Spring Forward

What do you do when life throws a “sucker punch” that knocks the wind out of you?

You smack the “living taste” out of adversity!

You recalibrate.

You refocus.

You realign.

You recharge.

You renew.

You refill.

My “default settings” tend to process difficulties as hardships, rather than growth opportunities.

“Challenges” come with discomfort, require discipline, and take lots of dedication.

I hit.

I miss.

But I never stop “swinging.”

Life isn’t foolproof; you know?

You will NEVER be able to insulate yourself from the risks of potential mistakes. 

So you might as well— dig your heels in the sand, stand in your truth, and prepare to knock “it” out the park!

My grandson defeated the odds stacked against him. Recently, He fell behind academically but bounced back like a beast in a short length of time and got three awards to prove it!

He broke through barriers.

He overcame obstacles.

He conquered like a champion.

Because of him, I feel like stepping out on blind faith.

I feel like “tossing the tables” of doubt that park in the corner blindspots.

I feel like “evicting the fear” that sneaks under the covers and tries to suffocate my dreams.

I feel like “drop kicking the devil” in the groin of false imprisonment.

I feel like “dancing on the marble countertops” of new possibilities.

In a few weeks, we will adjust our clocks to reflect the reality of Daylight Savings Time.

Why wait to let your “heart” reflect the “hands” of change?

Get your mojo back.                                            

Celebrating my grandson's accomplishments.

Take the leap.

Spring forward.

Long Suffering

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it." -Helen Keller

On my Tuesday morning drive to Raleigh, I listened to The Breakfast Club's interview with T.D. Jakes.

Jakes discussed ways communities can process the "overall grief" felt amongst the tragedy of Kobe Bryant's death. Charlamagne posed a gut wrenching question that commanded the hairs on my arms to stand at full attention. He blatantly asked Jakes, "Does the righteous ALWAYS have to suffer?"

I felt that from the hollows of my belly.

Jakes' response, "Everyone suffers!"

"Suffering" wasn't some type of exclusive hardship permissive to a population of believers that professed Lord as the savior of their lives.

Suffering didn't discriminate, regarless as to social class, status, or power.

Suffering wasn't a "one and done".

I thought about my own journey, whereas "loss" seemed to take precedence and "suffering" claimed the center point of an unshakeable apathetic trance.

My limited options failed to grant an ounce of peace. In fact, I felt a lingering generational curse of survival form a thick fog overhead.

More so, my options didn't fulfill the realities of my goals, so my freedom felt imprisoned by nerve wrecking, reprehensible negotiations.

Every "yes" came at the expense of a "no" to self.

Somehow my "life's purpose" had imposed a "death row sentence" of babysitting others' sorrows and I felt jilted from the pain of this reality.

The silent threat of "irreconcilable differences" manifested into a bridge of constant tension.

The internal turmoil chipped away pieces of my mosaic (my creative outlet) that centered me in times of chaos.

So, right now, I feel an overwhelming urge to lash out in a rebellious defense of the persistent conflict of insurmountable emotions rising against the currents of frustration, but wisdom muffles the anger with humility.

As I sit at my desk, the word, "non-toxic" (on my vision board) catches my eye.

Sometimes, in order to create an environment conducive to the space we need to grow, we have to cultivate a system of healthy boundaries that look different from past generations.

We have to execute on new levels without explanation.
We have to explore our limitations and navigate pass them.
We have to exhale the doubt and inhale the potential.

Don't concede in the valley, before you've reached the mountaintop of possibility!

Opportunities bloom out of the "long suffering" of unforeseen circumstances. It's not too late to carve out new space and shift against the winds of adversity that seek to hold you hostage to last year's survival rates. Surviving was permissible in the pit of darkness but it doesn't stand a chance against the light of the palace.

Crushed

"You can’t win in a collapsed posture of defeat.” —me

Even though I stay in the ring like Rocky (with my gloves on) when it comes to my share of undeniable social injustices, there are “human” moments where I feel “crushed” under the intense scrutiny of personal prejudices, biases, and inequalities.

My back has been against the wall for years.

Actually, I’ve been in the biggest “fight of my life…

Fighting for a fair chance.

Fighting for an equal opportunity.

Fighting for justice in an unjust world.

At times, I courageously launched out into the deep against the currents of insecurities.
Panicked.
Then, swam back to the shore of familiar grief!

“Grief” was my codependent, ride or die that rode shot gun when everyone else faded into the background of indifference.

So in a world of pretend, I’d shake off the humiliation of calamities, wipe the grit of sorrow & put my “game” face back on.

I wasn’t a punk either.

Sink or swim, I would definitely show up!

But my womb felt like it was “hemorrhaging from the pressures” of deferment, denials, and delays.

On today, my little cousin reminded me-- why it’s important to shake the dust off & keep it pushing pass:

what they said, 

what they did,

and what they believe.

I snatched the crumbs left behind from Mady’s recent life discovery trail.

She took a few steps forward.

She fell. 

She laughed & tried again.

She repeats the cycle till she’s conquered the mission like a "BOSS BABY!"

“Quitting” ain’t in her future, cause she’s determined to soar against the odds of failure.

I LOVE watching her grow, cause it stirs up a “wind of opportunity” for me to absorb a daily dose of freedom on a deeper level.

So thankful for the grace extended by God, when I feel “slighted” in a corrupt system of inhumanity that causes my feet to drift under the crushing of limitations.

When the world says, “No!”

Mady says, “Show up, anyway!”

When It Hurts to Stay

The clouds silently mourned blue showers when my feet halfheartedly hit the concrete floor.

My unconscious apathy had a mysterious way of castrating the morning sunlight.

It hurt to stay connected to the emerging rainbow’s future optimism, when the obvious pain of rejection, trampled the covenant of truth.

My “hope” went belly up, downstream, each time my sails ended up shipwrecked on a remote island.

Those failed missions left an an avalanche of sadness, without the comforts of the birds serenading me over breathtaking skies and crystal clear living waters.

Instead, my clogged drain left a swampy pit of fruit flies that draped my potential, devoured my possibilities, and drowned my passion.

My flesh burned in silence.

There wasn’t any traces of beauty dancing on the notes of these ashes.

Life had exposed my fears.

Love had promised to stay.

Loss had prevailed in the crevices of uncertainty.

                                       
Today, I peeked out the blinds to “see” if my realities had shifted into 2020.

I wanted to see if love was waiting to bloom in the empty spaces of a Unicorn heart’s.

I wanted to see if the barren trees were able to produce in the harshness of January.

I wanted to see if new horizons were realigning against the same familiar backdrop.

Sometimes, we stay “connected“ way longer than we should to old faithful ways.

Last night, I laid in familiar arms that literally took my breath away, because I know that those arms will NEVER be able to fully support the weight of my love again.

The oil spill from that undetected Solar Eclipse left stained prints on the moon of my overwhelmed emotions and a crater of desperation consumed my throat. 

Don’t drown in the celestial galaxies of “WISHING & WAITING!”

It will NEVER come, unless you push through the pain of staying!

My First Love

Whoever said grief gets “easier” with time, just flat out lied.

When I opened my eyes at dawn, I forced them back shut. Maybe extended “sleep” would prolong the inevitable mountain of evidence that proved:

the cement of grief still lingers after losing you.

the absence of your face sitting across the table for our traditional lunch date.

the way your wisdom encouraged discipline, summoned conviction, but was always received in love.

Now, all that remains after those ashes of memories is the black coals of burning tears, which feels like some sort of consolation prize that doesn’t appease this jaded heart.

My overwhelming tears seek refuge in the glorious fountain of your eternal crown, but my flesh mourns the unfilled vacancy that can never be replaced.

My heart skips.

My head aches.

My hand shakes.

How can the predictability of life’s unavoidable circumstances leave such an unpredictable reservoir of sadness behind? 

I hope that you find complete rest in knowing that I’m giving this Earthly suit my absolute best though.

I take one step forward, cause I know from miles away, you still got my back!

I pedal through valleys.

I push through darkness.

I pray the “morning joy” comes to see your smile.

My Dad, 

my hero, 

my heartbeat,

my first love.

Color Outside the Lines

I used to breathe in toxic fumes of pollution that turned vapors of hope into smoke screens of despair on the regular.

I allowed others to hand me their broken, blue crayons to paint my sunshine of reality.

Each shade of blue created an unexplainable urgency for freedom, but the bittersweet tonic of opinions forced its way down my throat till my insides burned.

The voices emptied my womb and suffocated my space. Fibroid tumors oozed with air pockets of doubt that stifled my perplexed creativity.

Routine.
Repetition.
Regular vexes my spirit.

Why can't we walk on the moon of our own thoughts without judgement?

Why can't we dance in the rain without umbrellas of scrutiny?

Why can't we skinny dip in the Osun River without being swallowed up by a tsunami of gossip?

NEWS FLASH:

We can.
We should.
Color outside the lines of limitations.

To break up the monotony in our little animated space, I always try to create spontaneous mental exercises for my grandson to stretch his boundaries outside the norms of video games and cell phones. He does morning mediations with me on a yoga mat on the weekends. We listen to Classical Music (still a work in progress). I have him draw me pictures of something interesting he's learned & teach it to me.

WHY?

I am planting seeds for him to think outside the box.
I am watering seeds to nurture a King (leader).
I am watching him bloom wherever his heart is planted.

This is what his "waiting on breakfast time" looked like the last time he was here. He colored a quick picture of three pink Apple watches. My first thought--why would he give me something I already had? His explanation: He gave me three Apple watches cause I'm ALWAYS rushing & he wanted to give me time for school, work, and him! The lump in my throat bought a load of conviction. Not only is he watching, but he is paying attention to all the details.

Color outside the lines with the people that God lends you. Not only does it set you free from the superficial demands of daily realities, but it cultivates real life purpose: LOVE.

I Made My Bed

In a fickle world of chaos, clutter, and condemnation, I spend more time than I should unraveling from yokes of confinement.

I am a creative. A quiet storm. A free spirit

I don't care to be censored by critics; so more often than not, I wrap myself in a complicated cocoon of inner thoughts.

On some days, those frequencies land me into an electric space of "crip walking" on the moon. Other days, my sensitive spirit seeks solace under the bridges of darkness. Away from toxic traces of world elements of contamination that seek to destroy my purpose and annihilate my individuality.

Since I don't subscribe to many popular societal norms, "living on Venus" can be a little disheartening.

I mean...On this calendar year, I set bigger intentions than ever before. I desperately needed to walk into some new flower beds and smell the roses come alive and penetrate my obstructed senses.

I was plum tired of the "bull crap" sprinkled around my steps.

Tired of pounding the pavement in the same "dry" places.

Tired of trying, aspiring, processing, and becoming.  I just wanted to "BE---PERIOD!

This morning, I hopped off the bed and stepped into another level of "accountability".

Who was I kidding?

As a writer, I controlled the narrative. I decided what would occupy space. I set the tone for the future by what I released (into the atmosphere).

My grandma always said, "Be careful what you allow in your bed, cause you gotta lie in it!"

Most mornings, I escaped my "undone bed" in a rush. But this morning, I intentionally made my bed.

I undressed all the soul ties that sat at the foot waiting to climb back in.

I folded the "just in case it got cold" throws and sent them back to the closet.

I was now fully responsible for what I allowed under those 1200 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets.

What "familiar feelings"are you cuffing underneath the covers of your sacred space?

Pruning Weeds

"If you don't dig up the root...anything you cut down, will grow back." --me

You can drink the tea to shrink the belly fat.
You can contour the nose to appear thinner.
You can invest in shapewear to accentuate the curves.
You can create a fairytale to mask reality.
You can run, but you can't hide.

Until you do the "root work," you will continue to sway in swampy waters.

Yesterday, I jokingly told my mom that I was having a "midlife crisis!"

After her initial shock, she hesitated and awkwardly laughed it off.

My side eye proved there was a hint of transparency in this blanket statement, but I assumed that she wouldn't get the authentic version, so I watered down.

I took her down the narrow path of excuses,
drove by the riverbed of doubt,
and parked by the embankment of indecision.

In the middle of my sorrows, I immediately drowned out the pity and started applying pressure to the "temporary chokehold" by rowing upstream. I changed the frequency. My gut instinct told me that I was on the verge of something meaningful, but the pressure of the unknown made my knees buckle.

During my evening mediation, I imagined myself with a "shovel" in my hand in a cemetery.

A shovel to dig up the eyesore of weeds that insulated my belly with darkness.

My former days had been consumed by "pruning weeds" and they always grew back like massive, malignant  tumors..

I insisted on trying to resurrect the dead (negative thoughts) by breathing new life into bad habits (self-doubt).

However, this time, I put my foot on the neck of those voices that scream it can't be done!

What may appear to be a vacant field of weeds today will be a plentiful harvest of blooms on tomorrow.

Are you nurturing your weeds back to life with self-imposed limitations?

Don't prune.
Do the root work.

40 Bags in 40 Days

We think it’s the job.

We think it’s the car.

We think it’s the house.

We think it’s the kids.

We think it’s the spouse.

We attempt to rationalize the irrational. The illusion is persuasive, but harsh reality alters our attention away from the blessings and into the fog of:

The lack.

The missing.

The voids.

The empty.
The cracks.

The vacancies never become occupancies in the mental utopian communities we create.

The exploits never become tangible accolades once "the next thing" claims our attention.

The shattered ceilings never become red carpet realities in comparison to our pretentious peers.

Conquer one giant, there’s a million more to slay! Life's kinetic way of testing our RESOLVE!

Life caught me by the coattail in December, I had finessed my mission-field like a boss crushing goals. Humbled but feeling like the matrix after a decade of L's.

I had pulled up the weeds, pushed the wagon (uphill), plowed the fields, and poured the offering.

It was time, my time to “collect!” 

I expected things to “pop off” in my favor—-suddenly. But. It didn’t. And I was devastated (AGAIN)!

I started counting back the steps.

I rewind the clock on my grind.

I tallied the good that I deposited in the atmosphere.

I double checked my charitable donations by proof of my receipts.

I dismissed the “Law of Attraction” with a ratchet side eye, cause I felt like a side chick getting a raw deal from the Universe.

I looked around and despised the “things” I had prayed for in former seasons, cause they seemed useless in the moment. The American dream felt a million galaxies away.

For every step towards independence was oppositional forces dragging me back to the pit of dependence.

My handcuffs were so restricted by the enforced opinions, criticism, and judgement that I fell down the optimistic ladder of justice that I longed to build on.

My life lesson: You can’t build a new construction in 2020 with your hands full of 2019's garbage.

Since I insisted on stock piling my pantry of thoughts with random toxicity, I’ve committed to removing 40 bags of clutter in 40 days.

Unraveling from the bondage.

Unveiling the illusion.

Untying the knots.

Unlocking the prison.

This is day FIVE of my overhaul.

What are you eliminating from your 2019 closet of habits, fears, or thoughts? 

What are you packing up & tossing out?

They say, "a man is known by the company/possessions he keeps."

 What have you authorized to occupy space in your life?

Trash

or

treasure?