Seasons Change

Dear Summer, 

I ran into my old friend Candy Corn today.  It's been nearly a year since we last saw one another.  You can imagine we had lots to catch up on.  We talked and laughed hysterically right there in Big Lots.  so many good times we had.  So much reminiscing lead us to the way I parted ways with Fall.  Crazy how nostalgia made me realize how much I miss Fall.  Don't get me wrong, we've had a great time, too, Summer. It's just, well, let's be honest, we like different things.  You like it intensely hot while I prefer milder temps.  Fall *sigh* just gets me.  

I'll not prolong this letter.  I'm sure you can tell where this is going.  I want to see Fall again.  It's not you, Summer.  It's me. Who knows...maybe we can still be friends.  It'll take a few seasons but you'll come around to the idea, I'm sure. 

It's Been Fun, 

Q

Loose Grips Sink...Hearts

Sumx I feel the scorpion urge to test connectedness and promises of always and forever. 

I'm tempted to loosen my grip to see if the hand I've clung to will tighten it's grip.  Truth, I think that hand will, without hesitation, let go.  Release every thing that was any thing between us.  So then, why do I hold so tightly to what would let me go so easily?

Maybe because it is still so real to me.

Live Like You Were Dying

Sumx even nature tries to cheat death. This tree taunts death with its green. Makes me wonder what it is hoping for. One last breeze. Another cool rain to dampen its leaves. Hopes to last the summer to embrace Fall so I can appreciate its marvelous change in color. I've never seen a more glorious not yet. I'd imagine this tree lived the way it's dying...on its on terms.

Musings staring at this tree in my backyard...

Choosy Lover

I can't see me choosing the opinions of others, be it family friends or perfect strangers, over what makes me happy. Abdication of this gift is an insult to the Divine and my personal fulfillment. The energy of suppression, in my mind, is better allocated to living loving and exploring to utter exhaustion.

Let my choices be my (big ass) footprint in the sands of time (Yes, Beyonce started singing in my head just then but whatever).

I remember the impact of Frost's "The Road Not Taken" on my soul. I remember making a promise inside, where only god and I could hear, "that will be me".

Consider this, even your indecision is a decision.

The Path to Hell...

I don't love without intention. Don't invite me to love you without intention.

There You Are

Remembrance. Recognition of one you've felt and in some realm been aware of and when they reach you in this plane there's a spark. C. S. Lewis summed it best (as I've experienced it), "...me too."

Overture

There's some part of me that likes to pretend that falling in love is purely accidental and of no conscious effort on my part; someone sticks their foot out and trips me to make me fall into it.

Enter the recent opportunity to reconnect with my dad and all that pretending is revealed for the complete farce it is. My heart unfolds like a flower welcoming the warmth of a spring rain. I want to be tender and open in spite of the fear and apprehension. I want to. Even with my dad.

Feels like I'm falling in love for the first time.

Lemme Know When

just a whisper. or a subtle lingering of fingers. or a glance that melts into a gaze that transcribes otherwise unintelligible feelings often subject to incessant questioning to something that cements sureness.

But I don't want the shit you see in movies. My homeboy cycnicism keeps me from falling for it. Not because I don't believe in love (we'll just go with that for now). Maybe, just maybe, in the darkest recesses of who I am I don't feel like I...wait...my vulnerability just tapped me on my shoulder and has forbade me from completing that sentence. Carrying on. I'll confess, I am reticent to believe that love from one human to another is truly altruistic. People have shown me it isn't. Whether or not they knew I was watching is another story. I have exercised a selfish kind of love to the one I would have taken a blade to the palm of my hand to ink in blood a sworn promise that I would never bring pain to that one heart and yet, I did. I am one of those people.

Now to what stirred this.

There are bits and pieces of me that believe the ever elusive does wish for me likely shrouded in darkness and never will this would-be lover proclaim to their nearest and dearest, and damn sure not from the nearest spire that a cautious amount of affection and desire and longing have had my heart and conglomerate of warm pieces at its epicenter. For long too long I have lied to myself that I understood all the reasons why it's always wishes or covert conversations that my longing is not at all lonely. But I don't understand. I don't dig it. Because I would most certainly express my compelling, compassionate, deep-seated affection and yes, dare I say, love for the ever elusive.

Then, I am only one. Two hands and arms and legs and one beating heart. I am one.

I am a line. My elusive seems to prefer segments. They can form any shape one may desire at a time. A triangle. Square. Whatever allows room for more friends.

One (is more than enough).

I see it. I believe it. Sometimes.

So many times I have been shown and told there is no room for me but insist that my apparently square peg can most certainly fit into this round hole.

Angry with myself for insisting. I'd love to proudly say it is my way to be persistent. I am but that's not what this is. Pathetic. Is what it is. The thought of it sickens my own belly.

I have basically begged and pleaded for one fucking person to want me. Match my level of desire. Balance my intensity with equity. I have a firm grasp on the definition of "eventually". Even subtext is clear. Never is what was meant. I can take that.

Foolishly hopeful. Tears welling in my eyes as I vent tell me I am not done. Yet.
Feel like I should dust off my Scorpio Manual and brush up on the part that tells me when and where be less all-or-nothing 'cause this shit is for the birds.

For all my wanting and professing. All my sincerity. My fantasies are merely wishes. Only wishes.

Fin.

The conditions are...

From time to time I like to look up quotes on a variety of subjects. Love being the most prominent cause for those searches springs a wealth of expression. Most consistently, of late, when asked my position on the subject of love (being in it, around it, the receiver/giver of it) my response is that love evolves. I take that position when love is shoved into the construct of marriage. I have been asked by my closest friend on more than one occasion over the course of our relationship if I love my husband. The response has unhesistantly been yes, but with a qualifier added...kinda how Kool-Aid comes pre-sweetened but isn't it's best without the sugar I put in it myself.

I recognize that some things I say may come across as though I am against marriage and would vehemently advise anyone not to marry. Contrarily, I think marriage is a contract that should be entered into with eyes (not so much the heart) wide open. In general, I think people should know what they are getting into. I realize that using the words "contract" and "marriage" in the same sentence erases the romance and even commercial appeal pledging to spend the remainder of your days with one person can evoke. I do that because that is precisely what marriage boils down to in my opinion.

Marriage is a contractual agreement between two people who vow that only death will part them. They promise that they will remain loyal, steadfast and long-suffering through sickness and health, riches and poverty. For all practical purposes marriage is a business partnership, a merger of two profitable entities to form one lucrative conglomerate that from the beginning of the negotiation of terms seems equitable for both parties. Over time, from my experience, the marriage of assets and liabilities, ebbs and flows of matriculation become cyclical constant incongruent compromise for one (usually the woman). So one can be become embittered enough to claim breach of contract and dissolve the contract (ie divorce). But why a contract? Because contracts inherently have conditions. They are supposed to have them. How else do those involved know how they are expected to conduct themselves in order for the agreement to remain in force?

So then that brings me to love...just in general. Quickly, people boast of how condition-less their love is. I counter with a question of the measure of their compassion. Family members are exempt from this discussion because we were born loving them it would seem so they are obsolete. I will use myself (as not to make you too uncomfortable). I love my spouse. The way I love him today is concretely different from the way I loved him almost ten years ago when we first exchanged vows. I have more compassion for him than love. I say that because, as stated to my closest friend recently, there are things that coincide with marriage that don't necessarily fit with love. One allows what the other would not dare tolerate. Thus, the need for compassion when tempted to sing-a-long with Tina when she sings "what's love got to do with it". Furthermore, my love toward him is not, by any stretch of the imagination unconditional. It can't be. I have expectations. He has expectations. We all have expectations of those we choose to love. We can play semantics all day. Love is conditionally condition-less.

70 x 7

I have eff'd up. Wait! Let me make it plain. I will call a spade a spade. I have fucked up. I can take that. Admit that. I was arrogant in thinking I would never be "that woman". I am gripping more handily the fact that I have now, after 31 years of living, a single regret. I have vaccilated in describing what that is. Is it that I have lost one of the most treasured individuals in my life? Is it that I have pained that person? Caused the very thing I wanted most to alleviate and shelter them from? I have settled on the latter as it speaks to the person I thought I was, rather who I never imagined I could or would be in any spanse of time.

I lament the state of things. Truly, I do. Rarely is there an idle moment that is not occupied with a thought or memory centered on this person. Love remains. It hurts. The part of me that wants to insist on equity as if I am in any position to negotiate terms and such was supported by a post on Twitter that said (paraphrase)"if the good outweighs the bad, forgive and forget". Honestly, I don't anticipate amnesia. A clearer picture of forgiveness is my hope. Though I am not much on complex mathematical equations, I am pretty efficient in basic multiplication. To the point where I don't need pen and paper or even a calculator to know that 70 multiplied by 7 gives me 490 times to sin, miss the mark, mis-step-- shit, fuck up.

I won't belabor the point. I realize that a resurrection would not make for a regeneration of what we had before. Simply put, shit would change. I get that. I just want the memory of me in this individuals mind to not be summed up by the pain I have regretfully caused. Love abounds!

My lesson...among other things is that “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” ~Rumi

Humbled...

Like the sunset to this day...

*singing*
I don't wanna be what you want me to be
I'm sorry it's my fault
It's over


I love John Legend. His lips, um, speak to me. I digress. I love his lyrics. Lately, I have been listening to "It's Over" from his latest album, "Evolver". I have been listening to this song, you guessed it, over and over and...yes, over. His lyrics tend to find their way into my heart of hearts. The part where the brutal truth resides. The part that stares back at me when I look deeply into my own brown eyes when I spend just a little more time in the mirror.

I have come to grips with the fact, less eloquently as he sang it, that some shit is just over. Furthermore, when it is just let that *ish* be what it is. Unfortunately, I am not of the generation of my grandparents. People my age don't just stay together just because. We are far more evolved and realize that even mating has a season (smh at my own sarcasm). The era of concessions and deference, I feel, is coming to a close. I have grown tired of not listening to my gut, ignoring instinct to "trust" my DH.

The older I get I am less prone to deal with selfish bullshit from a man. I think it started when I turned 30. I have always been into zodiac traits especially my own. I was reading the other day some familiar descriptions of how intense, mysterious, jealous, stubborn and blah, blah, blah I should be as a person born under this sign. Then, I skimmed a sentence or two that gave me pause. "Scorpio has to be in a power position. Some actually prefer to live on their own that way there is never any issue of who controls what at home, they like to be in control." HUH?! Seriously?! Control? Power? I sat for a moment staring at the computer screen as if the words would change. Like my focus would remove the implication that I was incapable of playing number 2. Then, that brutal truth chimed in and reminded me of words typed to my BFF not too long ago, "I think about living as a semi-recluse..." The root of that thought could very well be an inner desire to no longer be in a position of willful deference. For more than nine years I have coalesced for the greater benefit of my family. I have been more than malleable. I don't think I can bend much further. In fact, I am to the point of refusing to do so. I am the palm tree, designed to withstand hurricane force winds, YET even the strongest of trees break. BEFORE that point comes I have made some decisions...the short of it...I refuse to allow any person place or thing to break me.

I posted on Twitter little more than a month ago (ironically) that "sometimes you should just let it end, even when confronted with it before you wanted it. even if it scares u shitless. *singing* let it be*"

Then, sometimes the end isn't really the end. It is the overture...

(Kanye's verse)
We had some good times didn't we
I know I won't forget that
But we had some bad times and
That's time I wish I could get back
We coulda had it all
But I guess we'll never know
You been around me long enough
To know that now it's over

....fade me out...

Fearfully Made ©

I fear rejection
disappointment and disappointing
I fear success
perceived expectations
I fear love
the completeness and fullness of it being condition-less
I fear trusting being vulnerable
I fear failing
too scared to let it end
I fear loss
everything I love leaves
I fear death
of passion, unfulfilled dreamsI fear not being who I was meant to be
I fear the intention of my existence
my life's purpose
I fear the war within, uncertain of who will emerge the victor
I fear being alone
would rather have it on my terms
I am fear-fully made in the image of perfect love
in need of perfected love--compassion
make me fear-less
©

When A Women's Fed Up

I wonder when we, as women, will become a little less self-sacrificing. Stop giving ourselves away regardless of the cost. Must we lose ourselves to avoid feeling lonely, lose ourselves for sporadic attention paid to us by some dude who really couldn't begin to love us genuinely...especially since he has his own unresolved issues. I must love me! I MUST love me. I MUST LOVE ME!!!!!! Whether or not anyone else choses to. I must love me. Respect and consider myself. Realize that their is nothing wrong with putting myself first.
How much am I willing to tolerate, let go, allow to roll off my back before I say enough is enough? We all watch Oprah and Dr. Robin and listen as they admonish us to "keep it real" (not in those words) but do we really hear them? Their words resonate in the moment. Give us solace in chaos for 45minutes, but what happens to the knowledge given when the credits roll and Oprah signs off thanking everbody for watching? What happens? We go back to our lives. We live broken and fractured lives numbing ourselves to the abnormality of our existence. We convince ourselves that living with the hope that things will be better and the fear that they won't is okay, our cross to bear. Is it? Faith and fear (doubt, uncertainty) can not co-exist. We can and usually do choose faith, but fail to realize that we are not absolved of reality...relieved of fact. Saddens me that we far too often focus on fiction, wishes and daydreams...hoping for the person we married without stopping to think, perhaps the person in front of me is the truth, what is actual and the person pre-marriage was the illusion, a facade, a mask. When people show you who they are believe them. Please, believe them. As ugly as the truth is. Refuse manipulation and coercion and misrepresentations and empty promises. Your heart echoes the truth, don't be afraid to listen...as frightening as it is, listen. God is in the whisper. Amid the thunderous rumblings, God is in the whisper. Listen.

If we are really believers, truly bearers of Christ, then His word is absolutely applicable to us. Did the Saviour come that we would have life and that more abundantly? Are we not heirs to the fulfillment of each of His promises simply because we believe?
My wish (even my prayer) is for every one of my sisters to see themselves as the invaluable children of God they are. To finally stand and say I will not be pawned, bartered and traded, disregarded and put aside. Say from your soul, "I am worth it! I am worthy." Really hear Oprah, pretend that you are Contessa (the former prostitute...admittedly, we have all prostituted ourselves, sold ourselves bartered ourselves maybe not for money but for companionship, attention even validation...to fill whatever void), and feel it when she looks in your eyes and says, "You are not used up. You are not used up. God has great plans for you. You are NOT used up!" Even go back to the days of Iyanla and lay hands on yourself and "save yourself". There's only so far you can walk with someone until you have to let them walk alone...led them to the water, encourage them to drink but it is not your responsibility to kneel down and scoop it in your hands, raise your hands to their mouth to drink. Are they thirsty enough to change? To reject the lies of the past in order to rework the present and future? Furthermore, we (women) are not the Savior of our men, so get down off the cross. That's been done. Be a helpmate not a Savior...definitely not his momma. That said recognize when enough is enough.
Lastly, I wish peace wholeness wellness prosperity truth honesty and even increased self-esteem. All these things I wish for all who read this...health in mind body and spirit, that you prosper even as your soul prospers.

Love.

Kiss My Fat Ass

OKay, to know me is to know that I am a fan of several things. All things Oprah, Destiny's Child and, dare I say it, Tyra.

That latter has been all over the news lately because of some "unflattering" photos snapped some time in December when she was doing a photoshoot in Australia. True, it's not the Tyra-size people have been accustomed to, watching her work the VS runway or posing scantily clad in their catalogs. Still, the headlines were ugly and just plain nasty. I get it, don't get me wrong, I understand the job of the tabloids is to sell their rags at whatever cost.

I know I'm gonna sound like a fan defending her "idol" when I say this, but here it is; I commend Tyra for realizing that this is bigger than her (no pun intended). Of course, this is only my summation of the thought process that went into the show she did on Thursday, February 1. I think it is necessary for young girls, even women to know that someone understands the struggle and is willing say it really ISN'T necessary to look like the retouched photos of models and celebrities that you see in the magazines.

Why do I care? Ordinarily I probably wouldn't comment on this situation. I would care just because I am a woman and I feel, in general, people need a more realistic view of what a woman's body should look like. As we grow and mature our body's grow and mature. We aren't meant to look, at 40, the way we did when we were 16. At least, I don't think so. I, personally, want to look like what I feel my body should look like at age my age (29) and after having 3 children. I thought I was fly back in the day when I sported a size 4. Now that my body's gone thru some things and I'm in a 10, I still feel fly. I know my body and I know that I am not my healthiest now. But that has little to do with the number on the tag in the back of clothes and more to do with knowing my body and just feeling my best. You know, I remember a time when trekking up a flew flights of stairs would not have winded me. It's about being healthy (for me). But I digress.

My main cause for taking notice of this issue, other than being a HUGE fan of all things Tyra, is the fact that I have three daughters. Yes, three. Oldest being 6. Middle being 4 and my baby is 16 months old. Now, I know what you're thinking. I shouldn't be concerned with issues of body image and how the negative remarks made about Tyra's photos would affect a girls self-esteem. Well, it seems that issues with self-esteem and self-love don't discriminate when it comes to age. I watched Tyra on Larry King earlier last week and I listened as a mother called in saying that her six year old daughter calls herself fat. Are you kidding? When I was six my weight was the last thing on my mind. Things are different these days. I know that makes me sound old but it is very true (not that I am old, but that things are very different these days). I just feel like there are more things for little girls to be concerned with than what they look like.

Bottom line is, we need to get back to what is really important. Our little girls should not be so consumed with their weight. Yes, we all want to be healthy. That should be the focus when it comes to our physical bodies. Just because a person is "skinny" doesn't mean that person is health. And just because someone is "thicker" doesn't mean they are unhelathy. We should all strive to be what is natural. Every body is not meant to look the same. There is beauty in the variation. That said, I am not giving any one license to go out and chow down at an all-you-can-eat at like 9 or 10 o'clock at night. Nor am I saying it's cool to snack on a Snicker's Bar at 2am. Be wise ladies, in our choices. Most importantly, love yourself for who you are today.

I truly feel that the future rests in the hands of women, us and the ones we bring into this world. Why else would we be going thru so much? At the risk of sounding preachy, why else would the adversary be so hell-bent on destroying the self-esteem of women (of all ages)? What better way to deter a woman from maximizing her potential than to keep her from believing in herself and making her feel unworthy? When you are confident, esteem yourself highly, believe in your worth and love yourself you recognize that whatever you set your mind to is absolutely possible!

I'm reminded of times when my older daughters will say to me or their father after they've gotten their hair done or are wearing a new outfit, "Am I beautiful?" I say, "You were beautiful before all of this. You were made beautiful." Then, there are times when my six and four year olds will ask, "Are you proud of me?" I look them in their gorgeous brown eyes and say, "I am very proud of you simply because you did your best." Building strong women is the goal. Women who are self-assured and who understand that their worth is not contigent on what they look like or don't look like. I want my babies to be healthy happy and whole! I want every woman to be the same! I don't know you but I love you...as a woman, as my sister. I pray increased self-esteem, self-love and self-worth and an understanding that when I call you beautiful I am not referring only to your face but to your soul, your spirit...you are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are an intricate design, unique, the only you that will ever exist. Dare to let your light shine! There's a quote I'm sure we have all heard, probably shortened or paraphrased, by Marianne Williamson and I feel like it is so fitting for this moment. Here it is(in its entirety):

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

I know that I am a fan and some might say that my view on this whole Tyra situation is slanted, still. I thank her for being unafraid to take the stance she has and for being insightful enough to step outside of her own personal feelings and see the potential affect it would have on girls and women that look at her and feel better about themselves. So, as a mother, I thank her for thinking of my daughters.

*I had to repost this one from my old myspace page because it is still relevant.

In Mourning Over A Damn Dog

After much trepidation I decided to go ahead and let the city have my dog (my pet by default). King (that's the dog) became a gift to my girls from their uncle (my brother) when he moved to a place that could not accomodate a dog of King's size. My husband was reticent to accept this newcomer, but how could he resist four sets of puppy dog eyes (mine, Lauryn, Ashley and King who was only 6 weeks old at the time...adorable), I mean, really? That was six months, about 40 pounds and recent move/relo to another city and somene else's house (and rules) ago.

King was one big running jumping nipping ball of puppy energy. If you didn't know any better you'd thinking he was full grown...not even! In short, since moving to Oklahoma City I have had to go from homeowner to tenant and my landlord has become increasing less "friendly" regarding my pet...making all manor of threats...whatever! Like I'm scared or something. Anyway! Since he (the landlord) refused to fix HIS fence and refused to let my husband alter the fence to keep our dog from hopping over his fence I had to make a choice I never dreamed would be so difficult.

I had no idea just how attached I'd become to King (AKA little bad ass) until he and I were at the animal shelter last evening. I thought they would just adopt him out like the cats and more mature dogs I saw in their cages. The woman asks me, "what kinda dog is he?" Thinking nothing of it, I reply, "Boxer and Pit(bull)." She looks at me and damn near whispers, "you know we don't adopt out Pits?" I'm sure the horror I felt inside shown on my face but I had to ask, "seriously?" She just shrugged as if to say "DUH". I ask for a moment to think it over. I step into the atrium, frantically speed dial my husband's cell, then his work, then his cell again...he didn't answer...not even the text I sent asking if we were sure that we wanted to give King away. I take a few deep breathes, then King and I stood in front of the same girl that moments before told me, bluntly, that they would kill my dog. Now, to know me is to know that I am a little, okay a lot, tender-hearted. The woman is looking at me looking at her, King looking at me, other people looking at me looking at her looking at me and my husband calls. He tells me, "Lisa, don't give away your dog because of (name omitted...but just know that it's my ass of a landlord). If you want to keep your dog, keep him. Okay?" I'm in tears looking foolish to on-lookers whom I could care less about. So, I hang up my cell phone and take my wet eyes and King's brown ones back to my car after apologizing to the woman behind the desk whose patience I was testing.

At the car, King and I talk it over and I apologize to him. Hug his disobedient neck and kiss the top of his irreverant head, promising that his successor would grow old with me and my girls. I suck up more tears and walk back inside. The same woman whispered to her co-worker that I was the one they'd been talking about moments before (like I couldn't read her lips, heffa). I didn't really care that I had been the subject of her venting. I apologized (insincerely) for causing her such frustration saying this was a very difficult decision. She half-heartedly said it was okay and asked, "Are you sure this time?" Her tone was stoaic, face like she'd never loved anything or anyone in her life. I stood there, holding King's leash taughtly with him obediently sitting by my side (that was new, like he knew what was about to go down). I gave her my name and phone number and address. I don't think anyone has ever entered my data at lightning speed before. Before I knew it, she was shoving papers across the desk at me for my signature. I signed them, offering King my apologetic eyes as another woman put a generic leash around his neck. I watched him walk away, wagging his tail like he was going to be bathed not killed...I felt like such an accomplice.

I'm sitting in the driver's seat of my car, holding his leash and collar like I held some of my mother's clothes after she died (not comparing human and canine lives...though both important). I'm doing the ugly cry in the parking lot. Thankfully, it's a little past dusk so no one can really see me. I feel sick to my stomach. I flung my door open so that my empty stomach could rebel against me. I took the long way home, took Mario out and put Jay-Z in...feeling less like love more like a gangsta. When I got home, I trashed everything to do with King...his bed, dishes, food, treats...everything.

Lawrence (that's my husband) comes home and notices my melancholy mood. "You gave him away?" I just nodded because my eyes instantly began to well. He reminded me that he told me not to give King away because of The Ass (that's my landlord). I said, "I know," sniffled and asked, "Can we not talk about it." He nodded his concession, held me as I cried. A moment or two passed before he broke our silence, "I'm truly sorry for your loss," squeezed me a little then said, "Let me take you out. Let's get a Margarita." I said, "I don't want a Margarita. I want a Sangria." So TGI Friday's was the destination and a Sangria was the drink of choice to drown my sorrow. After that he and I went a bought a Christmas tree. Lauryn (my oldest) helped me put it up.

So today, I stayed busy and tried my damndest not to even think about King. Tried even harder to convince myself that the dogs across the street aren't aware of my sin because I swear they were howling when I returned without King.

I miss my Kingdom!

*originally posted 12/21/07