Month: September 2021

Musing. . .

When a wide-eyed woman cuts off her breasts; discarding the source of nourishment for her womb’s creation as sacrifice for her own libidoty- what does this signal to the world?

Mino, Aje, Amazonia, Califa, Iyaami.

Deep into the dark forest web of interlocking branches erecting on her path, she enters- seeing from the courage of her heart; rememoring and entangleling with the mysteries of her own womanhood; ripping apart the veneer of the Anima painted on by society to liberate her wild-woman soul from the concretized prison of her expected role and  stepping out of tired cloth narratives written by expectations- not her truth.

She thrust herself against the jagged edges of the wandering tree branches, grinding down the calluses of old wounds so new skin can grow.

When the raven harkens she . . . stops . . . still . . .  in . . .  the . . .  silence . . .  of . . .  the  forest.

A humming emerges within and she sees the reflection of the inner glow arising inside of her from the wellspring of her being.

In the darkness, naked, breastless, scrubbed clean, she sees herself as a mature, graying, radiant woman for the first time.

Dry river beds are more potent than flowing rivers for one has to pause and notice the flourishing fauna surrounding them to know water loves to hide when unappreciated.

Dry river beds call upon an unimaginable faith to see through the unseen to see the nourishment in the sediment of the river’s floor and power up the imagination to see abundant currents flowing once again.

Dry river beds make you face the possibility of death without life; an Esu juncture of what story will you spin by the sensing you take in.

If I only had 24 hours to live I would stretch those hours into 72 and travel to Morocco to dance to house music in Fez, shop in the Marrakech marketplace, and sleep like a Bedouin on the Sahara floor; I would charter a boat with friends and take sage to the Santa Cruz islands; I would learn to grow the powerful and healing yet finicky lavender plant; I would find my soul mate and do tantric yoga until ecstasy; and then I would take the sweetest hot-honey bath and put on the finest golden threaded gown that stuck to my honey-wet body and lay down on a sunflower bed surrounded by jokes and laughter and cussing by love ones until I fell asleep to rest before coming back again.

See dry river beds that create the circulatory system of California cause all here to dream, to reimagine, to endure the most hostile of climates with the sweetness of the Golden poppy and sting of the honey bee.

Full Moon Musing in Osun’s lap who pets me with unconditional love and hope.

Originally posted on author’s Instagram account on September 20, 2021