The Pull

Combing my fingertips through my webbed hair. Dividing the tips, separating the roots, snapping, ripping like beats from soil at harvest.

Patches of my celestial plot are rich and luscious. Yet, two plots lag in prematurity. Base stays low, slow, pulse at three. Crown the same. I rake from the nap of my neck to the forefront, rows straight then staggering, on the left… then on the right. The pull. The push. The twist. The untwist. Tresses fall to my shoulders sides. I dig and dig at the embedded fibers that have attempted to begin locks during nights fall, before it’s time. Not yet, not yet. Finishing my detanglement at the edge of my left temple, just a little more tender there. I rub the soar spot. Rub. Rub. At last, the eviction of yesterday’s complex webbings pulled away. The pull.

Now, I turn my heavy hand towards tenderness.

Soaking my fingertips and palms into both sides of my scalp, I massage, I caress. I pat the remaining strands of my crown gently. So soft. Thoughts float through my mind but I stay with the sensation, the stimulation, the invigoration of me, in love with my crown.

Gathering the weeded strands into a ball, I honor the fallen ones and give them to fire. I place my fingers to my nose and sense the truth of ingested fake food, repeatedly applied coconut oil, and the trappings of exhaust from stale city airs impact on my being. The pull, gifted me with a release of tension in the backs of my eyes, upper cheeks, and sides of my neck that must have been there for one half a century. I exhale. Wash in cold water. Lather with peppermint oil soap. Lather. Rinse. Melt coconut oil in the palm of my hand. Rub. I glow again. Renewed. Reborn. Refreshed.

Love is more than a word

Thanks to old friend Shayla Logan, owner of Live your passion, for accommodating me in my time of need. May the blessings return.

Mothering… Searching for a new home

Since my last blog post in June 2011, I have traveled to Aruba, Ft. Lauderdale, Chicago and Atlanta- all in search of a new home, a new beginning. I have seen some amazing sights, heard some amazing sounds, and have been able to recapture my passion for beading. I’ve had to start over in a since in each location as I learned about the uniqueness of each place. I’ve learned some magnificent things and some terrifying things along the way…

Aruba… One Happy Island… sometimes.
Well yes, Aruba is gorgeous. The sandy beaches, the crystal waters, the cool breeze all there for you to enjoy if you have to time and money. I arrived with little funds in my pocket and was not sure what I would find. I expected to stay at a hostel and work in exchange for room and board. But the price of the hostel rose by 150% from the time I researched places online in Florida to the time I landed on the island just off of Venezuela in South America. So, I slept at the airport for 2 days until I was asked to leave. Then slept across the road near the airport until I had enough courage to catch the local bus to a nearby resort and beach area. I leave my suitcase in the bushes and took a daypack for exploring. And as I walked away from my one suitcase with my last life possessions, my journals, my clothes, and my few photos… I did get an ache in the pit of my stomach that that may not have been a wise idea. But, I hid my bright orange suitcase as far into the green bushes as I could and set off. I did find a beach, not too crowded and waited for the bar to open for lunch. I then lounged and slept most of the day away, soothed by the swaying of the ocean waves. I was happy to at least be near to coast and away from the nitty-gritty streets of the city life in the US. The rest was long overdue. I stayed on that beach for two days, showered in the stalls, and ate very little. I kept in touch with a few people in the states and kept writing. Writing about what I was seeing, feeling sensing. Something deep within me was frightened. Not to be near nature but the nature of the residents there…when the beautiful sun set over the ocean waters.

The first thing that happened was that my glasses disappeared. Then my phone that I write and take pictures on was stolen. And when I went back to get my suitcase, it was gone. I was not surprised by that one, as I was already forewarned in my belly. So, now with a few dollars in my pocket, I went to a different beach. More tourists. I grew to understand that as long as I was around a lot of tourists, I would be safer. I followed my instincts and found a new resort beachfront to sleep. Each night was different. Renaissance Resort, Holiday Inn Resort, a movie plaza where they hosted the Aruba International Film Festival, and the bathroom of some magical palace type resort was my home for three weeks. And when my cycle started, a man named Thomas from New York mistook me as a streetwalker and let me sleep in his room. It was nice to be off the streets, showering with hot water, and sleeping in a comfortable resort hotel bed during this time of the month… at least. He was angry to not have sex and so was verbally abusing at times but I overlooked it so I could get some rest. I gave him massages almost each night and he gave me $100.00 dollars and that helped me with food for a week.

Then I met a local, Emilio. He was an electronic man as the least. A dark skinned Venezuelan who offered to help me. He washed my clothes by hand, shared a meal with me and offered me a place to stay. But, for some reason my energy was not matching with him (digitally) so I couldn’t stay with him. Met another man at a resort who did the same… took me to his home, washed my clothes, I slept for a short while, ate a sandwich another gentlemen had given me and he dropped me off back at the resort. While I did get some help, nobody could offer me a room to rent or work for exchange. So, I was back on the street each night.

At one point, I decided to lie down and die. I had told my friends in the states that I felt I was in danger of losing my life there. For the first time, I really felt like I may not make it. Each night was a challenge at living to wake up. Until one day. I had had enough of the grief, the hunger, the suffering. So, I choose a rock, on a man made water barrier at a resort at the end of the stripe that extended out into the ocean and I laid down on my stomach. Back exposed to the hot sun. And I vowed to lie there and sleep until I didn’t wake up anymore. But of course what I didn’t realize was that this would look really bad for a brand new resort to allow someone to die just outside their property and not do anything. So security came. And when they came, they provided me with a meal and called the local police. I didn’t know why I hadn’t called the police myself for help. Perhaps it was because I “got myself into this mess” I should get myself out…. Perhaps I was ashamed at my lack of funds… or pride – “I can do this myself…. “ I don’t know. But I felt like I was surrendering.

I ate the meal and I told the police about my stolen luggage, phone and that I needed help to get back to the US. The police officer asked me to leave the property and never have them have to call them again. I was stunned! I was being treated like I was the criminal. Hummm. I got so angry. I didn’t move. I continued to eat my meal and looked at all the American tourists wondering if they were aware that at any moment, they too could be in my shoes without support of the local authorities. And I thought about going up and down the resort to tell what had just happened. And when I began to complain, a women security guard came to “be with me” and offered me help. Since my phone didn’t work anymore, she helped me be able to call my family and ask for help with funds to get back to the US. They couldn’t help… had no funds so I went to the Red Cross.

In the end, the airlines I flew down on purchased me a ticket back to the states and Red Cross gave me shelter for a few days and I was able to get some healthcare attention. There is a while lot I am not saying. But I got to meet different beings how say something different in me. I got to see some of the “darkest” things and face my fears regarding these things. And I got to see some of the most beautiful “Goddesses” to walk the planet. I got to sit with the fishermen and brave “camping’ beachside.

There, it rained, it poured, and it was hot. There, I got to understand how a woman could come up missing if she is not careful. And a few have gone missing in Aruba in recent years. After my experience, I know they won’t be found. There, I got to understand the powers of Beings that communicate with Blackberry Phones in a different way as well as night Beings. And there, I was glad to get back to the US where there was more support for people looking for new homes. The experience is unforgettable. And I am thankful that I did survive it.

Back to Chicago….
Once I returned, I went back to Chicago – feeling like this was the best place for healthcare instead of where my family was. And this is where I spent my 43 birthday, resting on the sidewalk at the University of Chicago near Lake Michigan. Until the police came and woke me up I was sleeping good! They prayed for me and gave me a few dollars to catch a train so I could find shelter someplace. I cried, as this was such a wonderful birthday present. On this day, I also lost my personal journal with entries beginning earlier in this year; my new beginning notes. I went to wash my clothes, went to a local church, and found a new place to sleep for the next night.

I’d been through so much that when bad things happened I just found a way to get beyond it. I would cry the pain away and keep moving. It didn’t seem that death wanted me. And I didn’t really want death. I haven’t kept my promise yet. I haven’t written my book yet. I had reasons, deep personal reasons to stay and keep my promise and be renewed…. Restored. And the people who smiled at my misfortune were fueling my desire to stay…just an extra day longer. But just surviving was wearing on me….

Bahai Temple
On my journey, I visited a Bahai temple in Wilmette, IL. Gorgeous! And ended up staying there at the local women’s clinic in a hospital for as long as I was permitted. Then I slept in the Chapel and then I local Church of Christ church. The ministers at the church gave me little money for food and shelter in the church until I could get help with getting to family in Atlanta.

Oh, Georgia…
Some of the darkest elements came forth in a little house in Marietta, GA. In a haunted house where a cousin lives, mixtures of information regarding dark spirit embodiment, portals for spirits in other dimensions, witches, generational curses, and connections to unholy hands in Louisiana. In Marietta, storms began to roll across the East coast of the US and tornadoes touched down in places they had not touched before and fires burn down hundreds of homes in Texas. While night torments battered my legs and face I found a church to go to each day; to write and to get peace of mind and to renew my inner light, strength and faith. Before long, I could not stay there. The dark spirits of so many overwhelmed me and I refused to be their vessel of expression. So I left. A man named Anten helped me find a hotel. Had sex for the first time in months. Sex…relieved some of my stress but not enough, as the experience did not last long enough. Good try though. As I post this, I am looking… searching for a new home. I’ve heard that home is where the heart is. And in that case, I am my home and my home is wherever I go. I’m thankful to still have life, breath, some clarity and love in my heart after everything… And hope. Eventually this too shall pass. This too shall pass. And I will be exactly where I am supposed to be, walking in peace and love with those who love and support me.

And just for the record, I am a Mamma in heart and soul. That is the one thing I know is true. Everything else until it is proven true is just a perception, perhaps even an illusion. Looking for fellow Mamma’s on the planet right now. This is where I belong.

Warrior turned Visionary

Well, I used my imagination machine to uploads tons of pictures to accompany this story. And it was stolen in the middle of the night. W0W! Didn’t see that coming. So, as they say…. The show must go on and I’m working with an Alternative writing machine. Will be brief with my story as this imagination machine is not as fast as the other. Stiil… I’m grateful.
Releasing my comfort zone of pain, suffering, and warring in the mind has been quite a challenge. And when I look at the return on my pain investment… it’s actually debt. Not paying off at all.
I found myself living at Washington Dulles Airport for 2 weeks. Leaving a relationship that I didn’t think was helpful anymore. Fleeing to freedom was the only thing I could think of… DC was just far enough away. Arrived with little funds. What should I do? I walked through the airport until I arrived at the Chapel. Bible study was just beginning. And they happened to talk about my issues. They gave me ideas for shelter and some funds for food. One night was all they anticipated would be my stay in the airport. Others slept there too who worked at the airport.
After one week, I moved to the terminal when the Chaplin employees discovered that I was still at the airport deciding this was a better location than a local shelter. At least I’d be around other travelers.
The floor was hard. I went 7 days without eating. Fasting was what I told myself. I washed my clothes in the sink and dried them on a cement Block outside in the sun art the far end of the front of the airport. I spent time making necklaces to sell for money for food and I asked for charity from a restaurant at the end of their business day. The five Guys Burger and Fries donated a bag of fries which lasted for two days. I was searching online for an artist residence program and found one in Chicago. I submitted photos to the Urban Artist Residence program for a show they were producing in .March for DV survivors and was selected for the Show and offered a job. So now all I had to do was get the Chicago. I asked for a courtesy ticket from all the major airlines and was rejected. In amazement an employee at JetBlue noticed me rubbing my aching legs and got me a buddy pass.
Chicago, here I come. The Urban. Art Program was much different than appeared online. The old brownstone house had an art studio in the basement, gallery on the first floor and residence rooms on the top floor. Ran by Diane L. who lived on the first floor, the house was b quite cluttered. I family was on the second floor and they kept it clean.
I was only there for one week, before Diane decided that our relationship wasn’t working. See, she wanted me to clean inexchange for payment and her house was in such disarray that I had a severe reaction and couldn’t go into some locations. I told her that I couldn’t do some her requests and she stated she needed someone who could do whatever she asked. So, I left… disappointed that it wasn’t what it advertised to be and that my ideas for developing my art and writing my book over the summer had changed… again. Best part was Chicago. Such a beautiful and happening city. They have mixed technology and nature in such amazing ways. It was awesome to experience. Spent a week at a hostel and headed back to the Caribbean.
What I learned was that I participated in a show that would have promoted pain against women. Pain rather than empowerment. And the path of pain is no longer my journey. From the condition of her home, it seemed that the owner may have had some unresolved issues and misery does love company. Not sure that I would recommend this program to any women who. is an active artist and is empowered. I realized my responsibility to set boundaries and have guidelines for a healthy life around balancing experiences that bring hardship verses empowerment.
Realized that I need to focus more of my attention on visualizations and enhancing my imagination less time engaging or being invited to engage in wars over past wounds. Life is precious. I’m changing so I can enjoy each moment. Looking for new artist residency in the Caribeen for the summer. Respond if you have suggestions.

Shark in the Water

While researching my story Water Down My Back, I went to see the film Soul Surfer. I was moved by the inspiration of a girl who learns how to continue pursuing her passion for surfing even after losing limb. Her faith in God is what guided her to a good recovery along with a strong support system and a lot of hard work to condition her body. I started thinking about the roll of the shark in the story. It was the animal in nature that brought her to her transformation. Well there was one other shark of sorts. There was another surfer who gave her a hard time at each competition. This girl was mean even after she lost her arm. She showed no mercy. We know people like that. And I always wonder why they are allowed to win. In the film, the shark who did what was natural in it’s environment was captured and killed by the locals. I suppose as justification for the girls loss. But it was the loss that paved a new trail for her in her life. Should not the shark have been honored just like her sharky surfer competitor? Why do people get to get away with being sharky even to a “disabled” person. In the end, Bethany catches the biggest wave of her new life. And while losing the competition. She wins in her life. And her sharky competitor finally gives her props and shares the surf trophy with her.
This is a happy ending story that was well worth my time and even has inspired me to learn more about boogie boarding so I can learn timing and the way to hear and feel the essence of water for my story. At the same time I am remembering all the disabled people who are not supported, left to wonder the cold streets, thirsty for love and support to recover their shark bitten lives. Those who still have dreams and gifts to share with the world; something we really need to know, hear, see, understand. To all those who have been bitten by a shark in you life and have yet to receive the care you need to heal, I see you and I love you. Thank you for being hear and keeping my heart healthy and compassionate. I hope that you hear my words and in knowing that I love you, that you are reborn in some way. That your mind is renewed, your heart strengthened, your soul replenished. Bless you today and forever. Be reborn and renewed.