chasin paper

inspiration: twitter & sept. 17

too many holes
in too many hearts
stuffed with paper
money;

unpack 'em
and the light
and love
might creep in...

protect the hoard
at all costs
let it fill our ears
better yet,
cover our eyes...

your greed
cannot obscure the truth:
no matter what it buys,
poverty of spirit
can never be
abundance.

idea #16-18 - count your blessings*

an oldie, but goodie.

do it silently or aloud.
every day or every other day.
do it when you're smiling
and when you're in tears.

be thankful for the mundane, the miracle, the special and the usual.

gratitude really does do wonders for your spirit. and it's a wonderful way to prepare for the solstice and new year.

try it!


*remember: the postings are spread over about 90 calendar days, so ideas that could take a few days or more will get 2-3 numbers to make up for it.

pomba gira's song

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



once,
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.

another introduction...

i am a woman who has always defined herself by the words she's put to innumerable pages.

pens are my scalpels and they spill ink blot guts everywhere. they soak the pages i hide throughout every living space i've ever inhabited--not unlike a schizophrenic leprechaun with an unlimited supply of gold.

i will write until i can no longer breathe.

the idea for this space was conceptualized in the middle of a late night, by a self in the process of nourishing, growing, and blossoming herself into the heavenly creature she was born to be.

that ain't easy to do in this here babylon.
but i'm gonna try anyway.

once upon a time

(birthed 8.2007)

can't figure out how to end this...but i wanted to give it some air and see how it sounded...

sometimes
my past lives flash before my eyes
like

standing bare-breasted
in the middle of the serengeti
watching lions and zebras walk by
under an impossibly brilliant blue sky
breathing
freely
and knowing precisely
who i am...

sometimes
it's the memory of a lover long gone
children i don't remember having
habits i pick up for an hour...or a day...

always illuminating
some glimmer of my current self
i think of as useless or
wrong...

reminding me that
without those selves
i couldn't be who i am
speak the stories i hear
dream the same dreams or
wield the same power...

...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.

about me...

there is something about me
that cannot be easily explained away or justified...

too human to be mystifying,
i am growing into an unrooted tree--
all the wisdom, none of the entrapment.

my energy flows in fits and starts,
'cause this place doesn't always give you what you need to run right.
but i'm remembering that i was meant to live with open eyes,
fully vetted in the ways of spiritual humanity.

there is no need
to train me
or point me in the right direction--
i will swim my way home, thank you.

my father is the bearer of lightning.
my mother is the sweet hush of the river.

the masculine and feminine meet in me.

heaven lies behind one of my mind's doors.

stemcells

so concerned about
clusters of formless matter
you can't see what's the matter
with fully half grown human beings
languishing on corners and
atrophying in prison cells...

there are children
long left behind
that can't read
can barely write,
yet you're keeping vigil
over the twinkles in folks' eyes
the vague possibilities of what might someday be
blond hair and bluish eyes
getting whisked down
sewer drains
'cause the re-browning
of america
has blinded you

...or maybe it's awakened you.

"for the love of god!
don't kill your white babies!
despite the drugs,
tainted food and water,
hellish living conditions,
poverty,
and god knows what else
they're still
reproducing!
and many of the babies are still
bright eyed and
aware
despite it all...
and that's just here!
let's not delve into
the cesspool of the '3rd world'...."

you can't build prisons
fast enough
but you'll sink your talons
into my baby's umbilical cord--
anything
to deter
even the notion
of my healing...

your preemptive
death squads
masquerading as
bastions of life
insult my intelligence.

if you're gonna try to seduce me
at least learn some new tricks...

untitled

you can't run
from your past

can't straighten out
all the kinks
with that electric heat

you need the sun
to kiss your scalp
every now and then.

tattoos & birthmarks

we are still scarred.
wearing tribal marks in
permanent ink and
ancestral kisses

we know them as moles
or patches of odd-colored skin
shaped like birds
crosses
and butterfly wings.

the rites of passage
have been inverted
impaled on
upside down mcdonald's signs and
burned in the glow of televisions...

car stereos deafen the drum beat
and the children lose their way...
this has been said so many times
by so many people
i wonder if it's even worth repeating.

there is nothing new under the sun
so why do we act like 3 year olds
and pretend we don't remember
what we did five minutesdaysyearscenturies ago?

consistently actin brand new
as if each dawn
is an excuse for absentmindedness...

do gasoline fumes
cause collective amnesia?

is it the money?
indoor plumbing?
microwaves?

maybe walmart supercenter theft sensors
steal a bit of our collective subconscious
each time we go to pick up
paper towels and
toilet paper.

but i'm tired of making excuses

it's like they say--
betta act like ya know
ya betta ask somebody
betta recognize

recognize.
realize.

cognizance is an asset,
ignorance a liability.