Have a mind that is open to everything and attached to nothing.
You can’t give away what you don’t have.
There are no justified resentments. (let it all go)
Don’t die with your music still in you.
You can’t solve a problem with the same mind that created it.
Treat yourself as if you already are what you would like to become.
Treasure your divinity.
I want a man who’s not afraid to live
A man who’s not too proud to love deeply
A man who never compares me to others
I want a man who really cares
One who is expressive
I want an honest man, a man I can trust
A man who feels comfortable with a strong woman
I’ve yet to find someone like this, but I have so much hope it bursts from me. All in due time. For now, I’m growing and blooming at an incredible rate. And it feels damn good to be free.
- Alan Cohen
- Bill Cosby (via heartskippedabeatsue)
- Julia Child (via thatkindofwoman)
- Dr Wayne Dyer (via heartskippedabeatsue)
- The Breakfast Club (1985)
My little moon. You orbit and I sway, you orbit and I sway. My currents are strong and unpredictable. You are my constant, my solid. You wax and you wane, but often stay the same. You are a glowworm, a sliver of sunshine cutting through the thickness of my folding caves. You are brilliant, and bright, and giggle-full. You are my little love, my special girl. I tell you this as I text or blog or scroll through my newsfeeds. You pull at me, toss words at me, trying to coax me out… kissing my shoulders and hands, cupping my face, tugging, tugging… when you finally throw your hands up, I turn to find you lost behind a screen, just like Mommy. What am I doing? What have I done? YOU are the most important; YOU are my life. I’ve been so wrapped up in assisting others in their journey, I often forget about how precious yours is… these moments are fleeting, I want to pluck them from the ground and piece them back together, I want to pull them into me until I feel full of you, bursting with you… this is not how Mommy intended to be with you, Mommy wants so much more for you… Mommy wants so much more of herself… for herself… Here are a few things I would like to accomplish in this lifetime: first, and most importantly, I need a healthy and happy daughter. In order to do this, I must manage my time much better. Here is how my day looks: I wake up, get you ready for school, get you to school, you pull at me begging to stay home, I nudge you into the classroom and say I’ll see you when I’m off work, I have to pay our bills, my love… I watch your eyes plead and I turn away, I can’t be late, I have to go… Work, work, work, work, underpaid and overworked, undervalued, exhausted. Off work and time to pick you up from school. You look distressed, drained, sour, frustrated, overwhelmed. You are not happy. You are not happy here. You tell me your classmates are loud and aggressive, you say your teacher is mean and unfair. I try to cheer you up, I remind you tomorrow is a new day, you remind me today was a new day too… Mommy, you said today would be a new day, but it turned out to be just like yesterday, and you believe tomorrow will be just like today. You are right. I promise to fix it, to find other options, there are waiting lists, I call and I call and I apply, Mommy cries when you’re at school. Mommy cries knowing you’re on long lists, waiting, praying. All the while, the world pulls at me… more than a tug, a violent rip, continuous, unrelenting. I hear the cries of the women and the children in broken systems everywhere around the globe. I hear them in my sleep; I hear them in my waking life. The urgency to assist humanity, to serve my sisters, drowns out normal conversation, fills my senses, like a clashing of cymbals …wake up! Wake up! Get to work! You have mamas to serve and babies to love! Wake up! The other half is pulling me back: you have bills to pay, you have rent to make, you have tires to fill, oil to change, homework due, you must renew this and write a check for that, dishes to wash, laundry to load, you have to … you have to. You must. The work I do is bodywork, energy work. I pour myself into clients every day, all day. I clock out feeling like a wrung out dishrag, a deflated balloon, a sagging sigh. Bedtime arrives and you crawl into bed with me, “MAMA! SNUGGLE!” And you nuzzle in, drape your tiny limbs around me, while I stare into a bright screen, writing papers for school, writing blog posts for the world – who am I? What have I become? A sorry excuse of a multi-tasker. I am no mother. I simply gave birth. I am not guiding you the way I should, you yearn for my love – I struggle to break away from the world of service, of academics, of climbing the ladder, of pushing for social change. I struggle to pull out of the network of birthworkers, of helpers, of peacemakers, activists, change agents… because it’s you or them, or that’s how it seems most days – how do I split myself in two? That is who I am and I struggle to merge motherhood with my call to serve. You are my blood; you must come first.
As it stands, I am a massage therapist, a single mother, a student midwife, a student herbalist, a full spectrum doula, a business owner, women’s studies major, a human rights activist, an aspiring homesteader, a writer, a research junkie, and a weeping willow.
Dearest Aiyana, please forgive me. I try, I really do. You are my love, my sweet love. Not only do I wish to help my generation, I wish to help yours. I do this for you, for your children, for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren… please understand this. You are always on my mind, and the world weighs heavy too… so heavy some days I find it all a blur and my waking life a distant memory. Longing for the time when I was in the dark, a watery simplicity where I’d float and spin in my mother’s womb… From womb to tomb, I vow to serve. But first, I must wash these dishes, fold laundry, and tuck you into bed…
You are me and I am you.
For Women Who Are Difficult To Love
you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of your taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change, didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love?
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
Guerilla Gardening in South Central LA
An article, “LIFE’S UNEQUAL BEGINNINGS”
A slideshow, “BIRTH CULTURE”
- Sylvia Plath