Monthly archives "April 2015"

How to find role models

Woman Wearing Headscarf


Yesterday I was on a conference call listening to the world première female thought and spiritual expert and  activist Marianne Williamson and she was discussing that in the conscious community there is a prevailing thought that there are no role models and she refuted that. She also went on discuss how she was going to start implementing workshops on Aphrodite and I became intrigued as to if she knew about Oshun.

I keep abreast about topics, current events, and activities taking place in the feminist environment and the one thing I have noticed regardless of race, is  what I can only describe as a is a kind of blocked view as to what is right in front of a significant amount of those who label themselves feminist.

When I look to role models I first look to the women from my lineage and ancestry as my guide in feminine power. I learn their stores and history, I take away what fits to empower my life and give reverence and honor even to the negative parts of their lives and story.

So many times my father has told the story of both my grandmothers’ sexual and feminine power from a negative point of view as a cautionary tell to dilute my own feminine power. From all accounts these women, my grandmothers were able to bring men to their knees. My Baba spoke of one of my grandmothers Ex husband’s literally hanging and holding unto her ankles, laying on the floor sobbing as she tried to leave him.

I marvel at my great-grandmother Mildred whose presence was as big as a giant although she was a petite woman who owned and operated a hotel. An intimidated look from Mildred gave way to misperceiving the totality of who she was. Although Mildred was stoic and stern she was a great lover as evidence of her basement that was filled with romance novels.

I come from bold, dynamic, wild, fearless, business minded, sexy, powerful, loving, will whip your ass if necessary, community focused women who may not have had big voices nor did they brag about what they did, they were just about the business of leaving a legacy that provided templates and blue prints as a guide for me so that whenever I get lost I will find my way back home.

Look to your own lineage and culture as points of guidance, support and direction and you will never be without refuge or a role model.

Dream Killers and Ball Busters



Last December HBO’s State of Play series did a documentary interviewing sports figures wives. The wives agreed their men were competent successful winners in their perspective fields, however they did not bring those same skill sets to their home front, often times abandoning them all together placing their wives as the leaders on the home front.

The two wives that stood out for me the most was Kiya Tomlin wife of Mike Tomlin head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers and Delana Harvick wife of NASCAR racer Kevin Harvick. Kiya has an-it is what it is mind-set-I have my own things to accomplish kind of attitude and Delana Harvick described herself as a ” Dream Killer!’.

No value judgments, I related to Delana Harvick more than I did to Kiya although she is a black female. Delana had wanted to be a race care driver herself and had been promised a car once she graduated from college yet as far as the story went, if I am correct, never received one, instead she married a race car driver.

Her self proclaimed Dream Killer persona resonated with me for one I knew what it felt like to be promised something and not receive it even though I had held up my end of the bargain. In relating to, Mrs. Harvick, I wonder if she is aware of her self proclaimed persona and the connection it has on her own dreams deferred and how she copes with that loss and experience. Alison Armstrong calls it the, hand me your testicles then we can talk  way of dealing and relating with a man.

I have out grown my ball busting behavior one because as Alison puts it, it’s unsustainable and the one male who I have consciously avoided castrating is my son for fear all the women in his life will have a round table discussion-ranting about how I ain’t shit and how I messed him up. My son sees me as a person separate from being his mother and I see my son as a young man with his own destiny separate from any expectations that I want for and may have for him. I give my son the sacred space that he needs to become a man.

My son speaks in language and visuals that I can understand that disarms my nature to sever testicles. He fully expresses himself in such an apologetic loving and firm way that he is able to get me to acquiesce when he feels my behavior is inappropriate and when he feels that I am violating his boundaries.

I’m practicing my best to be a Horse Whisperer with my son. I used to talk about the women with sarcasm at my Ex Husband’s job and had secretly named them- The Horse Whispering Bitches because they used to sing his name literally and it annoyed the hell out of me but I have to admit that they could get him to do anything they asked without resistance or hesitation.

When you know better you do better-Maya Angelou

In the whelm of hungry ghosts?


I used to be afraid to talk about my life experiences, especially my experiences with the supernatural and the spirit whelm. Yet I know that it help save my life, that it grounded me as death and violence surrounded me. It did not help soothe or ease the pain from the loss I felt and there are days when I miss the children from my youth, I miss all the lives lost in the so-called war on drugs and gang violence.

I feel their spirits and they constantly nag me to tell their stories, they want to be remembered and as much as I want to forget I cannot. I wish I could pretend that it was all a bad dream. So to hear about the new dead of suburban white America from the heroin related deaths, it becomes clear that we were INVISIBLE and because folks did not get up close and personal-viewing wild fires from a distance-ignited from perceived rage never acknowledging loss gave way to  feelings of being safe and or protected or could it have been that “Oh not me, not us” kind of mindset that plagues the superior minded.

Nevertheless, it has visited us all and the dead will continue to speaks until we listen!



The dead have ears

Man Afraid of His Shadow


I have to disagree with the Old Heads when they say, why should we be discussing black on black crime, when white on white crime is not addressed and I have to give them the side eye. Talk about double the amount of post traumatic stress I suffer from caused by the terrorism of the streets from boys in the hood fighting over gang turf and the terrorism from law  enforcement.

I think it’s a convenient way for them to take no responsibility or accountability for a generation of children who were used to fight and fund a war and then turn  a blind eye and literally threw us under the bus with their throw your hands up approach which systematically spear headed legislation that yielded the largest profits from the smallest segments of population all because they didn’t know what to do with us.

Talk about juju and hoodoo, has anyone made the connection of today protesters parading around with their hands up and how this continual ritual is connected  to the many West African Civil Wars- that got us all here on a slave ship.

And as I think about this I am reminded of the day I stood huddled in a crooked circle with my male cousins and their friends and I heard, “One Time!” All the males scattered like roaches and I stood there in awe and confusion as to why they started running for their lives and as I stood there dazed and confused. I heard Derrick yelling, “Girl you better come on!” And I started running not because I was running from the police, I was running as to not to get left.

It wasn’t until, we all made it to safety and through heavy breathing I asked, ” why were we running when we were not doing anything wrong” and that is when I learned you didn’t have to be doing anything wrong, the rule was when you saw the police, you ran for fear that you might lose your life. One Time had dual meaning, it identified the police and that you had one time to get away.

With this back drop in mind, it is a known fact the United States government flooded the urban impacted states and cities across America with crack cocaine to fund an illegal war, yet the urban soldiers received no metals of honor, they received stiff jail sentences for participating in a plan without knowing their real roles and positions, with the key player Freeway Rick an literate genius as the master business man-turned Government Scapegoat and now we got fat as Rick Ross out here making millions off the identity of a black male who was the only one who served time from the original key players but folks don’t care about that cause Rick Ross got lyrics.

So it makes since that the Old Heads do not want to discuss what has yet to be labeled correctly. The Crack Wars and Epidemic was an Urban Civil War as brutal and deadly as Beirut and or the war in El Salvador. And so today and everyday as more black men die at the hands of law enforcement, I see visions of dead bodies falling to the ground, one vision of a white man holding a gun shooting a black man and another vision of a black man holding a gun shooting a black man.

With these visions in mind, I wonder, how the white people all over the states feel about the epidemic of heroine that is currently ruining white families  and communities and how the new segment of white soccer moms who are now entering the prison industry complex and did white folks feel the pain from all the ghosts of my youth lingering about the city and have today’s black men forgot about the code of, One Time.

I stand corrected, One Time was also a silent agreement between the police that it was a chance for you to get away, today if you run they will just shoot your ass in the back and you wonder why there are weed stores on every corner and soccer moms are addicted to Oxycotin & Heroine -how the fuck can anyone stay sane in a country where its citizens refuses to understand the same shit that effects you…. effects me….. ain’t nobody getting away with shit…… why ya bullshitin!

We all suffering!

The sensitivity of Dick counts

According to a study a significant amount of women are forever carrying the DNA other past lovers semen in there Vagina’s and her past lovers influences her offspring, although her past lovers are not her Children’s father. Close your mouth….. let Zo explain



You can fix crazy but not stupid

Naked woman powdered with body paint lying down on fashion fabrics



Evangeline died yesterday in her sleep just like Tee. She had been on my mind the previous week yet I never called or reached out to her. Another wild girl, we saw each other a couple of days after her mother’s memorial, she asked me to come get her from her sisters’ house.

Since then we had spoken regularly, her bouts with mental illness stemmed from years of sexual abuse by her mothers’ many boyfriends. She was the second generation of sexual abuse but somehow it was never talked about or addressed. Despite, her struggles and wounds her heart remained open, full of love and passion and as each family member shunned her for being too much of one thing and not enough of the other, she fought to be loved until her death.

Fighting to be loved, heard, and validated becomes routine for the scapegoated because their wounds are visible through, outbursts, melancholy, needed conversations, begging to be heard, cussing, fussing, drinking sexing, drugging all the things we do to replace the love, comfort and support from the people we share blood ties with…. the only thing you get in return is, ” You know she is crazy!” As if crazy means that you are unworthy to be loved.

The crazy makes everyone feel uncomfortable, ” Why won’t she just shut the fuck up!” How is a young woman to be blamed when her own mother whored her out. How do you reconcile, that Vangy was the reason rent got paid and food got bought.

Molestation, mental illness, and death are taboos, not to be discussed. When I think about how the people who have touched my life the most died-it seems that they ultimately died of a broken heart, Jill, Eric, Tee, Vangy, Devesha, Serta and more.

Society and families are like cliques made up of people who are able to conform, who are able to shut themselves off to remain well-behaved to be accepted by the group and therefore receive love and support. But what about those who cannot-do we leave them alone and abandoned like Hagar in the wilderness, do we reenact the myth and leave them in the Forrest like the albino children of ancient African Mothers with the thought that if they are able to survive then they will live and what happens when the children who were left in the Forrest survive and return in rage….. will you acknowledged the wrong done or will you just label them the devil!

They speak through Sobonfu


Young Woman Wearing Flower

Modupe to my ancestors who are always speaking to me, guiding me, supporting me and loving me even when I feel I am all alone. I ask that they forgive me for all the times that I do not listen to them. It used to be so easy to connect with them but as I began to disconnect with my roots, it became increasingly harder to feel them. I am relearning to embrace the unseen.

No Wahala

Where are you getting your relationship advice from? I am inclined to believe much of the advice women are getting about marriage and relationship is driving them insane. Single women would always tell me that I was lucky that I was married because I had been CHOSEN. My husband being the standardized prize, the changing of my last name being the ultimate possession so many of them coveted and the indoctrination or rather my unsuccessful hypnosis that I should be so grateful and thankful for being CHOSEN, when truth be told; I never wanted to get married.

I openly expressed my reluctance to get married to my then husband when he insisted we get married. I bargained that we should live in a duplex, him living in one part and I living in the other but he insisted that wasn’t a marriage. I resolved it could be the our marriage, however, he was not having any parts of my terms of agreement. I don’t believe you have to live in the same house with your husband in order to have a happy and successful marriage. Hell, ” we go together forever”, we got to live together to?

I had spent most of my life with him already and I didn’t see the point. He wanted me off the market for good and he demanded that if I loved him I would marry him. I loved him deeply-I acquiesced. We were married and I devoted myself to him and my children, however after spending decades with my husband I felt like a trapped animal.

Love did not did not dilute my marriage, I have never loved a man in complete abandon the way I loved my husband, we had grown up together into adulthood but as time went on I changed and my changing became a deal breaker to our relationship, ultimately the boy I knew and had grown up with needed somebody who hadn’t witnessed his past.

Without a doubt we still love one another, however, love is not enough. Getting married as a form of validation and self-worth is one of the worst reasons to get married. There are misguided myths and misconceptions when it comes to being a wife. Waiting to be chosen is the worst mistake anyone can make is feeling as if your life is incomplete if you are not a wife. As women we are taught to devalue relationships that do not end in marriage.

I am single and if I do not know anything else I know how to get and keep a man. Right now I am interested in keeping myself.  It is time for us to start redefining the terms and framework for the institution of marriage. And in keeping myself I am going to dance around the house half-naked to these fine Nigerian boys!