Musings and Flow

Represented by orange

The chakra of sexual magic

And creativity

And passion

And intensity

And desire

Has a certain sensation or feeling

Not simply lust

Intertwined with love

But more often that’s the heart chakra, just above.

No this chakra, this region of the body, lets you know

When you’re ready

To create

To bear witness

To bring into the world

Something new

Pleasurable

Unfolding

Passionate

I liken it to this

When that spark of desire

Crosses my mind and body

I have the feeling that I want to act, in some way

I want to create a beautiful piece

Or sing a melodic sequence

Or move my body to musical rhythms pulsing

Or squeeze someone tight

Or gently lightly caress someone’s arm

It’s that craving

Of wanting to have

And create

And move

And act

With passion

And love

The fuel

Of desire

Could this be the year we’ve all been waiting for?

The year where it’s okay to say, these things are not okay

We recognize; we see.

What has happened to us?

First the virus that made time stop.

Then the protests that moved us forward.

Maybe we’ll finally catch up to where we could be, and should be. An equal society

Did we decide collectively as a group that we all need to change, to grow to heal?

Why was everything a drop in the bucket until now. Tiny bits of progress, not near enough.

Why was our country finally ready for this

Eradicate injustice for all.

Sinking into summer

Wondering what autumn holds

Feels like changes are coming forth

In life, in purpose

On some level

Feel as if I’ve been carrying a child 9 months

Emotionally

And I’m about to deliver a newborn

Idea

Vision

Worldview

I can’t wait to meet you

Yes, it’s true.

The writing has been healing for me.

And I appreciate you saying that because

There has been a lot that I’ve wanted and needed to write down

And had been stopping myself.

Regarding love

I’ve been single now for a while

So much so that it’s now more an identity than being in relationship

And this is a new feeling to me

A single woman, in a home, with her dogs

When I first moved in here. I was not happy.

My relationship was ending.

I had a new car and a house and a career and the “things” that I expected might lead to happiness

They didn’t

I was lonely and sad. I was grieving the loss of my grandfather.

I was grieving my best-friendship style relationship that I’d been in for 3 years

We were always great friends, and I truly cherished that.

Even though we were not meant to stay romantic partners, sharing a life and a home and family gatherings with someone

Was of great comfort.

I was single an entire year. Then I met you.

I think dating you catapulted me into relationship-land

Because I was so excited. It had been years, genuinely years, since I’d felt any of these feelings.

And they were totally real. Nothing forced about it. Kinda magical, you know?  

And because I can merge so easily, I think I just did. Well I was happy to😊

I’m sure that was overwhelming. I don’t even know if I could have stopped myself.

My life is in a different place now.

I see friends, I have my hobbies.

Every now and again I might see someone for a date.

Nothing has become serious. And I’m sure a lot of that has to do with where I’m at emotionally.

But mostly, I feel good in this place, genuinely good.

I think I’ve rediscovered the things that make me happy.

The things that are not financial or outward measures of success

My relationships with myself, family, friends.

 The boundaries I have set that protect who I am.

The way I determine if I want to let someone in, and to what level.

Music, writing, my passions.

Gardening, cooking, simple pleasures.

I’ve always really wanted a simple life. A home full of books, music, love, art, good conversation.

Dinner every Sunday afternoon where family and friends are just welcome to drop by.

Connection, passion, introspection, love, truth, justice, community, fun, acceptance and peace. These are the values I’m after.

Listening to: “Simple Things” by Miguel

It’s a weird time

To be in limbo

Personally, in the world

Privately, on my own

As I age, I get clearer on who I am

What I desire

What I can contribute

And what I want

Friends have asked

Do you want to marry

Have kids

The answers, of course, but not with just anyone

If the timing is right and the person is right

Until then, my contentedness

Rests on the fact

That my solitude brings me peace

And I only spend time with those who lift me up

I can think of many times

When this was not true

When you’re raised to speak your truth

Protect those younger or smaller than you

No matter the consequence

You are leading

When you know what to do

Instantly

And it doesn’t require much time to process

You are intuitively

Leading

I struggle to maintain

To not threaten by my mere presence

To walk this line of subordination

When all the while

I see the truth

And feel it too

It has taken years

To feel comfortable with

This version of myself

And knowing

That leading

Is necessary

For my full personhood

I didn’t mean to throw it away. It was symbolic for how I felt.

Tossed aside. As if it meant absolutely nothing, when I think we both know that was not true.

I could never throw you away.

I could never “clap my hands” and be done with it

Oh, if I could take that gesture back

When I was with you, you made me feel so safe

Like you’d been protecting my body for years, does that come naturally to you?

I wanted to do that for you too, to you, protect your heart, make you feel safe with me, like you deserve to be

It was special. Well, you said it, it was beautiful

It was

And I’m so sorry

That when you pulled away I did too.

I couldn’t stick around.

I couldn’t feel that limbo feeling.

In trying to show you I was strong

I left the genuine place and went somewhere else

Somewhere I didn’t recognize, and I stopped recognizing you, too.

All of the purity that we experienced

When we were together, it reminded me of two 6-year olds

Holding hands, each with a secret crush, on the other

The way you would look at me

I know that was real

Did you doubt my loyalty?

Did I make you feel there might be someone else?

There couldn’t be

I felt you didn’t believe me. Maybe you thought I would find someone to replace you quickly

Or that I could easily move on

I wouldn’t be

Without you, I was missing a chemical reaction, or a spark

Strangely I felt like half, where before I’d felt like a whole.

If I saw you today, I would tell you I’m sorry

Too.

You deserve an apology from me.

For Trayvon.

A young man I met.

Not the Trayvon who was senselessly murdered and whose killer walks free.

A different child.

He drew me a picture once. It was a bald eagle, in colors red, white and blue.

In honor of 4th of July.

He asked me to keep it. I told him I would.

For Trayvon

That he might feel safe to jog in his neighborhood

To make a call on a cell phone

To pray with his loved ones in a church

To not be murdered

For being who he is

For walking, talking, running, being, breathing.

For Trayvon

For Trayvon’s mother

That she may not have to be interviewed

Have to graciously accept white thoughts and prayers.

Have to graciously say, “because of his law enforcement ties” instead of

Because he’s white.

Because we are are black.

Because it’s the US of A

Because we’re not safe here; we never have been

For Trayvon

Grateful to you

For your reminded me to be me

I had forgotten

I had spent a long time

Pushing

Trying

Vying

For love, favor, acceptance

When all along

All that mattered

Was my acceptance of self

And to be strong enough

To articulate that

And be it

Even if I’m afraid

Even if people don’t understand

And they won’t always, or even often, depending on the crowd

The most important approval I could have

Is my own

She always wore bright pink lipstick

At least whenever I saw her

She would squeeze me tight and kiss me, either on the mouth or on the cheek

To say hello, goodbye, or if she just couldn’t help herself.

As she has gotten older, she remembers more of the past and less of the future

But to me she’s always present

See…when I spend time with her, it really doesn’t matter what we talk about

I want her to laugh, to feel good, to know that she’s loved

The content of her stories or mine is almost irrelevant

It’s enough just to sit beside her and watch gameshows or syndicated tv, help her set her alarm clock, go pick up a few things for her at the grocery store

My grandma was a teacher, but I always felt her first love was homemaking

She gardened with exuberance, cooked meals with creativity and whatever was on-hand.

She taught my cousins and I how to prepare the desserts to serve to the rest of the family. How to fix a nice salad. How to use what you have.

I remember the way she folded the kitchen towel and wiped down the counter just before she sat down with her coffee. Our reward for fixing a meal. We could sit together at the table, reading the paper, speaking like two girlfriends at the kitchen table, mugs of beverages in hand and answering my Grandpa from the other room.

She has a smaller place now. Less to keep track of. Less to organize.

It’s just her now. Grandpa is in heaven. Her dog had to live with another family.

But she’s still the same Grandma. She loves her pink lips. And I can still make her laugh.