Django Unchained and Bullets In My Cynicism

Quentin Tarantino's latest [genius] cinematic endeavor Django Unchained left audiences, regardless of their ethnic background and racial politics, 'feeling some kind of way' as they exited the theater. Some movie goers (including Oprah) called it cathartic as they made their way through halls choked with folk who weren't studdin' no Bilbo Baggins, and could give less of a damn [no disrespect to Peter Jackson] about his Unexpected Journey. Picture if you can a United States where violence, sexual abuse, and enslavement of Black people was not only typical but essentially American. No, I'm not talking about right now, I'm talking about 1858.  Anyway, here you have the primary ingredients of a movie about slavery. But that is where all would be comparisons end, because as opposed to your typical slave flick, the victim-turned-freedman gets the 'get back' most disenfranchised people of color can only dream of.

Moving from cathartic, Django Unchained has been called racist and disrespectful due to it's gratuitous use of the N-word. Now let's be real--the movie takes place two years before the Civil War officially begins, and at the time there were no American words to describe people of African descent. We were neither Africans nor Americans, and we certainly were not human. We were property and that's what "living" property was called. For the sake of time, I'm going to write them off as haters. But there's more still to this film...

If you went to see Django Unchained and got little more out of it than the killing, and a chance to glimpse any uncomfortable shifting of White audience members you think might be closet racists or simply on a guilt trip, it could be that you've missed the point entirely. It's a love story. No, that's too simple.  Django Unchained is a well crafted (though Quentin might not have realized it) weapon against the train wrecked images that come to mind when you think of relationships between Black men and Black women. And yes, the media is in some ways apart of the problem, but we're too smart to blame it all on them. We can't even blame most of it on the media, so let's not go there.

You don't need to look far, or too hard for that matter, to see the less than desirable position we find ourselves in. Simply flip the channel to BET, turn on a movie, surf the web, watch YouTube videos,  and you'll see the wreckage. We live in a time in which it's cool to date our tri-joint smoking abusers and be "Unapologetic" about it, and where we happily straighten out "ratchet hoes" one upper cut at a time. The sad thing is that this is not even the tip of the iceberg's tip.

But there's hope. Jamie Foxx and Kerry Washington's characters give a glimpse of a very real and enduring love that need not slip through our fingers. The kind of love that makes you search for you family after chattel slavery has broken it apart on the auction block. Foxx transforms into our very own Black Siegfried and walks through hellfire for his Broomhilde-- and all because knew in his heart that she was worth it. Broomhilde [Kerry Washington] spared no expense giving back that love; she was even with him as he day-dreamed.  I suppose, somewhere along the way too many of us had forgotten that we worthy it? Well, thank God for reminders like Tarantino's. There's an authenticity to Foxx's tenderness towards Washington and, more importantly, a sense of duty and purpose [to love his woman] that hasn't been seen in mainstream cinema featuring Black main characters for a decade. That might even be generous of me. There was no room for Tyler Perry-esque cookie cutter "love",  no room for the guessing games in the Gangsta flicks. Django lifted my spirits and blasted rounds into my cynicism. The real question is what can we do to obtain that real and devoted love? I reckon we can start within. If that's too cryptic and leaves you completely lost, go see the movie.  Hopefully some part of you somewhere will say, "I wanna be loved just like that." I know I do.

Cheers

My Reading Child

I want my child to love reading. I want him (or her) to crave the smell of a new book and be excited by the prospect of what it contains.

I want my child to digest the books and be so sick with the stuff (s)he's learned that (s)he can' help but spew it onto the next lucky person, inflicting them with the desire to read, and so the cycle continues...

I'm gonna start when baby is in the womb, oh yes! I'm gonna buy those Dr. Dre. headphones, slip them bad-boys onto my belly as soon as the pregnancy test says: POSITIVE, and play books on tape/cd/digital whatever!

However it goes, I want my child to be a better reader than I, with a bigger imagination, and more importantly...a bigger library than mine.

MY DREAM (wait for it...wait for it...)

How Will You Make Your Exit?

There's an expression that says: "People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime." You never really get used to the idea of people being in your life temporarily, but that's how it is. This part of our journey usually sucks, but you can take heart in the fact that sometimes it can be a good thing. Sometimes, people's time [in your life] runs out, there's just no more room for them, and it's better for them to move on. This is about moving on-- but from the perspective of one who is leaving.

 How do we go about making our exit when it's our time to leave? Is there a big to-do? Do we gracefully bow out? Or do we just quietly slip unnoticed out the back door? I suppose that answer depends on the dynamic of the relationship with the person being left.

Love
I suppose if the relationship was of the love persuasion and the well's run dry, it's a good idea to have "the talk." I'm not willing to go too deep into it. Sit down with them, say what you need and then hear what they have to say. Just make sure your bags, both physical and emotional, have been packed. 

Friendship
If it was a relationship with a friend, it's virtually the same as "the talk."

Everything Else

Here's where things get complicated[for me]. What to do when you decide that you feel the best way to leave a person, is to sneak out the back door? At first, I thought the idea was cruel and cowardly, but now I'm not so sure. Does closure really require conversation? Do you owe the person an explanation when you feel that getting outta dodge is what's best for you? Relationship dynamics are complicated, and people are even more complicated-er (lol). There are things in between friendship and love, there's stuff that's not even close to either, there's uncertainty, there's one-sidedness, there's the needless, the BS--and then there are exits. I think any of those reasons listed above is a good enough to "slip away" from the perpetrator.  Don't get me wrong, there may need to be some thought and consideration when it comes to the Love/Friendship but the EEBS seems to me to be whole 'nother ball game. People are driven to do ridiculous stuff when dealing with the EEBS, but why bother when you can just remove yourself? It removes any complication, (your) hurt feelings, and it sends a message...the EEBS is beneath you, and by the time the perpetrator realizes it, you're already gone. The (considerably lighter) journey continues.

Poem.

beneath all this dirt is a precious stone

a jewel to be crafted by experience

polished with wisdom

and made to shine in the light

somehow

world's worst black girl does pin-curl (badly)

"Ever girl should know how to fix her goddamn hair..."

But I don't.

I typically opt to let the stylists at Bubbles Hair Salon, trusted homegirls, and sometimes a small group of Seniors at the school where I work, fix my mop.  I'm not too sure why the hands that I was born with, lack the 'magic touch' when it comes to styling my own hair but excel when it comes to other things like, shelf-reading, typing, texting, and pulling brand new books from bookstore/library shelves.


Last month I'd visited Bubbles to get my hair washed and styled in order to attend my school's prom (as a chaperone). My typical hairstyle is curls via flat-iron. Sammi, my hairstyle goddess, did a bomb-azz job, as she always does--but the real task is upkeep. After hours of monitoring well-dressed teenagers dance, cry, take pictures, and mistake me for a fellow student, my curls and me head home to the mirror.

"Just follow the curl..."

That's what they tell me when they see I'm clearly daunted by the idea of pin-curling my own hair. I stand in front of the mirror and set to work, dividing my curls into sections and trying to follow the directions to ensure that they're safely fastened by my hair pins. On and on I go until all of my hair is pinned up into what, in my view, could been seen as an interesting-looking hair situation. With bonnet in place, I hope under the blanket and drift off to sleep.

The morning after...

After dragging myself out of my bed to get washed up and church ready, I pull off my bonnet and loose my hair from the pins. And what do I get? Weird ringlets that look little to nothing like the practiced works of art my girls can do. DRAT!!!

Back to the drawing board...or the hairstylist.

Single And Happy? Ya Don't Say?

It doesn't take much to find an article or two (or three, or four, or five, or six, etc) discussing the relationship plights of Black Women in the United States. The media, along with relationship 'gurus', books, blogs, and oftentimes other Black People, will spare no expense when it comes to informing us of just how uncoupled we are as compared to everyone else, and what we should do in order to make things better. We're instructed to "Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man", be less 'independent', lower our standards in terms of financial or educational requirements, open ourselves up to interracial relationships[which is fine I might add]... and the tiresome list goes on.

Some weeks ago, I listened to a talk show featured on YouTube discussing the negative attitudes of black women, and the rampant promiscuity that the "vast majority" of us partake in. The host insisted that these are the contributing factors to our singleness. I  need to mention that when I learned about the show, I'd just finished reading Ralph Richard Banks' "Is Marriage For White People?" To say the least, Professor Banks' conclusions regarding our singleness were quite different, and steeped in measurable data. So--I emailed this [host]guy. Unfortunately, my request for empirical evidence to support the claims he made was met with a response (and what would go on to be a series of responses) that had naught to do with the original question. Bummer.

Let me be honest...I didn't respect the man for his intellect, or his advice, and it showed in my e-mails. Initially, I thought that was the reason why he opted to describe me as "miserable" but I think there's something else.  Granted,  the only thing more frightening than the Angry Black Woman is The Angry Black Woman who's looking for answers, I think it's fair to assume that beliefs like these stem from more than fear or irritation.  He went on to ask, "Do you think this is the first email like this ive gotten from a miserable, lonely, single, successful black woman???" Yes, he put three question marks. I don't want to go too deeply into the emails between me and 'Talk Show Host Guy' as that is not the point of this entry, however, it is very important for me to inform you of two things: 

1. According to this a**hat, "Nobody wants to be single." 
2. When I  asked him if he truly believes that statement, I got no response.

 This definitely got me to thinking about the social disparities regarding uncoupled Black Women.  I can't help but wonder, why do so many people on the outside think that being a single Black Women is something to be sad and/or ashamed about? Why is being married, or in a relationship considered to be a badge of honor? We've all heard the "See, that's why you single" and "That's why you ain't got a man" comments, we know these comments are designed to hurt, and often do...but why?

I wish I had the answer to these questions, I really do. On the other hand, what I do have are the things that contribute to my happiness

My friends keep me grounded and confident in the fact that everything is as it should be. They are not a single gal's support system; rather, they are living proof of how great I am. I mean--why else would such wonderful people bless me with their presence? I would encourage Sisters to cultivate relationships with their friends, not as a place holder, but as a necessary ingredient to a happy life, if having friends is your thing. It's definitely mine.

My dreams keep me motivated. There's always something to work towards. Every now and then, it's nice to look at pictures, plaques, certificates, messages, or whatevers, just to remind oneself of all the 'awesomeness' to be found on the inside, and that the world recognizes it. 

My career is so much of who I am. It's my contribution to the world and to my race. Really and truly, it's a joy to work in a field that you love. The opportunities are endless. 

My hobbies and the things that I enjoy are also very important to me. Oftentimes, I'm looking for something else to read, finding new music, checking out indie/underground movies, or learning about a country that I desire to travel to and then proceed to visit it. My 4Square friends will attest to my restaurant addictions and unquenchable desire  to explore new stuff. 

Earlier this year I established my "Princess Lena Days" when I dedicate an entire day to my pleasure and self care. I'll indulge in massages, buying books, yoga, meditation, driving aimlessly, perfume purchases, church, salon time etc. I'm not saying that this is only for single women, that'd be stupid. I'm saying, that being a Black bachelorette is nothing to lament...not when you have so much going for you. Now, if your income doesn't allot for this kinda thing, screw it, true friends don't cost anything and neither does self-love. If I had to chose, all that other stuff can kick rocks. 

I'm no advice columnist and I know what works for one doesn't work for all, but I think that when Voltaire said, "Let us cultivate our garden" he was speaking metaphorically about seriously undertaking the process of taking care of and being satisfied with oneself. It's hard work, but the results are beautiful, and they may at any given period feed someone...including the most important person of all. You. 


Signed,

The Happy Bachelorette

P.S.

Let there be a movement dedicated to dispelling the myth of the Single Black Women as a miserable monolith--one moron at a time.

The Good Words pt 2

I worship the God of my heart's deepest secrets.
I offer Him/Her the truth that I am weak, and in need
of His/Her grace.
Would (s)He postone the making of new worlds in order
to console me? Of course (s)He would--so I ask, please, stay
with me.

Act Like A Lady: The Problem of A Fiery Womb

About a year ago, I was having a conversation with my Sister about--you guessed it--men and our relationship to them as women. For the record and out of respect for feminists/womanists, I won't address myself as such in this blog, or anymore going forward until I become wiser. I am, however, a believer that men and women should be treated equally within both the social and private sectors. Now if I'm honest with myself, I'll admit  that my form of thinking can be a little more extreme and naive when compared to that of my sisters. In some respects, you could say that my opinions were (and sometimes still are) heavily influenced by Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon in which the women were the central focus and wielders of power. That's unreal in this day and age, hell, it's been unreal for a very, very long time--I digress.


I am not a feminist. Let's just say that there's "fire in my womb." Anyway, somewhere in the conversation, my sister asked me: Lena would you put out the fire in your womb if you met the 'right guy'? I'm still not really sure what that means, but maybe she's asking if I would give up my Goddess Right mentality? Would I submit? Would I follow tradition and protocol?  I'll confess that I still ponder her question even now. I'm not the most "lady-like" woman you'll ever meet. I'd sooner spit on the ground than whip my hair. I like doing my share of stuff (like spitting and swearing) that's usually only considered socially acceptable if a dude does it. Why? Because I don't see why females can't or shouldn't--I take crap from females because of it, and that always puzzles me. *shrugs* I find it very liberating to be fiery and tough, to fight for the things I want, to protect and provide, to be in control, and to HULK SMASH obstacles. But, stereotypically speaking, that's a man's 'role'.

Stereotypically speaking, my "role" is to be emotional, nurturing/caregiving, sweet, supporting and like water. But, instead of water in my womb, I've been told there's too much fire. Would I give it up?

If I met someone that had the qualities that I want in a mate would I cease with the spittin' and swearin'? Would I allow myself to be protected rather than the protector(ess)? Would I want to accept his last name? Would I tap into the feminine power to give him what he needs from his woman?

Any fool would say 'yes.' And yet, I hesitate.

To be continued...

The Good Words

I worship the God of contrasting conjunctions, my religion is a long line of 'buts', 'yets', and 'evensos'. Anything else would have destroyed my Faith.

You vs. Other People's Happiness

At the risk of being called just another "bitter, lonely, black woman" here goes something:

Over the last two years I've seen a slew of marriages, engagements, boo'd uppings, and happily unmarried shacking baby mamas and fajas [that was an Austin Powers: Goldmember  reference]. When you're apart of an organization of thousands of women, or  have a great deal of female friends, this type of thing comes with the territory as the 20's progress. I feel that we, by design, should be happy for our romantically successful sisters. What do I mean by 'design'? Well--it's my belief that whatever God(s) you subscribe to created us to be a family, and when something good happens to your family members, what do you do? You celebrate. If you're an atheist, well, evolution 'designed'(ha) us to want for the success of all humans. I got a C in science so I'm gonna leave that subject alone.

It's a beautiful thing to love and be loved...but what about the rest of us? What about those of us who turn over in our beds only to find that space empty? What about those of us bombarded with the "I love my hubby/boo/babydaddy" tweets, tags, etc? What about those of us who find comfort in Scripture and not the arms of a flesh and blood mate?

Can I have a moment to be completely human with you? Sometimes you want to be wrapped up in the arms of a man, and not in the Word. Sometimes the smell of a man is more attractive than that of the pages of a book. Gods make for strange bedfellows, don't you think?  Blasphemy? I don't know.  But God said, "it's not good for (WO)man to be alone. So what about us?

A suggestion of mine would be to be patient. Try your best to be patient. I know what you're thinking "F**k you, Lena. We've been told that before." You've been told to 'focus on you' etc. How does that help when so many others are in love around you and you go home by yourself? Perhaps that doesn't help at all. But, still, maybe you should try reminding yourself that it makes no sense to covet their happiness. Go out and seek your own. Being a bachelorette has taught me that other peoples happiness is just that. What the hell is Lena going to do with Boomquisha's happiness? Nothing.

Bachelorette life has held up an interesting mirror in front of me. Apparently it is NOT my life long ambition to be somebody's wife/mother. Yes, someday I want these things, but that is not what my heart is centered on. Being a wife and mother probably rocks super hard...but so does coming and going as you please. So does creating a life for you and just you while you have the opportunity. Goddess willing, when I do become a wife and mother and folk ask me what the hell I did before, I'll tell them that I: traveled around the Earth, chatted with holy men, walked up mountains, kissed a dude for every country in Scandanavia (the Norwegian was the best), marched for the Jena 6 and Trayvon, got a Master's and my dream job etc. That's a taste of what my happiness looks like--and I don't want yours. You looked beautiful in your wedding dress, but it's your wedding dress. Your child is beautiful, but that's your child. What's for me is for me.

Ask yourself, what does your happiness look like in the now? If it looks like a person other than the one in the mirror, perhaps you should reevaluate some things my fellow Bachelorettes.

The point of this starts at 1:30 seconds

why the name change?

Well, ever since I started blogging, I've realized that I almost never talk about books. So it seems to me that the name change is a pretty good idea[for now]. I think the change allots me the freedom to be as random and spacey as I typically am. Also, seeing as how I have so many "bad black girl" moments, methinks [who in this century uses 'methinks'?] there'll be more frequent posts for folk to take a look at. Will Bookish and Black return? Only when I've gotten more focused and figured out what I really want to do with it.

Stupid H**: Hip-Hop's Hypocrisy and the Souls of Black Girls

In typical Lena B. fashion, I'm the last [most late] person to speak on the real life issues[sarcasm] going on in the Hip-Hop world. But be that as it may, if something bothers me long enough-- I'll speak/write about it.  As we all know, there's beef going on between 90's Rap Icon L'il Kim and newly crowned Hip-Pop Princess Nicki Minaj; if you're not familiar with the beef, there's roughly 2 years worth of interviews, parodies, cartoons, and fan commentary on YouTube to help catch you up. Bottom line? They don't like each other.

I'm not the biggest fan of Hip-Hop music, in fact, I usually go from an absolute revulsion of the stuff, to giving ear to conscious and/or underground artists (See Common, Jay Electronica, MF DOOM) that I wouldn't mind having in my Ipod. So, why on Earth would a non-fan bother with some cat fight between two women who consider themselves the best? Have you heard Nicki's Stupid H** track? That was really the tipping point for me. I'm mean, wow! Completely ignoring my own feelings about the song itself in terms of delivery and skill, I wondered, what happened to the Nicki that asked a very fair question in her  Hot 97 interview: "Why in the Black Communities we gotta hate on each other...?" That was the Nicki I could respect. I tipped my hat to her in the hopes that Kim would eventually do the same. Nope.

If the goal of mainstream Hip-Hop is to be a hit-driven, money making machine, then it's clear that Nicki had won the battle. Just check out her accolades and the magazines discussing how she's made record history. So what was the point of Stupid H**?  Was it meant to be the final nail in the coffin? Or was she more negatively affected by the the opinions of a 'sore loser' than she let on? Perhaps she caved under pressure from her crew or fans to respond? Only she knows the answer to that. My stance is that the act was hypocritical. In the same interview, she stated: "You don't have to feel the need to put somebody down just to make yourself feel better." Well, Nicki, isn't that what your doing? Seems like it. Hell, I don't imagine that the biggest selling female rap artist needs to put someone down in order to get a hit song--but what do I know?

I'm curious to know what happens to a person once they're caught in the net of stardom? Perhaps it does something to their insight? It's bad enough to talk about the woman who virtually paved your way to in the music business, and it's even worse to do the exact same thing that you initially accused her of doing to you. How do you speak so eloquently about the harm we do to one another in our community, then make a song calling another woman a stupid h**? Don't we get enough of that from the guys in Hip-Hop? Don't we get enough of that every single day? Well, with over 40 million views of the official video and over 400,000 'likes', it appears that we don't. Thanks Nicki.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving Kim any kind of Girl Scout badge. The image of Nicki's decapitated head on the cover of the Black Friday mixtape makes me sick to my stomach. Surely Kim's aware of the thousands of Black women who come face to face with death and violence everyday. Even her legendary mentor Christopher Wallace said that he'd "never wish death on anyone" yet she spouts that she'll erase a persons SSN? That is not the behavior of anyone who would be a Queen.

My biggest issue overall is what both Nicki and Kim are putting into the hearts and minds of young Black girls.  Like the idea that it's cool to call your Black sister a stupid h** if she pushes you far enough. Or, the idea that in order keep your throne, someone's got to die. How do ideas like these contribute to race uplift? How can they help change the negative perception that the media's already given the world about Black women in general? It seems to me the the sentiments shared between Kim and Nicki are real, but I wonder if they've considered, regardless of record sales, whether or not this nonsense and its potential consequences are worth it? One can only hope.

Ducks, Goddess, And The Beauty Of Being Single

I'm back again at my favorite place in the world. Allen Pond Park in Bowie, MD is so gorgeous in the Spring time. I feel the wind as it presses up against my bare calves and sandaled feet; the sound of the breeze through the trees is the voice of the Creator(ess). I couldn't help but be grateful for this time. At first, I had a mind to walk around that place, but it seemed better to sit. Allen Pond is such a simple place, I've got no idea why I love it so much. And just when I thought things couldn't get anymore perfect...

A female duck, which [interestingly enough] is called a hen, flies up to the edge of the bank near where I'm sitting. There's only a few feet between us. She's resting from what's probably been a long swim and cleaning herself. She'd had no companion to keep her company, and she was just fine with that. She looked so comfortable there with no one to unsettle her peace, only the fingers of God touching her lovely brown feathers. I noticed her and I felt fine.

Was it mere coincidence that she plopped up on the bank only minutes after I took my seat on the bench? I wondered, 'what's she's thinking?' as she watched another hen swim past her accompanied by six ducklings. The solitary hen looked for a moment and...went back to doing her own thing. No envy, no jealousy, no squawking. She even watched a male duck go by. She made no move. Peaceful consideration. Beautiful! Really and truly, we can learn so much from our animal brethren/sistren. In a world where so many are defined by and looked down upon because their "singleness" this little brown duck was a representation of something very real.

I gave thanks and honor to Goddess for granting me this simple message. Still, I wondered if what if I was trying to interpret was wrong? If I'm honest with myself, I couldn't deny that in the moment it felt like a message of inner peace. Goddess knew how I was feeling earlier--inadequate and awkward. In Her Mercy, she sent me that little brown hen; a temporary spiritual companion, but a memory for me to treasure forever. 

It's funny how ducks always pop up in my life. They teach me things and give me comfort. Maybe I should have been a Delta? Just kidding! Once, in my time of need, and when I was coupled  there were two ducks my partner and I had seen. They moved as one but not too close. They did not interrupt each other's path. For a time, like me and my partner, they moved  together. Many times before now, ducks have appeared to me to give hope and comfort, and I thank Goddess for each visit back then. Now there is this one, she's beautiful, brown, and solitary. She comes and goes as she pleases and though her peace my be disturbed for a moment, she comes right back. That's how mediation works. As she buries beak in her feathers she reminds me of the SANKOFA bird, she keeps her feet forward but her neck curves back so that she may cleanse herself.

Pray(H)er

Goddess, if I'm going to look back, let it be for the purpose of healing. May I take my lessons and keep my feet going forward. May I not waste this valuable time with You. Garden my soul, and prepare me for the things that You've planned for me. Let me be still and comfortable right where I am. Let me be grateful for You and all things positive in my life. My life is beautiful...let me always remember that.

More than anything, let me remember and honor the the Sacrifice and the Life of Your Son. By His stripes...I am healed and the battle of my soul is won. Let the magnitude of this fall upon me whenever I'm in need of it. Let the Truth of that rest with me all the days of my life.

I decided, come what may, I will trust You.

Later

Some days later I went to see Alice Walker promote her new book, The Chicken Chronicles at Bus Boys & Poets in D.C.. Nervous as I was, I gathered up the courage to ask her a question about the time I'd spent at the pond. As if I needed anymore confirmation from the Goddess, Alice told me: "Rest with it." She told me that the messages we get are for us alone and that they are real. At times, she herself wonders if her own messages are true-- but if you sit and let it happen, Goddess reveals Herself and in her own way.

The Medicine Woman and Knowing The Way

My journey to the Medicine Woman began at the gas station (I think it was a HESS) and as I made my way out of the station, a man in a service van said to me, "they said the Sun wasn't going to shine today but it just walked out right now." He was referring to me, or, better yet, something I think he must have noticed within me. I immediately told him that he'd made my day, hopped into my car, and set out on my 2 hour journey to the Medicine Lodge. Before I get too far ahead of mysef, I'd like to imagine that what the man saw was an image of the Creator; words like the ones he'd say to me go so much deeper than mere physical beauty. "I'm not self-destructive." I told myself those words in my heart and acknowledged that the Son/Sun lives within me as I pulled out of the parking lot heading West. 


My guess was that it was 8:30am when i'd really gotten on the road. Part of me worried and fretted that I would not know 'The Way' because it'd been such a long time since i'd visited Robin and i'd forgotten the directions then too. But, as Providence would have it, I arrived at Robin's home with 5 minutes to spare. That really speaks to the power of our memories/inutition/ability to trust. It seems to me that, deep down, we always know the way if we listen and have trust in our inner voice. I wondered what made Saturday's journey so different from all the others? Intuition is the simplest answer I think. Lena has always known 'The Way'--confusing as it can be. I approached the door with the rabbit's pelt, knocked [Matt 7 vs 7], and she opened the door. Robin greeted me with a hug that was almost maternal and immediately I felt welcome (As always) in the Flower Eagle Medicine Lodge. 


Robin is an old friend and guide of mine. Words really can't describe how glad I was to see this wonderful woman! We spoke for a little while of the blessings the Spirit of Life had granted the both of us and if there was any other small talk, I really can't say I recall it now. She asks, "What are you doing for yourself spiritually? " To which i responded, "I have a Diary!" She now knows about how I 'Come Clean' to the Creator without fear of judgement or condemnation or any of those things that keep people from speaking their hearts to the Divine. She knows about how good it feels for me to put my words (silent though they are) wholeheartedly out into the Universe. There's more to what happened at the medicine lodge but I think it's best to keep that for me.....unless you really want to know.


 At the close of it I asked Robin for a blessing in my journey forward (who knows when we'll next see each other?) Standing on my own two feet I waited with my eyes closed and my heart open...Robin dipped an Eagle feather in water mixed with an essential oil called 'Joy' and spoke the words of a simple prayer: (She touches my palms with the feather) "Great Spirit, bless this Woman's hands as she does good works. (She touches the tops of my feet with the feather) bless this Woman's feet on her journey."As a parting gift, Robin gives me a vulture's feather she'd pick up somewhere all her own journey. Now, before you give the side-eye understand that without the vulture and his medicine we'd be covered in dead matter and old things that prevent us from growing, to say the least, I am very grateful for this present.

Librarianship: A Quirky Profession.

The purpose of a Librarian is to: 

Collect, organize, distribute, and retrieve information for the sake of the masses. It is my firm belief that Librarians are the preservers of culture and all around "it girls" (and sometimes boys lol) when it comes to answering questions or helping you mere mortals(j/k) to find the answers you want. When you're stumped-- ask a Librarian. I'm re-posting this because I'd like for everyone to know that this kind of power and influence was once (and will be again) in the hands of some of our greatest Quirky Heroines.

Audre Lorde

Zora Neale Hurston

Regina M. Anderson (played a pivotal role in bringing about the Harlem Renaissance)

Augusta Braxton Baker (broke through the glass ceiling and was promoted to the highest position within the NY Library system)

I salute Black Librarians

In an attempt to find balance between the Spiritual and the Erotic (do you think they are mutually exclusive?) I've decided to read Love Poems From God along with Anne Rice's Exit To Eden.


I'm 10 days into Exit To Eden so I've got some catching up to do...

Love has been on my mind for awhile now. Stay tuned.

speak it into your life...right?

Insults for Black Girls By Black Girls

When they realize their jokes about 'ya mama' are exhausted.

When it dawns on them that 'dissing' the length or texture of your hair don't work.

When they inwardly acknowledge the likelihood they're probably just as broke as you are.

When they see that you're comfortable in last years shoes.

That's when they'll go for the, "that's why you don't have a man" ace in the hole.

As if a bed with two bodies in it is the Black Woman's life long ambition.

But I've discovered, my bed's never cold so long as I'm in it.

Anything but Women...

Being [willingly]trapped in the Twitterverse has several perks. For example, one can almost instantly communicate with friends across borders, or be exposed things like the latest fashion, great music, heroic deeds, cool upcoming events, political satire, and empowering quotes .  Heck, you could probably even find out via 'trending topics' how Tim Tebow is going to stop the world from ending this December. Yep, Twitter's got it all.

As great as all that is, everything has an antithesis. Twitter's got a dark-side. I experienced a part of that dark-side the other day and was affected enough to create this post. Social Networks (steeped in surveillance as they are) allot folk everyone's favorite First Amendment right--Freedom Of Speech.  Freedom of speech is great, but what about when it's at the expense of one's own people? Perhaps I'm looking too deeply into it?

I was browsing my timeline when I came across a Twitter "name" that would've most likely sent shock waves through our community had any outsider used it in reference to a Black Woman. Once my initial outrage cooled into anger, I couldn't help but think of how Africans and their descendants suffered, bled, and died for the right to be called people. In the interest of privacy, I'll only use the last half of the title this young woman chose for herself. "____joint." Like, seriously? "____joint?"

For those of you not familiar with DMV Slang a "joint" or more precisely "jont" is defined as anything other than a male. Truth be told, I prefer b**** over joint/jont. Though typically reserved for females, men can also be referred to as  b****es. Jonts/joints on the other hand includes all non-male nouns. So, she's on the same level as a toothbrush. Yes, a toothbrush can also be a joint/jont.

 Of all the names to choose: princess, queen, goddess etc. why on Earth would you opt to be a joint/jont? What are you saying? What are you projecting on yourself and (more importantly) the rest of us as a collective? Call me 'in my feelings' but I take it personally. I take it personally for every self-respecting Black woman that gets called a Jont/joint rather than her name, for every Asian woman that receives receipts from [former]Papa John's employees addressing her as 'Lady Chinky Eyes', for every Hispanic woman whose child gets called an 'anchor baby.' Again, I ask, why would you call yourself a joint/jont?

When we degrade ourselves, we give others the option of doing so. When we take away our own humanity, [and become joints/jonts] we give others the right to try and put a leash around our necks.  Are we our own worst enemy? Do we "stay in our lane" for the sake of peace on the net? Or, do we become the women society would have us be anything other than? It's your call.