california

took my lover. well, now i can do some work and catch up on some sleep. get myself in order again. joy and sorrow intermingle at the thought of two weeks without him. it will feel really good to have my mind again, not that i won't think of him, but yeah- i'll be able to do some critical thinking about my program and projects. by the time he gets back, maybe i'll have figured out how to better balance school and infatuation. we can hope...

Starting over

listen children
keep this in the place
you have for keeping
always
keep it all ways

we have never hated black

listen
we have been ashamed
hopeless tired mad
but always
all ways
we loved us

we have always loved each other
children all ways

pass it on

****

won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding the other; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

-Both poems by Lucille Clifton

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


This woman was a genius; truly gifted with the use of language. I think her work calls me to awareness in two ways- first, there is an internal pull that reawakens deep, personal knowing; second, there is a call to remember the stories that make up my past (the woman stories, black stories, travel stories, queer stories, Jamaican stories, etc).

Dating a white man makes me want to revisit these facets of my identity to maintain clarity and balance. Our connection is fulfilling, but it does throw into stark relief all the identities that I have actively and passively claimed. What does it mean for me to be queer-identified, to work in an LGBT community, to be visible in that way and to be partnered with a man? What does it mean for me as a black woman who is invested in black liberation/unity to be dating a white person? What does it mean for me as a womanist and feminist to be dating a nonfeminist man? As an immigrant woman, do I represent, to him, an exotic other for consumption? Can he, as a white US citizen, really see me and be with me on equal terms?

So far we haven't had any problems interpersonally, but I have had to- and still do- grapple with these questions. It helps that he is actively antiracist. It helps that he is totally enamored of me and my brain. It helps that he is not a homophobe, but is an LGBT ally.

I don't believe that I have to surrender any of these identities because of who I partner with, but I do think it requires examination so that I can avoid compromising or undermining myself. It's helpful to have read some of lucille clifton's work because of its effect on me; because it pushes me to investigate self and history. It stands to reason that I would have to see to my foundations so that I am able to fully meet and be with my partner. I'm sure neither of us would be very happy with an alexia that has lost her grounding.

Here's a quote from Michel Foucault that really fits this little post, "The critical ontology of ourselves... has to be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophic life in which the critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits that are imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them."

This relationship is definitely an exploration beyond my historical and personal limits. Thank goodness it's sexy and fun!

bendicion

BLESSING THE BOATS
(at St. Mary's)

by Lucille Clifton

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back
may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that



From Quilting: Poems 1987-1990 by Lucille Clifton. Copyright © 2001 by Lucille Clifton.

good vibrations

Let go of your worries

and be completely clear-hearted,

like the face of a mirror

that contains no images.

If you want a clear mirror,

behold yourself

and see the shameless truth,

which the mirror reflects.

If metal can be polished

to a mirror-like finish,

what polishing might the mirror

of the heart require?

Between the mirror and the heart

is this single difference:

the heart conceals secrets,

while the mirror does not.

- Rumi

Things are going well. Classes have begun and we're looking at really cool identity/difference/multiculturalism-type theory. It's exhilarating, somewhat and challenging- I won't pretend that the material is facile, but it's fun!

Other awesome things happening: my friendships are deepening and I'm opening up/connecting with folks more easily than I have in the past; I went on an interview for my Master's placement and the guy pretty much asked me to choose their spot for my work (wow!); my brothers and I have been having really, really good interactions (not fraught with tension and with fewer reservations); I've had some pretty good dates (HOT, in one particular case); K. and I have resolved that unresolved stuff and she's awesome; my mom and I are better friends, taking interest and joy in each other's interests and joys (I like, and cherish, that); my house mate and I are getting on famously; and finally, riding my bicycle just feels better each day- especially with the new tires and seat.

Though that paragraph (?) was not a paragraph, it hit all the necessary spots.

More anon...

Myanmar

(photo by gmhembree)





power to the peaceful! i am so moved by the struggle of the people of myanmar/burma in the face of such absolute repression. i am humbled and inspired by the strength and determination of aung san suu kyi, who has spent so many years on house arrest, but won't abandon her country when given the chance.

the people have held on to their hope for a democratic nation and the junta should submit to the will of the people. still, considering that they were not elected, why would they stand by a process that to them has no meaning?

it is my hope that the people continue to struggle and gain self-determination- that they achieve the gov't that they so obviously desire, and that that government be given the chance to get on its feet and run effectively. i don't know that i think democracy in this day and age is a pure and good form of government- there are too many other forces (economic, especially) that shape a state- but i do think that the people have a right to decide.

for more information, check out any major news source. i've been reading yahoo and bbc world news (though i don't love that they persist in calling the country burma. isn't the name change an act of establishing a national identity post-colonization? it was done by the authoritarian military gov't as a part of extreme repression- yes- but i think the u.k. should at least acknowledge the name since they've traded with the country and maintained a relationship with them throughout...).

some flicks from gmhembree on flick'r... click on the image to see more.

i keep trying

to write something and cancelling the post. life is in a real state of flux right now. i want to return to jamaica. it has been so long since i've been home and the longing is a weight on me. i saw the ocean this summer. i swam in salt water and sang to yemaya. it hurt my heart to taste the salt. i rubbed my feet and skin with the sand and wished that i could return. it must be done. i will go back, and soon.

riding my bicycle home across the river the other day, i got off at the pinnacle of the bridge and began to sing to oshun. the sun was setting on the water and the breeze carried a surprising hint of salt. suddenly, there was a small splash in the water. i thought maybe someone passing by threw something, but how could i have missed its descent? i continued to sing and look at the water when again there was the splash and i saw the golden tail of a fat fish sink beneath the surface. it happened a little distance from me, but i thought... this is oshun. she is hearing me and she likes the song. i started to sing again, joyfully and dance, the fish came right below where i stood on the bridge and did the flip again. i was amazed and delighted. i sang for her and danced for her, uncaring of the passersby (one of whom cautioned me to be careful because the river could draw me in). thinking of it still brings a smile to my face. the spirits and ancestors are with us. the power of light and love are with us at all times, as are chaos, pain and confusion. i feel constantly aware of the pain and challenge, but often lose sight of the love and joy. it was a wonderful, wonderful and liberating reminder.

i see i have something to say, after all.

new old post

Naming

I am afraid of my darkness. I am afraid of my forest self.

I am afraid of the self that seeks to be alone for fear of rejection and now does not know how to return to people. I fear my desperate longing for companionship that leads me to drink and drink until I fear nothing. I fear my invisibility. I walk around as a shadow... Ellison said it eloquently, but to me it feels tender and raw. Invisibility leaves me feeling gutted alive, the ragged edges of my soul sore, aching.

myeyesmyeyesmyeyes are wounds and see no more

I am afraid of the forest that I am- moist and earthy, flowering and treacherous. I am dried up and springing up; rooted and uprooted; seeker and quarry. Promise and potential have been buried in graves deep and shallow (and unforgotten) in me. They lie under moss and fear, rocks and hope, waiting for discovery and redemption.

I fear my ability to spread out, to creep like the forest, out and over land, young trees springing up thin and tall and straight; bushes thickly covering the open spaces between them, scratching to expand. I am afraid to let beauty, power and healing spread like they should- like they want to- from/in me. So, as the farmer and the developer and the city officials to the forest, I trim and trim at its edges to keep a set line, though that is impossible.

A forest, like the spirit, can never be tamed, it can only be experienced or destroyed.

__________

Woman, you are afraid of the forest
I see it in your eyes
When you stare in to the darkness: the terrified look of a defenseless creature.
Woman, you are a forest
strange and deep: I see
you are afraid of yourself.

- Maria Wine

Procrastination

gets the best of me, yet again. I have wasted hours feinting from the writing of even one paper. My time is limited and made even more finite by my completely explicable decision to attend the Sistersong conference this weekend. Who could miss such an event, huh? Who? Certainly, not me. I had a good time remembering why I used to enjoy my brain. Women's resistances really excite! (how does that compare to 'women's resistances rock!' ? hopefully, favorably...)

I must return to my duties, but I wanted to share this... it is ok to love without a religion telling you to do so. It is perfectly fine to live without having to reference some sacred text to determine what to do when and with whom. It's also acceptable to use religion. Can we refrain from trying to belittle folks for choosing alternatives to our beliefs? It's really hypocritical and unfair, i.e. if you have the right to make a choice, others do as well. Show some respect, please.

All done.

:(

i didn't realize my writing was so poor. it's hard to believe that i wrote the last post- it's disjointed and trite.










is it january already?

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

I want to love and be loved. I want to be the apple of somebody's eye. I want to feel the contentment that comes with being partnered, you know? I suppose this time is one of preparation for that eventuality, because I have to admit that I'd be fairly frightened if someone came along now with the idea of loving me in mind. Then again, part of me thinks it isn't possible for anyone to love me and that- like in my last relationship, they would come to realize (after I start loving them)- that they don't love me after all, but that they really, really like me and want to be my friend. Can I handle that again? -- I didn't die, so physically I can, but you know how they wrote in Newsweek recently that rejection hurts (how emotions are wired and that we can feel each other's emotions was really the focus, but they also mentioned that rejection registers in the part of the brain that usually responds to physical pain)? Well, that rejection from the last one hasn't fully healed. I still have the scar and I'm rubbing it down with cocoa butter, but it's taking time... One day I'll be ready and I know that one day it will come. I just wish I had something in the interim or maybe I wish it/love/partnership would come now, ready or not.

Besides, i still am working on gaining full understanding of and belief in myself. I have many doubts about my competence and how capable I am. I keep doing things despite these questions, accomplishing things that I still don't think I am able to (even though they are past) and shying away from great things that I could definitely do. Where does this tendency to self-defeat and doubt come from? The Chinese horoscope named me a monkey and said one of my characteristics was a tendency to be easily discouraged. I hate that it's so true. But even being discouraged I keep on moving and with my doubt I keep on moving and with my fear I keep on moving, but I'm sure the moving and the changing and achieving would be so much more enjoyable without all that stuff.

'emancipate yourself from mental slavery.' I know my lack of confidence is enslavement as are all the criticisms I heap on my head in my thoughts. Is my need for a partner a part of that also? Do I just crave that company because I have been taught that I should have it? Do I feel less than whole because of that lack?

no. I'm reclaiming my desire. I have a right to want to be wanted and to want someone. I have a right to feel insecure and to strive regardless of that insecurity. And I have a right to question and wonder about who and what and why and when, because I am on a journey and I am young yet. There's nothing wrong with any of this. It's a part of my process and I accept it. But it's not always fun. Sometimes I wish I didn't care at all.

speaking of caring... A former client called me today out of the blue, just to let me know how things are in her life! I was SO excited to hear from her and so gratified that she thought to keep me in touch. It is important to do the best you can in your work and in your life and to genuinely care for people, because it's right, but also because one day they might call you up and out of your morosity and remind you that everything wasn't always like this and won't always be like this again. I miss people, the people I have connected with and I'm super excited about the folks I'm connecting with now. It's beautiful to give out love and to receive it. I need to do that more.

hmmm. blah.

watch what you ask for

why might i end up with 3 or 4 jobs? everybody knows that jamaicans are hardworking folk, so i don't have to prove anything. i won't spit in the face of a job though. it's a beautiful thing to be able to bring home some pay. i know, so give thanks!

school

was freaking me out, but i think i'm settling in now. i so need to work though. being broke is putting pressure on me and though i'd like to keep my time free to focus on my studies, i just don't have that luxury. it's hard, but i can only hope that i can maintain balance between work and school and that my studies don't suffer for my divided energy.

light. light. light. and love.

the garden

is going well. corn, okra, tomatoes, and cabbages grow in profusion and the marigolds look better and better every day. people are feeling really satisfied with their work and the pace is a lot less frenetic... thank goodness planting is, for the most part, over. still there are bumps in the road.

there's a guy who joined recently who's vision-impaired and has been walking all through other people's plots. so folks were freaking out and saying i should do something as coordinator, right? well, i can't exactly say, 'you can't come to the garden' (which is what some want me to say), because it's a community garden- anyone's eligible in my estimation. though i am going to ask him not to climb over the fence anymore, it sets a bad example- soon everyone will be climbing in to harvest (not ok). so instead, we have put up string fences around our plots and i have to admit, they're really cute. it's a blonde wood that we use for the posts (they were supposed to be tomato stakes, but we have those iron cages and other 'official' stakes and with the string, there's no way he won't be able to see or feel them if he heads into someone else's plot).

we placed him right up front, so why he's all over is beyond me- maybe he just wants to look... so now he can look safely. so far it's been working! let's hope that it continues to work to maintain peace in the garden. it's supposed to be a peaceful place. a joy.

yeah.

badoopbaabaabaa...

the ring sat on my finger... encircled my finger... wrapped itself around. how do i describe it? four pearls in opposition to each other formed a cross with a diamond sparkling in the center and a smaller one between each pearl. it made my finger more interesting and more common somehow. the other fingers of the hand unfettered, this one bound.

it's obvious i'm feeling some ambivalence about this step right? marriage. i always said i wouldn't marry, maybe i said i'd never have kids. whatever the past, i am losing myself in the present. not totally lost, but on the way, yeah?

grades of shade

I fell in love full throttle.

After four years with her and an uncomfortable year alone, I was ready, ready, READY to fall. He appeared and I was smitten. Recalling how I hurt her cheating and carrying on and caring only for myself, I was ready to be a woman- a good woman, faithful, true.

He smiled, came over for dinner, stayed for the weekend. He was a wounded thing like me, seeking integrity. The weekend hookup snowballed into a relationship. Two weeks later we were committed, in love, making all-day and night phone calls, shifting to fit our relationship- the newest and greatest priority in our lives.

Things fell apart as quickly and dramatically as they came together. Soon we were fighting about dust mites and sunbeams- I mean anything that crossed our eyes or our thoughts. There was no peace to be had. Then by gargantuan effort we were peace again. Just like that we were spending weekends ensconced in each others arms, more tender to each other than ever before.

Early mornings the rising sun would catch me looking at his smooth skin, glowing a reddened brown-black, with lashes so long they stroked his cheeks. He was a pretty man and soft. And his waking was gentle and squeaky, a 'hey'-smile-kiss-sleep-wake, gradual.

He did love me. He did. Hmmm... maybe he actually loved my image. After all, I was as much in love with what he symbolized as I was with him. He loved my image... yes, I feel comfortable with that idea. It rings true in my core. I was the strong black woman- creative, self-assured, spiritual and connected to/grounded in my roots. So it seemed, yeah? So wrong. Inside I was confused, lost, lacking direction and purpose, wounded (deeply). I was empty inside or maybe I was full and rotting. What a discovery! She shines brightly, but is fools gold. He was caught in a pretty trap and sought escape, but I would not let him go. I fought to keep him because he meant that I was ok, normal, a woman.

And he was only pieces of a man. Broken from his past hurts, he would crawl into bed and curl up beside me, a delicate, defenseless animal- small. He thought himself strong- maybe he was strong- but he would lie in my arms, head on my breast, curled like a fetus, clinging- a wounded man. Hurt.

He would also wave opinions around like a baton and club me in the head with his rightness. We struggled then decided that, since no one would admit defeat, we should just not fight anymore. Silence bloomed between us and he dwelled in ambivalence, regret, hurt and dissatisfaction.

His feelings about me he kept close. We were together, but he was gone. Where did he go? We were over again. I fought again, but it was a losing battle and I knew it. My fight was a bloody retreat. Was that it? Was that it then?

It hurt more than any pain I've ever known.

I cried and smoked and drank myself into the realization that I had been given an opportunity to become whole. My choices were to come apart or to heal (Healing sucks, by the way).

The first part was awful. I felt raw and he wanted to be friends and call me and hang out and talk about his life and mine, the separate life he'd forced me into leading. I tried to do it, but soon realized that I couldn't support him and heal. It had to be me or him, but not both. Cutting ties was scary because it meant WE were really over. It also felt really, really good to put me first.

ME FIRST! ME FIRST! ME FIRST!

yeah.

So, I'm alright! It feels good to write this, to put this down and feel that it's true. This is the point of all the heartache, I guess. If I hadn't loved hard, I wouldn't have experienced the loss and if I hadn't lost him, I wouldn't have felt the pain and there would have been no healing and the healing is what's gotten me to clear. clear. joy. and alright.

It's a thing of beauty.

steel pulse

Water running over moss covered rocks
your love is right for I
slippery and cold, rushing and still,
a triumphant call to the present
clarion-like, it splashes down
echoes through and through
and in its dark depths
but silent beneath the transport
swim patches of shadow and light
fear looms like the moon, full (y)
chiaroscuro
and so
I die.

Triumphant! Triumphant!

practice is conscious choice

when
one's image of oneself
curls inward

when
vibrant color
turns to brown

when
disintegration is in
the midst of creation

when
modern arises from postmodern
kinetic from potential

when
slow decay is vivid
in the swift press of living

when
walking the horizon line
possiblity the earth
career/work the sky

we do what we can
then die