Remembering Mickie, Entry Num. 1: She

She bid us farewell some Sunday’s ago and life has been surreal ever since
Sunday’s have a stigma now that sting me upon every awake
She lives in memories and dreams
and it seems unfair that even there
she is too distant,
far too removed from my touch or my teeth—
I can’t feel her or taste her with any words…so I bite
She is becoming a collection of vagaries
my mind can’t seem to park on one main thing concerning her—
her shaved head, freckled face or turquoise finger nails
She is all smiles in my intentional reveries
but there are moments when my mind’s eye recalls
her decadence and misery
It was hurtful to watch her slip slow into a solemn slumber
But peace was upon her when I last saw her body
at rest
empty of her personality,
void of her struggle,
expired from her pain,
a mere husk of stolen vitality
It was cancer that snatched her from me,
from sunrises at arm’s reach, from downtowns and beaches,
from sisters’ night out and patient privileges
from human love and familiy
It was cancer that took her victory
Leaving us with only her name on our lips
convincing ourselves if we pretend long enough
the missing of her will disintegrate into our fabrics
but never seep through our skin
when the wretched truth is
we are concaved
searching for meaning in our own living
meaning to live in our mourning
looking for joy to remove our weeping
when remembering stops hurting
and Sunday morning’s are just another day to pray

erm…It is Well
#RememberingMickie

Returning to Me

I come and go with my musings and moments of inspiration. I casually wander around in both the mundane and versatile details of the life I breath; along dingy city streets or any countryside densly popoulated with colorful greens and trees. The sight of nomads backpacking, mom-toting babies on their daily walk among quaint homes, bucolic churches or plush green feilds converging into a blue sky—they always pull me.

When it comes to my fine art, I am equally committed and inconsistent on any given day. I am bound to urgent napkin notes and envelope poetry…though less scatter brained, as I can now thought broadcast into the memo of a smart phone. Except it’s been too many days since I have stilled myself in a space and moment to capture and memorialize any part of this life. It’s not easy being me.

I carry this brain and this heart and these hands and on more than once or twice a day, these feelers and seers nudge me to take note of, hold remembrance too, take pause and immortalize the givings and misgivings of the day. And these past few weeks, I’ve had plenty. I continue to walk in lessons and impending victories. At times I am self aware enough to dialogue through the doubts and the discoveries.

But I know one thing for sure, no matter how busy or self occupied, the letters of the alphabet are always calling me. They implore me to shuffle them into mixed media and prose imagery. It is the strongest desire to run free in the expanse of vocabulary that perpetually haunts me. I feel I will implode if I do not give in to the fulfilling of the release. I have to give my words away. They do not belong to me. Time and time again, with the simplest expression, a caption, a thought given away via any frequency…this is confirmed for me. There is someone always in the point of need and I meet them with a soliloquy.

Which leads me always to one sound conviction: He gives me words to fill-full His thin-skinned vessels and all the beautiful, bruised and beloved ones. I am among the humans He uses to scribe messages of light and love and beauty. Of hope and inspiration, and fragility. He funnels and filters and flows through me. What a heavy blessing to bear; truly a brilliant burden, to blend faith with sentiment to bind beings and their belongings with brave words in the brevity of any moment. And I wouldn’t pass it over ever. I know, I am called to lay all the breathtaking, beauty and benevolence down. I am called to write.

erm…It is Well

Be, Do, Have

Be well in your going and knowing
Be thrilled, don’t wonder:
All things are possible!
It will all work out for your greater good--
Dwell in that fascinating freedom
and in it be flexible
with your heart, your hands, your thoughts, your will
Rest assure in the courage you have inside
It is fortified by a faith from beyond the plentiful clouds
Flow in the steady stream of abundance...
Abundance of clarity, abundance of focus,
abundance of creativity, beauty, and of glee
Remember Beloved, monitor your fears and your doubts
You have no idea what you are made of, made for, made to do
But know, along with a few miracles here and there
Your life will make sure you know it
Be well in your becoming

—a few words He gave to me

erm…It is Well

My Issue with Blood

We will ask God
She said
We will seek His face on your behalf
That He would extend his generous grace upon the flesh of you
That He would make all the skin and bones that would propel you
Yet maintaining your humble spirit
Healed and whole

We will ask God
She said
We will appeal to His heart
to make a blessing of your infirmity
to touch you there ever so softly
to heal the feeling of your anxiety
to tuck comfort in your ability to choose trust
Swallow your mustard seed Beloved,
You are always well

We will ask God
She said
To remind me...
As if all that we bring and all that we bear
Did not come from His yes and His Amen
But it is a blessing too when He does not agree
Because we know He who ordains our expected end
will carry us through it
And it is perfect
Clearer than our eye can see
Louder than our ear can here
More magnificent than our heart can contain

We will ask God
She said
He already heard 

This poem was inspired by a darling, faith-full believer, who upon my (unconfirmed) news of having fibroids, responded with: We will ask God. And for whatever reason, her resolute answer inspired me to poetry. 

WARNING! Some real adult/womanhood content follows.
Anyone who reads me knows, I like to find things interesting. And I find it rather interesting that (as women) our issues flow from and through our bodies by blood shed. That our dark wombs can and will create substance of our issues and purge them out from us as blood. Interesting, that from our private spaces, unknown and unseen; from our vaginas, our infirmaties or impurities flow free.

Having experienced the heaviest and most uncomfortable menstruation of my entire life, I have never been more clear on the value, purpose, impact, and meaning of my vagina! Yup, that's what I said. To think that my issues--flow from my body--through my coochie! This one thought really encourgaes me to further scrutinize who and their issues I will allow to enter into my sacred, self correcting body. 

WORTH MENTIONING! This past month has given me an entirely new perspective on an unnamed woman in the Bible, referenced always as "the woman with the issue of blood".  While I did not suffer the stigma of being "ceremonially unclean", I certainly felt a hint of what the weight of her socail isolation could have felt like. And while I have not suffered this condition for years, my two to three weeks was more than I wanted to bear. 

It is not a good feeling to have zero control over what and how your body changes/reacts through natural causes. And it could be a stuggle adapting to a new normal. But I will not let it be. I took my time to decide that surgery is the best option for me. I will take my time to recover. And I will continue to appreciate that as I go through ups and downs, along the way, I can still be inspired to write. 

erm... It is Well

The Women Before Me and Our Demons

Saint or sinner
Saints or sinners
Pick your poison
Offer a prayer
How many of them
went to Heaven for me...

I think I thought to think...that I only, was the one adulteress in the lineage of my feminality, only to discover a distinct pathology of self-righteous infidelity. 
I sat to think and thought that only I, had committed the heaviest of sins and deviated from a heritage of holy sanctuary, to give away a sacred body to another mortal whom did not belong to me. Only to discover over hard drinks and sweet tea, that the wiles of me were innate, a passive transgression from the women who bled heavy long before me. 

Not that I want to give away the secrets buried with the dead or the secrets under the bed of the alive, but these demons were at the bedside of my creation, breathing heavy for me, long before I closed eyes, to form lips for a first kiss. But I would be remiss if I did not mention, I have a notice for every demon that would come to demean us, me. 

Notice to proceed--away from every corridor around my feet, every breath of air near to me. Flee! From my time. From the corners of my womb's memory and the daughter who came from within me. An eviction notice I give, to that which comes to perpetuate a promiscuous misery. To stir the extravagance of messy sheets and fantasies later draped in melancholy, for love is never birthed from unrequited affinity. 

All that to say, it is true, we repeat histories and destinies; nothing is new under the sun or the soft fall of rain. The curses are not far behind the generations to come; we owe the liberty and beauty of transparency to every daughter coming into her self-reality. The women before me, how many of them went to heaven for me? Them, seated up there in the right hand, interceding for me. Love is ahead. 

erm...It is Well

A Few Lessons 2017 Gave to Me

Seven being the number of completion and eight being the number of new beginnings. It seems apropos. Happy New Beginnings. But first to celebrate the things completed. 

Last year taught me that I can be and I will be exactly what I say about me. No really. I had a few goals here and there, set a few intentions--and I saw them manifest. I met them. I lived in them. I continue to learn this lesson: I will have what I say. I like this lesson. Be mindful and intentional with the words you let our of your mouth. They become your shelter or your storm. 

Last year showed me, we, as women, are still hiding. Still little white lying about things that really matter to us for fear of looking "some type of way." What's wrong with looking some type of way? A different way. A strange way. An uncommon way. An artistic way. A desperate way, a vulnerable way, a confused way, a still figuring-it-out way. What is wrong with telling the truth and looking your way--whatever it is at the moment. Nothing. Because if you don't like the way you are being or looking, you can put away those childish ways. You can put away those selfish ways. You can put away those unattractive ways and be a God-inspired way. You can. Be as you are, in your truth, remembering there is a super to balance your natural.  Always!

Last year challenged me to be more self-aware and grow more emotionally intelligent. We are living, moving and having our being with other beings. And those other complicated beings, at any moment on any day, can be experiencing the highest point or lowest point of their being in the midst of us. Our beloveds, coworkers, friends, mutual strangers, estranged family members...can be walking around with a magnitude of problems, nervous energy, worries, ailments and anxieties. If we are not paying attention, we are missing opportunities to tap into our sensitivity. We are missing the moments when it is necessary to touch someone or help someone or save someone or just relate to someone. Consider you are God in the shape of a human. He expresses His deepest compassion and His most highest elation through a mere mortal such as you. How does it feel to be liken to an angel? You are an effect or an impact. 

Finally, 2017 reminded me to be encouraged. To stay encouraged in all things. We may plan, hope and mis-anticipate. We will get unhappy endings and undesirable results. We must. And we must get in trouble--sometime. How else do we come to know His present help? But remember, a long time ago, someone prayed for us to apprehend how wide, long, high and deep His love for us is. Somebody spoke over us to be filled to capacity with all the fullness of God, who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine. There is no room for discouragement when we are filled to the brim with Him. 

And these are just a few of the lessons I got from 2017. What important lesson learned will you bring along into your 2018? Share!

erm...It is Well

Love Defined

Love; the will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth. When we grow, it is because we are working at it, and we are working at it because we love ourselves. It is through love that we elevate ourselves. And it is through our love for others that we assist others to elevate themselves. 
Dr. Scott Peck

Unfortunately (or fortunately) as life would have it, I did not discover this meaning of love until the year I filed for divorce. And truth be told, I was in no shape to walk in this definition of love with the husband I had chosen for myself.

Funny thing is, it was until I filed for divorce did I become insatiably hungry to know the true meaning of love. I scoured myself with biblical texts and old words from sages and monks, eager to apprehend the thing called love. We've done such a fine job of tainting it--I wanted a clean, pure meaning of it. And the search continues to confound me, yet fill me full. 

I often wonder if and when I will walk out this meaning of love in my own life. That is not to say, I am not in love everyday with myself or my children, but it is to say, I wonder when I will live into this love with a mere mortal man who is inspired by God. Only time will tell and only God knows. Though I believe in my heart, He didn't endow me with with the power of love only to keep it. Inevitably, I will return it. 

What say you on the meaning of Love? 

erm...It is Well