Friday, August 8, 2014

Thank you, Change

Lately life has been a doozy.  It forced change upon me like a thief in the night.  And now I am left wondering where all of my heirlooms of sweet memories  have gone.  Probably in a pawn shop somewhere, huh.  I'll retrieve them, buy them back later.  Maybe and then again maybe not.  For now, I am grateful for the change.  I am grateful because now I realize that those heirlooms were merely costume and often subtly wrought with dross.  They were not pure gold.  

Most High,
Thank you for loving me.  
Thank you for preparing me and showing me that I am worthy of better.

“All that you touch
You Change.
All that you Change
Changes you.
The only lasting truth
is Change.
is Change.” 

~Octavia E. Butler

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Confession #219

You never know its purest form
its chemical makeup
until you have loved
loved then caged
loved then set free
loved and flied
loved and come into the knowing
that time is nothing but a loop back south
to a barred home
with scattered seeds at its base



Saturday, May 31, 2014

I Give My Hands Permission


I saw this quote yesterday.  I saw it and thought about all of the instances in which I have deleted or thrown away something I have written as a means to protect.  I mulled over all of the times that I have muted myself or allowed others to censor me so that they could burrow and hide.  Changing the phrasing...changing word choice...changing the tone...changing the names of people and places was not enough.  They were discomforted.  And I did not want to offend.   

But this quote allowed me to ask myself...rather than who am I protecting, what am I am protecting?  Why am I abetting, fearing the grime and grit?  We isolate and negate our own experiences for the benefit of ego and image yet to the detriment of our own spirit.  I perceive that this kind silence blasphemes against our Highest Good.  I've learned that fallibility is not damning, hubris is.

Why do we give shelter to destructive behavior...whether our own, someone else's or even generational and communal patterns?  I believe the greater question may be...why are we afraid to speak the truth?  Why are we afraid of our own voice? 

They could have behaved better but they made the conscious choice not to do so.  I recognize that I have often been culpable of the same.  In the way of a newly initiated Ancestor, Maya Angelou, my goal is not perfect living but rather honest living.  My song is mine to sing, not yours to cage.  And well, my hands were made for writing...