can't sleep tonight so I took you out, unlocked you and wrote in you. good night. 

Lesley :-)

what am i doing?

so i took another look at "the project" last night, and read a little more Fruitflesh this morning.

all that brought me to this: what am i trying to write, really?

am i capable of writing a novel right now?  should i stick to short stories? i think any ambitious works of fiction would take some real workshopping to come to fruition.

am i fighting a proclivity towards memoir, diarist prose, and/or some kind of instructive / inspirational work? 

maybe i'd be better off kicking out a screenplay?

do i need to mix all of the above into some new stew?  

i'm thinking, not repressing.  still, i wonder what i might be doing since this thing isn't taking any discernible shape or form beyond characters introducing themselves at length.

i've also become aware that i haven't truly tapped into the essence of my writing or my identity as a writer since adolescence.  mainly because i spent so much time trying not to write.  there's some juicy issues in there...  

whatever. 

back to scribbling...
  

seeking:

the man
that looks past
my medicine;

the one
strong enough
to be the fire
in my hearth.

sweet surrender

so...i've been told (again) that i "have a book in me."

thanks, Universe.  i know.  there are several, actually. 

just gotta figure out which words to focus on first.

in the meantime--while also journaling and scribbling here and there--i'm reading Fruitflesh.

i'm not exactly sure whether i stumbled on Gayle Brandeis' website, or someone pointed me there.  but when i noticed it sitting in my amazon wishlist a couple of weeks ago, i figured i'd snatch it up.

typically i don't do well with workshoppy books {i quit too easily}, but this one's different: the kind of book with a texture, scent, feel...it's like instructive poetry.  and i'm a sucker for anything sensual.  she gets me.  

the idea is to read it once straight through, making notes here and there.  once i've done that, i'll work through the exercises i like or think will help my process. i'll post some of them here.

next: Stephen King's On Writing.  my ex gave it to me years ago, and it's been staring me in the face ever since.

lab work

i've decided that i want my next writing project to be the last one for awhile.

meaning...i want to focus.

i've started many projects, but i don't know that i've ever finished anything beyond a short story.

i'd like to change that.

so while i'm gestating/formulating, this space may turn into a workshop brainstorm drawing board type thing.

i also have a creative playground to fool around in...that might be my primary tool to get the rivers flowing...

let's see what happens. 

current theme song:

elemental

i have a watery, sweet soul:
calm, cool, collected,
plenty of patience.

most are content to simply swim in the ocean...

but there's fire here, too.

an underwater volcano: quiet, but still active
contained only by the element surrounding me.

my worlds are created deeply, sometimes violently;
built from tsunamis, earthquakes, and lava spouts
seen only by the most skilled and adventurous divers.

naming

{a follow up to this}

almost a year ago, i found out that i was born on st. joseph's day. thus, one of my names could very well have been josephine...well, if we were catholic and all.

i've always liked that name. especially its french pronunciation.

i also dig some of the variations: jayzl and zefina stand out.

today i sought out the meaning: god will increase.

might have to find a way to incorporate that somewhere...

embodiment

i don't always recognize this package i'm in.

it feels smaller than it has in a long time--certainly the smallest since puberty. still, i'm aware that folks outside of me still consider me quite tall and decidedly not-small.

my body's become more utilitarian, lighter. i am carrying only what i need, no more. the proverbial fat has been trimmed away, even if i can still pinch decent finger-fuls of it around my torso and thighs.

this has happened slowly, almost silently; an unintended side effect of some very intentional work.

i do not find this lightness of being unbearable. instead, it's a phenomenal blessing.

please hold a moment...

started to post something last night/this morning, but it was too raw. didn't wanna expose y'all to all that blood and sinew so early.

i'm living in it, but you don't have to.

yeah, sometimes i toss up my ripped-open heart for your eyes and ears. but those things often get posted weeks, months, or years after i've written them.

being ready to share is a funny thing; it happens when it happens. it can be in the moment, or when i dig up an old journal during a cleaning jag.

today, i'm not ready. but i'll write it down somewhere.

i'll holla.

using my words

been dancing with some writer's block lately...trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, how to make it make sense...

but i've also been made newly aware of how words can show support, effect change, and share ideas.

that's pretty inspiring.

the exact manifestation eludes me, but i'm more keenly aware that i have work to do.

elemental

on: rediscovering energetic flow

for most of my life, i've been content to identify with water, immersing my pisces mermaidself in deep waters at every opportunity.

but i've come to understand that i'm also filled with heat; a flame that can manifest as anything from a flickering candle to a raging wildfire. the temperature varies as well; i've felt it red hot and icy cool.

hot or cool, it embraces and consumes like flame: fully. unapologetically.

now i know the cycle:

my water communes with the spirits.
my fire propels me through the density of this existence.
my air nourishes both.


*interestingly, there's no earth in my chart.

in the thunder and rain...

speaking of desire, pandora just reminded me that my first brush with visually-induced lust came with janet jackson's "any time, any place" video.

something about the colors, flashes of flesh...

the unseen, the implications...

that way she tossed her head back when he put his hands there, or there...

the audacity in declaring i don't care who's around... and, somehow, relating to that feeling. 

i prayed (as only a 15 year old girl can) that i'd get that neighbor in the joyous days when i was finally grown and living on my own...

haven't met him yet, though.

on: being

i know more than i realize,
yet have volumes to learn.

i am healed,
healing,
and still hurt.

i am closed
and open wide;

stitched
and bleeding;

profane
and the holiest of holys.

i am earthbound
and a shining star
unique unto myself
like all the others.

black
woman
spirit

human.

submerged

although i've come to understand and accept the necessity of going underwater, i am still surprised at just how deep and how far under i'll go, given the time and space.

and i know that, over time, it'll only get deeper.

i try not to think of it as "losing days" or ignoring people...

i think (hope) my friends have come to understand...

sometimes the water grabs me.
and i have to let her have her way.

i'll always come back.
promise.

defining desire

sometimes my desire is so big, deep and wide, i can't imagine asking any mortal to satisfy it. 

i wouldn't know how to ask...

the physical is the most obvious. and fun.
but then you have to capture my heart.
and my spirit.

my mind is always aching to be fed, tickled, sweetened and challenged.

i hunger for meaning. 
for substance.
in everything.

there are no coincidences here.
no chance meetings or occurrences.

i desire with a passion that both intices and terrifies. attracts and repels. intrigues and intimidates.

i am deep.
and wide.

and i've stopped feeling sorry about it.

now, i'd just like to be filled.
slowly.
patiently.
with an intent to cultivate our seeds
and reap a fantastic harvest.

four months ago...

...i wrote this:

some days, i still feel really ugly.

and i don't really know what to do about it.

i don't look at people much anyway, but on days like this, i don't look at all; i can't stand to see myself in their eyes. mirrors are impossible. every compliment is a lie.

i go between acute pain and consummate numbness.  neither allows me to hold my head up any higher...

i can feel the truth fighting with the lies. it makes me tired.
all i want to do is rest...stop the warring factions in my mind...

then, the light surrounds me...i lean into it, appreciating the warmth even as i feel i don't deserve it. my shoulders ache, my stomach rebels.

if i could only stop eating, fade away to nothing... a quiet, soft leaving...

but i can't. if i've gotten this far without hurting myself, i won't start now.

i may never get on the list of the world's most beautiful people, but i'm not bad. i know that. just like i know i'm not worthless.  except for days when i turn into a black hole of need...

i'll never be loved enough, held long enough, kissed deeply enough. nothing takes the emptiness away, but i'll lure you in and let you try. i'm damaged goods...not fit for a trash heap. but since you think i'm cute, come here for a minute and show me...show me...i demand to be filled. appeased. eased. shown some mercy.  i'll laugh at you for trying...but try anyway.

this isn't me all the time. or even most of the time. just sometimes....and, now, there are years between the sometimes.

still, when it comes, it floods me--the emptiness. if i can, i fill it with sweet things. but there are times the bitterness wins out.  of course there's also the bittersweet...the mish moshed yin yang of negatively positive thoughts...

i'm posting it now because while i cannot truthfully claim i'll never feel this way again, i do feel that these moments are destined to be few and even farther between.

this will serve as my reminder.

healing is always waiting to happen.

this thing

{soundtrack}

i want
to love
again

so wide,
deep,
and massive that
i flow through the streets
not as a woman,
but as a wave.

lament letter

there is nothing like the feeling of being separated from you. nothing.

it begins with mental images. then slowly, deliberately, the sensation moves into my heart, where it causes a very specific ache.

the dull throb of a cut with just a bit of dirt rubbed in.

and while i ache, the memories come...

i recently spent the better part of a day feeling like my face was buried in your chest--you know that spot my forehead touches if i'm hugging you with no shoes on? there. i was right there. your arms lingered on my waist, resting on my hips.

there is no rhyme or reason to these flashbacks. they simply visit, merciless, immune to repeated choruses of "we're not speaking anymore".

we're not speaking
any
more...
again.

so i'm left here, alone. trying to scribble and type the ache away, praying for dreams and asking them not to actually come...because i'll only miss you more if i see you there.

i can't help wanting to see you.

i know. this is messy. it's been messy between us for a long time.

what i know:

1. we are mirror images of each other, reflecting negative and positive polarities depending on varied situations and life stages.

2. we will always love each other.

3. we will seek each other out.

some days the knowing is enough.

the days i write / cry / scream / sulk are the days it isn't.

i miss you. so much.

in a name {napowrimo '11, #14}

a gray fortress
by the sea
with a garden of hollies
and a garden by the pool.

merciful waters
wind their way home.

born in honor
full of prayer
and grace.