Day 24: It’s nice to meet you, Morgan.
I can feel myself getting stronger. Since mom left my strength has been exercised in a multitude of ways: emotionally, physically, spiritually, intellectually... Learned distrust led me to become hyper independent— but you can’t do it alone. In years where I thought that mentality was serving me, it is only now, as my strength is felt in my body and not merit based that my understanding has evolved. I’ve secretly held contempt for myself for succeding in my external battles but being weak in my internal one. “Spare the rod spoil the child?” I think I understand what that means and how it can manifest in adulthood. For all of my life I have considered my self someone who lacks discipline. I’ve been spanked maybe twice my by parents. Morgan gets what she wants. It’s true. At my worse I will stop at nothing to get what I want — even at the expense of myself.
Every sport I ever tried, as soon as it got too hard, I quit. In Middle School after suffering the embarrassment of being being the only girl (and only Black girl in the room) to not make the Volleyball team, as dramatic as it sounds, I never picked up a volleyball again. I have been powerless to my appetites of love and food. In a recent conversation with my girls I revealed that since I first started falling in love at age 15, I have said I was going to marry at least 4 different men. And was as serious about the latter as I was the former. And in those relationships, even though I could sense they were not who God wanted me to be with, I chose to keep eating expired food — until it made me sick. With literal food the battle has been the same. Those who were closest to my mother when she was pregnant with me revealed that she formed her own self-soothing relationship with the drive-thru. I was also a drive-thru kid growing up. My inherited relationship to convenience food, meat and soda has only now in recent years been restructured. But even getting to that point took the loss of my mother (who died of Breast Cancer. I truly believe all cancer can be linked to diet) and the rapid weight gain of myself after her passing. When I think back to the time after she passed I was just self-medicating. Giving myself what I wanted at the expense of my health. The entire summer of 2017 getting a large Coke from Mcdonald’s was a routine. By the holiday time I weighed my heaviest at 255llbs. There is no shame in thickness, I am a thick Black women bred of other thick Black women but this tiny and 5’2 frame was not meant to carry so much weight.
I have always hated my lack of control. It doesn’t look like most would picture at the sound of those words but you know when you’re not doing right by yourself. I will keep at something trying to make it work out until I get sick. Even as symptoms appear, red flags are faved and when my heart of heart of hearts says no, I have still pressed to give myself what I wanted. If that weren’t the case then there would be no way that I willing spent 5 years of my life in an (dare I say) entanglement with my ex. Privately, my unmoderated relationship to weed has led me to be high more days than have been sober in recent years. It is just now in this moment where I have been isolated and forced to get a good look in the mirror that I can clearly see my pattern of behavior. My adjustment period after moving to Milwaukee was a trial by fire. I was just generally unwell. Struggling to adapt emotionally I took to self-medicating. My self-destructive cocktail: chain smoking, trauma porn binging, habitual and mediocre auto-eroticism, bread/carbs/sugar fat/salt/meat. Even though I was giving my body what I wanted to be able to get through I was suffering and to my recent discovery all at my own hand and by my own will.
The first Journal of this journey was titled, “Stepping into Newness”. There was a shift in me right before the New Year. At the last minute I decided to lay it all down before the Lord and SURRENDERED. I could feel myself lost and trapped on the inside. I knew I was squandering this rare opportunity to make Salary pay and have more time off then on. I was high so consistently that it was all beginning to feel like a fever dream. My body suffered greatly. To this day I still sleep on an air mattress. At times it has been unforgiving toward my accident recovering body — but maybe it wouldn’t if you actually did your part by stretching and exercise? I was riding by bike almost daily but when the cold sets in, I stay in. My biggest gripe with myself is that I always know whats the better option for me, what would work to serve me, and I will still do what I want. Being an emotionally driven person in my experience has only made life harder where it was already hard. But the words that kept repeating in my head as I stepped into this year was “Break the cycle today or it will continue tomorrow.” I had to. And y’all, I did.
Twenty-four days into the year and I feel strong. The weakness of fractured willpower is incomparable. Even this Journal is a victory for me. The only things I have be consistent with in my life was pursuit of a man or pursuit of my education. And even with my schooling I didn’t go into wanting to “invest in myself”, there was no other option. My dad told me as a young girl that “he wouldn’t pay for my wedding if I didn’t get a degree.” {There are so many problematic things wrong with that statement, you should sit with it for a moment.} Everything I’ve ever done has been in pursuit of something else but never just for me.
Within these 24 days I have: Successfully gained the power to moderate my smoking habits and have significantly reduced them thus giving space for more productivity. I used to have a La Croix and a piece of deli turkey for breakfast (if anything at all). Now my breakfast is Steel Cut Oats and Green Tea. I have been doing what I know is right. Not compromising for now making promises for later. Doing the best thing for me and for my future self. Recognizing my short comings and loving myself enough to not do what I want but be who I want. I am falling in love with myself and for the first time. Kissing my shoulder because I can and it’s mine to kiss. I love this human suit I’m renting and I want to take care of it.
Doing whats right for you is the next level high.
Day 23: And on the 23rd day.. Her priorities were set up differently.
This has been a profound personal journey for me. I have finally found a platform that I am completely comfortable on— my own. I have nothing but gratitude for myself for finding space for myself but even more so to all of you who have continued to tune in. Appreciate is an understatement. You are more than a number on the graph to me. I pray your week be blessed. I return to In-person learning tomorrow and I am teaching nearly 60 kids this semester. My brain capacity must be designated to the preparation of being all that I can for my students and myself tonight. Meet me back here tomorrow?
Peace,
-M
Day 22: Sleepover pt.1
I had an all girls slumber party last night. I just really wanted to hang out with myself. Me, myself and I lit one, made a pot of greens (delicious by the way), had sugar free chocolate pudding for dessert paired with screenings of the most interest peaking documentaries HBO Max had to offer. Oh how I treasure a good documentary— they are truly a safe space for me. Theres nothing like getting lost in the happenings of the real world.
The first in the queue was, “Four Hours at the Capitol” (Dir. Jamie Roberts) covering the experiences had Jan 6th during the Insurrection. Thanks to the modern age, everyone has the ability to produce high quality documents via their phones, bringing to the forefront an insiders perspective. I didn’t know what to expect from getting a first hand view from within a T. rally. Of course I wasn’t shocked; I was appalled. Now I typically do not use my energy to discuss Donny and his Minions, they get enough coverage. However, I just have to say that the behavior that was brought out of those grown women and men (who truly thought they were justified in their cause) was was fostered through the formation of a spiritual strong hold to a dark hearted individual. What their own hearts carried prior to, I can’t speak to. D.T. undoubtedly orchestrated the entire thing, that goes without saying. What a spectacle, watching as white people weld sheer AUDACITY. It was truly one of the most disgusting displays I have ever had the displeasure of watching. Although I was wildly entertained. I truly felt empathy for the individuals who defended the Capitol and for those who were scared for their very lives on the inside. As for the building itself, I personally was never groomed to feel any sense of pride or connection deeper than happenstance to American History and while I understand the “sacredness” of the Capitol… well, eh.. thats is all this platform has to say about that.
Secondly (and more importantly) was “Stolen Daughters: Kidnapped by Boko Haram” (Dir. Gemma Atwal). “In 2014, 276 Nigerian school girls were kidnapped from a school in Chibok, Nigeria, and hidden in the vast Sambisa Forest for three years by Boko Haram, a violent Islamic insurgent movement. A year ago, 82 of those girls were released. Stolen Daughters: Kidnapped by Boko Haram tells the story of their time in captivity and follows their lives over the past year.” You recall #Bringbackourgirls? Again, more pain, destruction and TRAUMA brought about by men who feel that their cause is justified. And even more unfortunate— by God. All the vile profanities that one would anticipate happening to a victim of kidnapping took place, but also worse. I don’t want to focus on their experience inside, they can recount the experiences better than I can. I am grateful to the Lord they made it out and my heart hurts for those who did not. However more upsetting was how they were forced to deal with their trauma after. At a press conference with the girls, a politician was speaking on their behalf talking about how happy and excited they were. A camera view of the women in their seats told a completely different story. The women were also given explicit instruction to not talk about their experiences, lest they make the country look weak —Excuse me, what? And they did not. Only in private exchanges with the documentary crew. I think about how people of color and our impeccable strength but also our profound ability to mask our pain. There was a language barrier and I relied on subtitles but I was making my greens so I fixed my focus on body language and intonation. A distressing story was not made evident unless they had reached a point of being overwhelmed and could do nothing but cry. Which was always met immediately with some antidote as to why they should be happy they got out. Even the poor woman who lost her leg to a military bomb was not given the space to emote her experience. Teflon. The Nigerian Government had provide little resources to aid in the mental recovery of majority of the survivors of Boko Haram attacks. Thankfully, independent mental health counselors have taken it upon themselves to provide as much therapy as they can. The girls themselves however were given a trip to an amusement park, a cell phone and a full ride to American University Nigeria. Where we are today with the abduction 276 Abducted, 57 Escaped, 107 Released, 112 Still Missing. I am imagining myself in their position, the world has moved on and they are still stuck. It’s not right.
I could say more but I encourage you to go watch it for yourself.
I started writing the last paragraph and I deleted it. I was going to tell you about the final screening , “15 minutes of Shame” (Prod. Monica Lewinsky & Max Joseph) that deals with Cancel Culture (an issue for sure) but I don’t want to steal attention away from our 112 still missing sisters. We’ll talk about Americas most rampant disease that later. Go join the movement. #Bringbackourgirls may not be trending anymore but fuck a trend, this shit is real.
Join the movement: https://bringbackourgirls.ng/
Day 21: Peppermint & Pipe Tobacco
The Brain; A networking of complexities. I have always found it fascinating (and cruel) how Humans are not born knowing everything about their internal functioning. It sounds crazy to me that we are born not knowing who (or what for that matter) we are. But all it does it support the theory of the existence of the Divine Architect. You are born without any say what so ever as to when, where or to whom and you have to learn who you are as you navigate the game. It’s almost like life is nothing but 7 billion different movies that God can watch all at once, directing each scene as He sees fit. But what a wonder to share brain anatomy yet each one carries the marks of our individuality. The ability to be an individual all the way from the choice of your clothes to your brain wiring is a gift (no matter how you were born). How can we just be our bodies if we have ability to disagree with one another. I feed her something —she doesn’t like it—I feel sick. We go through something traumatic—I try to make her let it go—she embeds it so deep in my subconscious that I involuntarily alter my personality. However one of our more harmonious experiences together is how she allows me to be transported through time by just a whiff of something from so long ago.
“The Parent Trap” taught me to value my ability to take olfactory photographs and reels. Just today I was triggered twice. As soon as I awoke I was in the basement of my old church. Something in my room brought about the slightest aroma of Sister Ometress’s fried chicken. I didn’t cook any the night before and I hadn’t even fully come to myself for the day. Somehow some of those same particles found themselves in my Milwaukee bedroom, 300 miles away with years in between. But not even just the setting, a familiar peace and comfort. Fried chicken after church; one of my favorites. A cultural treasure.
I recall a time I was stopped (quite literally) in my tracks. I was running food to tables at Lady of the House (RIP—we lost a real one —#fuckcovid) and I was trying to get back to Expo when there were two ladies having dinner at table 31. Over the smell of all the food in the air, it only took one whiff — Mom? And just like that it’s 2003. Life is the best it’s ever been, domestic bliss is restored, my parents are married and my mom has ben resurrected. I knew what she had on but I had to ask her. “Donna Karan Be Delicious”.. Thought so.
Or, smelling my first love on another man. This definitely did not work in my favor. I took it as a “sign” that I should date the nigga. (Coincidentally they also had the same name) Somehow without even thinking about it fully, I found a correlation between the unrelated and dove in with hope that that same sweetness would be rendered back into my life (SILLY). Or, how I could never use Cocoa-Mango shea butter because it was Deja’s signature scent in our early 20s. I didn’t realize just how engraving and painful those years were until sticking my nose in the jar. Suddenly a movie short of toxic/abusive relationships with men and just early 20s fuck-shit in general all came rushing back in a fraction of a second.
Unlike, Halle Parker, I don’t seek after smells with the intention to recognize it later but the potential in the moment is recognized. I take samples of the notes and capture the associated feeling and seal them in a jar, and place them on the self. It’s a treat when a smell memory resurfaces. One of those involuntary marvels about us that can bring about great comfort and distress, euphoria and trauma. But the most fascinating thing to me is the programming of it all. Everything I am, organically coded in biological 1s and 0s. And when I depart, it goes too. I wonder about which parts remain immortal with me and which parts dies. What do I get to take with me when I go and what simply gets—“shut off”.
There is so much joy to be found in the little things. When it hits: smile from you to you because you just had to be there. A hug from Granny. Discovering pancakes for the first time. Fire cracker smoke. The exhaust from a school bus. Cinnamon sugar donuts at the cider mill and the air is just the right amount of cold.
These are the moment makers. Take them in, cherish them so and one day you’ll look up and they’ll be knocking at your door.
What are some of your favorite smells and what was the moment that made it?
Day 20: Afraid
I have hosted a myriad of phobias. Some irrational, some planted, some sought-after. They have never served me, only hindered and manipulated my motion. I think I’m ready to let them go. Here is a list of every Fear I’ve ever had from as long ago as I can remember until now:
Professor Ratigan — Cartoon antagonist from, “The Great Mouse Detective”
The Devil
Going to Hell — I was raised third generation Pentecostal. I remember standing in the pew as a child while alter call was going. I can hear the pastor now, “If the clouds were to open up right now…”, and me, just a child conflicted, confused and anxiety riddled trying to recount my sins.
My mommy never coming home — My first room was in what I called the house tower. I had a bay window seat that allowed me to have a watch tower perspective of the street from my bed. I would lay and stare out the window for hours waiting for car light to come around the corner. Praying to hear the garage go up.
Being molested by uncles — I started watching Law & Order SVU as a child in elementary. Yes uncles are creepy but mine are not (mostly).
Feet — My older cool cousin, Mook, hated them. From the day I heard him express his utmost disgust I adopted the same. Even for my own. I even refused to wear sandals all the way through Middle School into High School
Snakes— The most interesting thing is I find them incredibly fascinating .But only from the safe distance provided from watching them on TV
The dark — This one is loaded. No I don’t have to have light on constantly, but my eyes have always played tricks on me.
Thinking I accidentally molested my cousin — As a small child (around 7) when my cousin, Kylen, was born I watched my auntie breast feed him. It was the first time I’d seen it up close without a covering. She then put him in my arms and walked away. Thinking it was what I was supposed to do I “pulled out” my extraordinarily flat chest and tried to do the same. I don’t even think the kids mouth touched me (there was nothing to latch on to). But immediately I felt as if I did something wrong and lived with the fear of being a child molester for years.
Being Gay — Seeing Girls Gone Wild as a child made me feel things I’d never felt before. I began a fixation with breasts on the television. This made me feel shame and confusion.
The Boogeyman — Disney’s, “Don’t Look Under the Bed” fucked me up
Under my bed — See number 11.
Parent-Teacher Conference — Oh the dread of PTC. I carried so many insecurities about my brain in elementary. School taught me how to compare myself. I wasn’t the fastest reader or writer and I wasn’t the smartest either.
Disappointing my father — His expectations were clear and not all at the same time.
Impregnating myself — The first time I did the mirror examination I poked myself (I use the word “poke” literally) and feared for days that I had gotten myself pregnant.
Being bullied for just being myself — Middle school was so hard for me. (To the point where it will likely get its own day) I wanted to be popular.. thus the problem.
Being original —Adolescent me feared the attention.
Public humiliation — of any kind.
Every demon from the “Insidious” universe — All of em.
The nun from the “Conjuring” — It was the green eyes for me.
Paranoia of being constantly surrounded spirits and demons— Maybe its all the horror I binged through the years. Maybe it’s the shift in energy I can feel. Maybe there are actually spirits everywhere.
A hand reaching from out my slightly ajar closet door — Perhaps its all the Horror movies, huh?
Contracting any STD — I mean, don’t we all
Someone being mad at me — To this day it is one of the worst feelings I’ve felt. I’ve avoided it for years now. For me its unbearable.
My brother being raped — I had an awful dream one time that never left me.
Sharks — I find them fascinating. I am an avid “Shark Week” fan but I don’t do oceans.. you can never be too careful
Deep water at night — I mean am I right?
Heights — Oddly enough I get a tingling feeling in my nether region when given the perspective of a fall-able height (airplanes not included).
That mommy was actually going to die when she got sick.
My brother being killed — I had an awful dream one time that never left me. I can’t even go into it right now.
The day my Granny dies — I prepare myself daily. I can’t be blind sided again like I was with my mom.
My teeth falling out — Irrotational? Maybe
Not being found attractive
Being Jilted (being broken up with suddenly) — It has certainly happened before
Going to Hell — I was taught how to judge myself and had to learn love myself
Violent rape
Kidnap and Sex Trafficking
Something behind me in the mirror when I close the medicine cabinet — Again.. maybe it’s all the Horror Movies?
My closet — See above
Going to Hell — Strongest of them all (No longer applicable)
Contracting HIV
Home invasion — Especially living alone
Living up to my potential
Persecution for following Jesus — It is what it is. He did give a pre-warning
Letting a man see my body and he find me disgusting
Never being able to have children
My future husband leaving me for being barren
Offending or hurting someone
Not being as great as I know I am
Me and my Husband ending up like my parents
Most of these fears I haven’t had a connection to in some time, but they were still present within me. Honestly, seeing it all laid out before me, I feel so much lighter.
What fears are you holding on to?
Day 19: Loneliness
My relocation has taught me so much about myself. In isolation you get so far removed from the self that you know and meet someone completely different when it’s just you and the reflection. Some things you can’t deny are just you. In an effort to cope I have tried to adapt and in ways I have but I am a Village Kid— I need community.
I let myself cry about it today. Like really cry about it— hyperventilation and all. Gripping my pregnancy pillow for dear life. I’ve been interrogating myself with inquiry; Is there something wrong with being with just me? I ask myself.. No. there isn’t. I am crazy about myself, and enjoy spending time alone with my thoughts, but this connection has been recycled over and over again trying to make the days seem not so long. Theres only so many positive things you can feel in isolation (in my experience).
During quarantine it was just me and my cousin Simone. We are double related— meaning both of our parents married siblings. Our relationship is like that of fraternal twins. Within our circumstantial domestic-partnership I found that if I marry the right man I would thrive. I was designed for it. Theres something about having someone there to reflect off of, cook with, cry with, fight with, achieve with. I’ve been on my own for going on 6 years that time has been riddled with emotional ups and downs but there was always someone there to fill in the gap. My time alone has brought me to a place where I am practically forced to be completely dependent on God — lest I go insane. Being completely dependent is not a bad thing I feel, but it isn’t the easiest. I am someone who needs touch and Jesus I love you but…. I didn’t know until there was no one to touch or to be touched by. I need something to love on. Is that odd? Because it’s so natural to me, it just doesn’t seem right keeping all this love to myself. In the past I have struggled at my own hand by having loose boundaries with those I’ve kept close. Now the scale has tipped and theres no one to take from me. I wonder which is worse.
I need community. And I’m struggling to find it here, although I will say I haven’t done much leg work. I am experiencing a new kind of vulnerability — safety. Not to mention this foreign land (to me) is even more so because its inhabitants hold such a value to (and I am not kidding): beer, cheese, sausage, The Brewers, The Bucks and The Packers. It’s Wisconsin. I know theres a little tribe out here for me somewhere, I just haven’t found it yet. In regards to my safety, I am on foot, bike or bus. Milwaukee is such a hub for human trafficking that there are PSAs that play over the bus intercom’s in an effort to try to bring it to an end. But I know God didn’t bring me out here for that shit. Still.. Don’t be sorry hoe— BE CAREFUL.
All in all I am grateful. Beyond grateful, I am honored to have my territory expanded with the perfect (for me) apartment on the nice side of town. He really showed up and showed out for me. Even the opportunity itself was a blessing shrouded in favor. So why can’t I just keep that fact circulating and dismiss all of my sadness?
We are, who we are. We need what we need. And there is no shame in it.
Day 18: Gems
My mother wasn’t the first loss of child my Granny suffered. My uncle, Marvin McQuitty Jr., was the first to give her her title of, Vilomah. In honesty and truth I did not know him and wasn’t given the time to. He departed from us when I was in High School and long before that his calling required him to relocate him and his family to Houston. As a man of honor and humility, we knew he was famous but not just how famous he was. My uncle was a legendary drummer in the Gospel Music Industry. But the man had RANGE. He played with Fred Hammond, Israel & New Breed, Kirk Franklin and Mary Mary but also worked with Artists like Stevie Wonder, Jessica Simpson and Destiny's Child. At his memorial service an even more extensive list of collaboratives were named, we were all shocked. I couldn’t wrap my head around why he practically hid his fame from the world. But now as an adult I get it. He didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him. It was all for HIM.
My adjustment period after my relocation was ruff. Lonely, grieved, uninspired, purely existing. The Holidays were particularly unsettling with Covid breaking my families longest standing tradition, “Christmas Eve with Granny”. I had gotten to a point where I was sick of the music in my library and uninterested in going on a hunt for more. I was at my Auntie Desiree’s house, quarantined, and this melody from deep within my archives starts to play for me. And it was as if my heart called out to the song. “Let me praise you now”. My uncle recorded that song with Fred hammond and Radical for Christ, for the “Purpose by Design” album back in 2000. I hadn’t heard it in so long it was like a memory of a memory. But as soon as I played it, I was transported. I was 4 again, riding in the back seat on the way to church. I can see my mom in the passenger seat, wearing white, my dad in the drivers seat in front of me. Sunday morning perfume and cologne lingering. But it’s mixed with the smell of the industrial park below the elevated part of I-75 as you exit Detroit and enter Ecorse. It was just what I needed and brought about the most refreshing outpour. Not just the sweetness of the nostalgia but the song itself was what I needed.
An Excerpt:
For His counsel is sure
His joy will help us to endure
Each and every trial and pain
So before fear takes its part
Let's hide the Word deep in our heart
And if ever we feel dismayed just remind yourself - (Let me praise You now)
Lord we praise your name because you are who you are- (Let me praise You now)
We lift your name above the heavens high- (Let me praise You now)
Lord we glorify you and we know this by far
There's no way we could hide from your all- seeing eye
Drums are the heartbeat of a song. If you take them away, the song dies a little. Listening in a state of praise —you can feel the love my uncle had for his God. I listen closely to decipher the messages between them. I think about their conversations being had today and ponder how his music sounds now that proximity isn’t a factor.
Although was it ever really?...
The entire album has been on repeat for me since the start of the year. It’s acted as a healing balm for me. I think about my cousins, Marielle and Simone, his daughters. How they relate to the music. I wonder if the listening experience is nostalgic, cathartic, grief inducing or healing — or does it hang somewhere in the balance. I saw that Mari was a “friend who listened” on apple music. It made me smile. When I dance to it, I dance for where God has brought me in my life but also for what my uncle was brought through. His illness was complicated beyond medical understand. He and my mother both suffered greatly —so I rejoice. No more pain for them. No more.
Theres such a gratefulness in the rhythm, he must have been thanking God for his girls as he played. And although he could not have foretold the time of his passing, truly we were all left with an inheritance of treasures.
Kiss my mommy for me, Unc.
Day 17: One Year Archives - “Child of the Diaspora”
I’m a Child of the Diaspora
I dream of long Ceruleans rivers, Sienna landscape, Forest Green pastures and canopies
I dream of kinship and ritual
I long for a place to call my own
but without my captor
(I do not exist.)
A product of abduction!
displacement! enslavement!
wealth!
power!
and greed!
But In The Beginning there was love
Love gathered around a fire
Love in the tongue that told stories
Love stitched into the fabric that covered me (only) from the waist down because at home
I could be free.
LOVE in the spoken sound and in the dancing hips and feet on hallowed ground
I long for a time when I didn’t have to perform
The performance is my life
A code switch into a minstrel show.
“Three-bones-and-six-Tambones!”
Like livestock I branded myself behind the ear so they know who I belong to
Mother Cowrie! Guide me back to the waters of my people and the oceans from which I came
Wash away my costume
Let the salt — baptize my being
Submerse me in the waters
and take me down to my people who saw the
death of their freedom
in the land ahead of them
and freedom in the abyss before them
I met a Nigerian family.
Who saw kinship in me and gave me a new name:
“Ogne Oke”
Gods’ Gift
I FOUND MY HOME
(Notification from Ancestry): “You’re DNA results have been updated!”
...
Day 16: Trust
We know suffering. All of us have undergone Earth-shattering, reality-altering, mind-bending occurrences and they have shaped us so. But suffering isn’t always the terrible or painful. Sometimes suffering lies in not having an answer—But, then again, is it the absence of the knowledge or just fear of acceptance?
What would happen if we just let go of our grip on always needing to know the answer or what to do next? The more I think about it what a silly thing to even strive for—control. Why would I want it? Yearning for a burden that I am powerless to, for what? What will be, will be. What is for me, is for me. What is mine, is mine. What isn’t, wasn’t meant to be. I cannot acknowledge the existence of myself without first acknowledging my own reflection in the night sky. A window to the Heavens and looking glass to my future. I know how it ends so why try to make it something it was never going to be —we are all just star dust.
I relinquish control. I don’t want it. I don’t want power. I am part flesh, flesh can always be corrupted. My deepest desire is to stay pure of heart. I want empowerment. I don’t want control of the situation, thats too much. I want the situation to be controlled. We were designed to submit. That is indisputable. No matter what we choose, it will be to something. We (humans) will make a God out of anything (have made a God out of anything). And to the Gods we make we give power and control. But from where power is given, it can also be taken. If it is controlling you, take the power back from it. But first you must acknowledge that it was from within you that that power was given— we are gods (with emphasis on the lil g) after all.
Silly Man, designed in the reflection of Divinity and too blinded to see what that even means (of course myself included). We have yet to unlock all of the secrets of the Great Mystery but where is there space for answer if not first an acceptance that “the mystery” is not a mystery at all. Mystery is only a a single perspective and just a partial picture. Just because I do not know the answer or understand the problem, that does not negate the fact that God (Him-Her-Themselves) does not exist in that same space in my life and yet I have no problem accepting that existence. The evidence of things unseen is all around. I know what I know about my God but there is so much that I may never (not on this plane at least). And I understand that my understanding is malleable and I should lean not onto it.
So in the end, I don’t know shit and I don’t need to know. I only need to trust.
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.
Day 15: ? ;Type Love.
Will you marry me? ;type love
Have and hold me? ;type love
Never let go of me? ;type love
Never try to control me? ;type love
Never stop trying to know me? ;type love
Will you kiss me? ;type love
No. I mean really kiss me? ;type love
Walk to the other room and I’m already missed? ;type love
Will you touch me? Take me? Do whatever you want as long as you don’t break me? ;type love
Never be fake with me? ;type love
Always pray for me? ;type love
Look me in my eyes and promise you’ll always stay with me? ;type love
And if you ever let your eyes wander and roam—
Do you promise the sight of me will always be home? ;type love
Will you trust me? ;type love
Read me? ;type love
Do the work to know what it takes to please me? ;type love
Will you fight for me? ;type love
Ride for me? ;type love
Bonnie and Clyde the shit and die for me? ;type love
Will you create with me? ;type love
Build with me? ;type love
Change our world for the better and reproduce with me? ;type love
Will you? ;type love
Are we doing this? ;type love
Like for real? ;type love
Is it you? ;type love
Are you him? ;type love
For years hidden under the label, “friend”? ;type love
Could it be? ;type love
You’ve always seen me? ;type love
Like You see Me? ;type love
You see me? ;type love
All that I am? ;type love
And all that I’ll be? ;type love
Bet.
Let’s go get some barbecue and get busy.
;Type love.