its sound, home.
home, i miss.
its sound, home.
home, i miss.
she couldn’t get out of her warmth today; filling up the spaces between limbs, toes, breasts, under neck. sun shining in, there was a glow about arina lying there in bed. she always had this about her as if light just craved her company.
“we were laying there for hours, xara, like lions in shade- with nothing to do, nothing to fear. our nothingness taking over sunset to sunrise.” aya’s eyes shifted to the outsides in the window, mouth smiling like she was tasting something familiar and sweet, again.
forgetting xara’s excited chatter, aya reminisced of arina’s desert mountain shape of rise and fall; of tongue slipping in between, grazing supple and soft; of lips, eyes, fingertips never daring to skip any part of her; of feeling glorious attunement that every blink, breath, and sound released was aya’s supreme guide.
she came back to the room, welcomed by xara’s knowing, knowing laugh.
“talking happened. talking, sharing, feeling. feeling the pain of yesterday, the ease of today, feeling our bodies intertwined in those shapes of puzzles and twists, melting into each other like comfort. we were sunday on a saturday.”
this is my most recent edit and add to the original: the first hours 06.06.12
whenever fear has arrived, knocked its familiar knock, i have answered, welcomed and asked it to stay for tea. i have sometimes even asked it to play hide and seek with me, never remembering that fear is the master of disappearing.
stepping into fear, into messiness, into each part of me as courageously, powerfully and lovingly as i can is hard work, one of the hardest type of work that we as engaged humyns trying to just get it or not get it and accept the not getting, must do.
every experience that opens into a field for me to roll around, get pricked, bit and kissed in is a supreme experience. and saying yes, oh god, saying yes to everything the moment brings, to even the scary and ugly¹- fuck if that is not something to be proud of.
and every time i change this most rigid and tried pattern, every time i answer fear’s call with a love-full look and supportive embrace- afterall, it’s here trying to protect and care for me in its awkward way- is a time to be excited about.
¹ in my need to be absolutely clear: one can say no to let’s just say, fucked up working conditions or one’s deeply rooted insecurities but still be saying yes to the moment because it is a yes to one’s love, dignity and freedom.
(15-20 minute free-write: what have i learned from Sugarcane; what am i proud of? @ our last Sugar Cane session, which is a QPOC writing workshop with facilitator yvonne fly onakeme etaghene)
and then, what if it was more glorious than we could ever imagine?
yellow daisies flying above earth-hued bodies,
landing atop hairless and hairy,
all running, walking, sitting quietly,
being, just being in the phenomenon of
utterly beautiful liberation.
and then, what if it all didn’t make one bit of sense,
but we, oh we, wonderful we,
were not afraid of the confusion
because we were free and in our freedom,
confusion became creativity.
and oh damn, did we create.
(Sugar Cane QWOC Writing Workshop 5 minute free-write: “and then, what if”)
to come to insight without exploring it into freedom is to feel the breeze from a caged window, imprisoned, and to not break open the bars.
sleeping on water and traversing the forever sun of alaska for 10 days.
full moon prayer (8.1.12)
[with each blessing, drink from moonwater]
blessed be the water that runs through me.
blessed be the water that has the power to heal.
blessed be the water that flows still and impermanent.
blessed be the water that is gentle courage.
blessed be the water that sustains.
new moon (6.19.12): what new do i want to bring forth?¹
-practice failure and rejection with equanimity.
how to manifest these intentions?
-to practice failure and rejection, i must practice initiation and effort.
-to receive failure and rejection with equanimity, i must practice methods of self-support, community-support and develop spiritual healing rituals.
full moon (7.3.12): what are parts of my life where i feel so alive, whole and connected to my truth?²
– in creation
– connecting to wild earth
– deepening meditation and mindfulness
– cultivating healthy, loving and inspiring relationships
– developing spiritual healing rituals
– learning about our people, struggle and building power from and with that wisdom
¹the new moon symbolizes birth and creative resurgence.
²the full moon represents the culmination of our awakened self.
6/20/12… 12:43 PM
“haha! There ain’t nothin’ I would like betta than for you, Ms. Hill, eyes so brown, to come on over with some key lime pie. Could meet pa right up high in them blue skies after one taste, I’m sure.”
Yep, that’s exactly my word-for-word to Ms. Hill from Church. Our back and forth been carryin’ on for 23 years. My watch been done broke all this time I’ve been waitin’ for her to bring home some of her delicious pie, and by pie, you know I don’t mean no pie.
Dida been yellin’ to the gods for some lightnin’ to strike down poor Lionel. I don’t know what he did today but you know Dida, always in a stink, foul over some one not mindin’ her. She need to let up is what she need to do. I’ve been sayin’ to the neighbors that she need to give the keys to Phil. She got too many woman problems to be takin’ good care of a property like that.
You know, those young things next door, Julie and what’s her name, can never seem to remember it- Freida? She don’t look Spanish though. She always stoppin’ quick to say her hello and touchin’ my arm like she want somethin’. Well, I was tellin’ them the story of me, Hank and those other white boys ridin’ through California into Nevada back in May of ’63. I was the only black man that they kept around, well unless we got into town. That’s when the rest of the white ones got to starin’.
(Sugar Cane QWOC Writing Workshop homework: Write from the perspective of a stranger or acquaintance in a genre in which you have never written. Perspective: my elderly Black neighbor from the South. Genre: Fiction; diary entry.)