No more ignoring and ridiculing of total nonsense. No more imprisonment of our minds. No more potus pouts. No more usage of the words “hoax,” and “fake,” and “very very.”
I’m in my feelings again today about a dream I had the night before last. His angelic mother stepped into my 3D dream realm and asked me to think of him again. Red hot angry face emoji. 😡 He’s married and still making babies, madam. We’re not even friends anymore. For years! You know this. He’s not happy? And? As alluring as he was in his twenties, he could never be drawn in to my Dallas Girl perspective. I mean, the man loves Walmart! Big hairyass question mark. Please try elsewhere. I’m not going to check on him anymore.//
This is a personal dedication post. I am writing this and personally sending it to the handful of black and white men who thought they meant something to me. This is also for guy friends who love to tell me how beautiful they think my eyes are. And thank you Preston for being one of two true friends who has never! done just that to me, but always address me as a beloved and protected sister. And to the two - three white women formerly in my circle who only saw the image of me, this is to help you understand why we can’t be friends anymore. And to the white women I trust; take this moment to inhale my gratitude for getting to know me. And this is for Twillow, as well. The one black women I’ve worked with, with a master’s in miseducation, who wouldn’t breathe deeply for the movement and fucking disappointed me by not rising to the occasion when you should have. And to the black women I know and adore, this video is shared to speak for all of you. Especially my mother. You strengthen me. And to my brothers.. Who see my hair first in photos and never acknowledge my tender heart, who seem to want me to get a man so I don’t expect so much of them..
Forgive the imposition if you’ve already seen, shared and saved this one. Or if you’ve profoundly gleaned from the thought provoking message within. A TedTalk that published on YouTube three years ago that has Beyoncé in the title, and is about race? Obvi. Which means it is about patriarchy. Which means it about white supremacy. Which means it is about privilege. Which means it is about black male patriarchy. Which means it is about colorism. Which means it is conclusively about the evidence. And now is about time for some #real recognition across the board.... As we have become experts, since 1619, at perpetuating the fuckery of ignorance, abuse, bullshit and misuse.
It is true. All that glitters isn’t gold. What’s also true is.. all that glitters is not only for bootylicious entertainment purposes. Glitter also has a holy-spiritual practical functional purpose.
But first.. watch this video.
Anyone can teach you about love. I can make you good at it!
Together time with the energy of the nine eleven lost; the path makers and course changers whose life forces abruptly left and abruptly return. The sky’s their limit. My sensors unwrap, spread out, breath deeply, sit still this time. Avoiding black, absorbing the love of why they gather. Having been made better, reunite, bringing things for every one. Teaching us to do more with less. Without them. We’ve had too! But we do need rest.
But it comes again from the ground up.
Towers old and new.
A befitting rule: Opt out of anxiety pills today. To be spirit availed of manifest energies in vast array. Emotion overload, the souvenirs of discomforting skin tingling and tiny raised arm hairs. The bold pain of knowing the why, two days prior to nine eleven energy in the sky.
Go again, your own way, now.
Until next time.
Anyone can teach you about love. I can make you good at it!
“There are no little things. “Little things,” so called, are the hinges of the universe.” ~Fanny Fern, as shared by Mimi Lenox, treasurer of beautiful peaceful little things.
This literal thumbnail picture, face up in this little garbage pail, is of someone unknown to me. I’ve stared at her for days, wondering who she is. Mama’s bible bookshelf had to be repurposed. I counted twenty-three bibles and page-checked them all for secrets and hidden notes and bookmarks, and things. Many found. This one most profound. She haunts me. But why? And who is she?
I’ve tossed it several times, resisting the temptation to wonder more just how did Mama know her? There is background noise attached to this tiny pix. I hear it but can’t discern it. She is not a random.. meaning, she’s not a photo Mama found in the parking lot at Eckerds just to bookmark the pages of her bible. Perhaps she is someone Mama prayed for. She is without doubt somebody Mama cared for. But who? The faded writing in blue ink on the back, doesn’t help. A lone tiny photo of an unknown woman I have questions for. Not because she is white. And growing up, I never saw my grandmother with a white person, in person.
I’m feeling some ethical anxiety here, about sustainability. Abhorrent! That I contemplate keeping this when there’s already more meaningful keeper things gone with the wind of the Goodwill truck. Jackie! Get rid of it! I have seriously gently placed this picture face up in my personal garbage pail again and again for days. Denying myself the role as keeper of every little thing Mama kept.
Then, I finally took photos of the photo, and ended this obsession! Pouring my garbage pail content in a bag headed for the landfill..
