Need I Say More?

So, the mad ashe.selah comeback and re-org is still on hold, while I crank out words faster than the government cut checks to Haliburton during the Iraq War.  My first ever ever NaNoWriMo is in full effect.  Last week, I was above quota.  This week, esp. having celebrated a birthday yesterday (yayah!), the newbie is down 4K words.  But that’s ok.  I’m on vacation, and I’ve got some me time to try and put a dent in 10K words by the end of the weekend.  Ooh she’s so ambitious lol!

Anywho, I’m having a ball, I think.  No, I am.  I haven’t written this many words in the two years of deciding to write a book.  There.  I said it…don’t shake your head lol.  It’s been part content, part analidity (I made that word up).  My internal editor is a wicked perfectionist, and I’ve been ruthlessly mocking her - dangling participles in front of her sneering eyes, hanging the moon in previously sun-filled scenes.  She’s going crazy, but she’ll be okay.  Like the story goes – December is for editing…that’s when I’ll let her out to play.  Right now, output is all I need to care about.

Speaking of which…back to my 17K present, in search of the 50K finish line.  Love to all, hope you’re doing well !

Wanna Win? Shoo the Birds!

Blood pressure.  120 over 80.  Weight. 156.  Darn 30 is now darn 6 .  Smoker. No.  Alcohol. Twice a year count?  No. Drugs. No.  Chronic disease? Diabetic. No.  Stroke. No.  TB. No. Chronic pain. No.  Acid reflux. No. Heart murmur. Heart disease. Heart attack. No, No, No.  Std. HIV. No, No.  Asthma. No.  High cholesterol.  Thyroid problems. Blood clots. Ulcers. Seizures. Arthritis………

The cute PA with the baby face checked off a laundry list of No’s for pre-op.  She finally ended the form with, “You’re a very healthy woman”.  Her smile was geniune.  Maybe it was me that projected the question in her eyes…”what are you doing here?”

I’ve been very blessed…thanks be to God!  Hearing those words made my soul smile, so grateful to say No to sooo many diseases others deal with on a day-to-day basis.  I have no clue.  But, her words sparked not only gratitude, but reflection.  The mirror of my past, and thoughts of my now. The journey that brought me to that very chair in the hospital room, discussing patient history, anesthesia options, and having blood drawn in case I need some during surgery tomorrow.

Never experienced serious illness before this journey.  The dis-ease they’ll remove symbolizes the dis-connection from pain and depression.  By the grace of God, we are strangers now, no longer intimate friends.  

Moms tried to refute my argument.  Probably a loving petition to take myself off the hook.  “Well, there are many people who haven’t experienced traumatic events…and they develop disease.”  This may very well be true.  But, I believe we underestimate the traumatic effects that prolonged anger, bitterness, unforgiveness, stress, and the like have on our bodies.  How do we respond and manage traumatic events?  The cells in our bodies aren’t hard of hearing, and they respond to every thought we have in our minds. 

I was researching psychosocial/psychological stress and its effect on health.  Stanford U has a very engaging site about stress & health…check it out.  Looks like the same physiological stress response early humans had while running from predators, is the same response modern humans have for taxes, divorce, or even public speaking.  The only difference is, when the predator is gone, our bodies return to a state of rest…we release the stress response.  Not so for stress in our daily lives.  Why do we keep the heightened state of madness going, changing, increasing?  Could it be cos our minds are so advanced, creative, imaginative now…that we’re smart enough to keep it going, foolish enough not to turn it off?

For me, this concept magnifies when I think about women.  We are creators, no?  The very essence of creativity, the center of life lies within us…our womb.  And when it comes to fibes, this goes triple for African-American women for some reason.  What happens when we carry seeds of unresolved hurts, pains, trauma…extensions of stress?  We do what we do naturally — we create!  We give life and bring forth chaos in our bodies. 

Moms asked me the other day, “Do you want to win?”  Health, peace, joyous life…insert any prize into the blank.  She’s never been to college, let alone read the Stanford U findings, but funny how they agree substantively.  After my resounding “Yes!”, she says, “Well, the battle begins in the mind.  Negative thoughts are like birds…you shoo them away before they land, don’t give them time to build a nest…that’s more than half the battle won.” 

Lord, help me to be smart enough to LET your mind be in me, and LET the beautiful birds of truth, love, purity, goodness, honesty, fairness, and praise dwell with me always.

Until soon….

But What About Me?

So, I’m nearing the end of this book, right?  The novel’s reaching a heart thumping pace.   I’m gobbling the pages, rooting for characters…will he?  won’t she? — totally absorbed like a nosy bystander, wishing they’d ask me what to do next.  Ooh wee…this is good.

A chapter ends on a solid high note.  The making of a happy ending.  Eight more pages till the end.  The protagonist WILL overcome…I can feel it.  I couldn’t have written it any better.  The words just fit.  The flow was natural.  And then, before you know it, I’m wiping a tear from my cheek.  What the? Where in the world did this sad emotion come from?

Grief?  Not this time.  Fumes from too much overtime…nah.  Anxiety about surgery in 2 weeks…could be, but don’t think so.  After an honest look in my heart…there it was.  I actually heard the thought.  “Why won’t my book flow like this?  What about me?”

A wave of jealousy?  Maybe envy sans malice?  I dunno.  Whatever it is, it ain’t pretty, doesn’t feel good at all.  For a moment there, I got side-tracked.  Slathered in writer’s block and frustrated, I became reluctant to see my own well-being outside the light of another’s good fortune.  When really, the truth of my own intrinsic value can only be revealed in the Light of my own path and purpose.  It’s soo easy to be distracted when we look on another person’s paper.  Funny.  My answers won’t work for you…and vice versa.

This little episode reminds me of my kids.  When you praise one, the other pines, “but what about me, Ma?”  The loving mom replies to son or daughter, “you don’t have to say ‘what about me’.  Son’s/Daughter’s praise doesn’t take anything away from you and your goodness.  Actually, you could add your goodness to the situation by being on the inside of praise….Don’t stand on the outside feeling mad and jealous.  It’s much more fun to be happy for your bro/sis.”

Bunch of crock LOL?  Painful Truth?  I know the latter is the best attitude to have, and the truth never needs a cosignor….But what about those times when it’s a challenge to join the praise party?  You want to be happy happy joy joy, but maybe it’s something you worked so hard for, yearned for, would die for, and another’s rocking it hard?  Wow.

For me, it goes back to path and purpose.  It’s crazy.  When we sneak a peek at someone’s paper in this test called Life, we never can see every answer, can we?  Most times, we don’t know WHAT it took for someone to be who they are, where they are, or have what they have.  I have no idea what it took that author to birth her book.  And you know what?  When I’m published, vice versa .  Everyone has their own process.  The hard part is trusting it…timing and all.  When I look back at the moves and whines of my selfish self, I have to admit it…I usually see the greater good in the end and am so thankful that things did NOT go my way… and grateful that the Creator kept me on purpose…despite the tantrums.

What about me?  I’m not forgotten…just in my lane, learning and growing as I go through my motions….

Need Anything from the Store?

Driving home from work is when I decided.  “Today has to be the day.”  Not tomorrow, not next week, not cos I’ve been too busy…ain’t a lie, but no more excuses will do.  Today, Today!!

No matter how much he looks like him, acts like him, sounds like him…no matter how much he brings up that name (“No, I don’t know how they’re doing…I don’t keep up with them much.”)…It was time to see him.  Today, today, today!!!

So, I called him.  Voicemail.  Every inflection in his voice screamed Daddy.  Funny.  The sound was unusually pleasant to my ears…no urge to hang-up and run lol.  It’s getting better, it’s healing.  “Hey Unc, how are ya…listen, I wanted to come by and see you tonight…call me back and let me know if it’s a good time…Love you!”

Not five minutes later, he calls back, “Ayye, couldn’t get to the phone in time…what time you comin’ by…that’ll be great!”  You know, one of the most beautiful, inaudible sounds in the world, is that of someone smiling through the phone .  He couldn’t wait.  Neither could I.

If there’s one thing my Mama taught me growing up, it’s manners and respect for the elderly.  So, there was no way I was gonna show up to Unc’s house empty-handed.  Call back.  “Hey Unc, you need anything from the store?”  “Ah, yeah baby, I’ll give ya the money for it…a dozen eggs, a bag of potatoes, and some Cola.”  I thought I’d play around with him a little.  Knowing full well, I asked, “What kinda Cola?”  “Well, Pepsii Cola..what else?…I like it ice cold.”  We laughed.  Just like his younger brother liked it..ice cold with the ice frickets in it, Daddy used to say.  Before we hung up, as if caught off guard by the kindness, he gave me a big, “Girl, I Love ya!”

See, Unc is 81 going on 30.  A true hustler and Macaroni Tony from back in the day.  Just call him an old G.  You could never tell him he ain’t got it anymore….even though he really hasn’t seen it since, well, you get the picture lol.   Unc is still all swagger…got pep in his step, and loves life.  Says his secret is vodka and pretty women.  Let him tell it during our visit, “I neva did ugly, neva liked it…If my money got ugly, I’d throw it away!”  LOL!!

You never know, when you just decide to Do It…what will actually come out Of It.  We laughed the entire evening, but the highlight of the visit was flipping through his oooold photo albums.  Wow.  I’ve never met or seen many people family on Daddy’s side, being the rolling stone he was and all….but that day, I saw for the first time in my life – My paternal Grandma and GrandDad.  Oh the stories, esp. about my GrandDad — night club owner in the 30’s, with some pretty interesting connections *wink*.  I plan to hit on some of the highlights in the book…scenes straight out of a Bumpy Johnson movie….

But, I wanted to share this…maybe for nothing more than to read my growth.  The so-called rock and glue of the family left everyone behind when Dad passed…total disconnect…even from his twin, Unc.  After a little over a year, it’s getting easier now…and I’m very grateful.

So, what was up with today, today, today?!  Well, let’s just say nothing jolts you into tying up loose ends, making mends, stop putting off today for tomorrow, stop talkin’ and get to doin’…Nothing suffocates procrastination and excuses — quite like Death.  God rest my co-worker’s soul…

The Love You Need

Well folks, it’s been a loooong six month wait.  A wait that ends this week with round 2 tests at the doc’s.  I’m in cool spirits, with confidence in the Love I love….

—–

Krystal watches her from the waist up.  A trepid view of her at work between two knees. Gentle was good, painless divine.  Determined to interpret every wrinkle in her forehead, every squint of her eyes, she gave Krystal nothing to wrap her wits around.  Not until that moment.  The moment that shattered silence into a million pieces on the exam room floor.

Somehow, even before the first word left the doctor’s lips, Krystal knew.  After today, she would never be the same again.

Life had taught Krystal many things.  When it comes to words…the ones that warm the ears, prick the heart, and rock the soul…sometimes the position one is in, at that moment, heightens the very intensity and relevance of the words spoken.

Snapping off the left, then the right latex glove, Dr. Harmon smiles and lays it on her.  “Mrs. Ashe, you have got to make sure…you get the love you need.”

As if all the air had been sucked out of the room, Krystal couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.  How do you respond to something like that? “Okay” seemed inadequate, almost juvenile.  “I will” felt utterly ridiculous.

“…the love you need.”

Like reams of Polaroids scattered in her mind, Dr. Harmon’s words were worth a thousand pictures.  Nine hundred and ninety-nine of them told tales of toil, near hits distracted by attractive counterfeits, scenes of searching for even the slightest resemblance of love — neatly packaged with Krystal’s name affixed to the label.

Beyond that batch of madness, one Polaroid remained.  The first one ever taken.  Still under-developed in a film of dark grey, waiting patiently to be fanned and shaken.

“…the love you need.”

Krystal didn’t need her legal training to see it.  She clearly recognized the inherit assumptions supporting Dr. Harmon’s statement.  Get the love I need?  Heck, do I even believe the love I need exists?  And if it does, does it cry out for me, does it need me as much as I need it?

As if her thoughts had echoed to the grave, Krystal could hear Grandma Josephine, as clear as the days she sat in her Big Mama chair with her light blue house dress, rubbing her feet together.

“It?!  Chile, donchu mean Him?  If you believe in God, you believe in Love.  God IS Love, baby.”

Somehow, even before the first word left the doctor’s lips, Krystal knew.  She would never be the same again, not after fanning and shaking the first and last Polaroid.  Krystal realized — her last and only real hope had been waiting first in line.

(c) 2008.  Ashe.Selah

You Didn’t Write That

So, I’ve got this pet peeve, right?  Doesn’t matter if I’m at the job or at home.  But since I spend most hours of the day in front of a computer, the likelihood of someone picking this peeve is rather high.  Hear me good…Do not, under any circumstances, stand behind me reading my screen…geesh!

I don’t know if this comes from my days fighting micro-management in corporate America, or from my Mama’s ever-knowing, all-seeing eye (took me years to realize she was watching me sneak goodies from the fridge through the reflection in the breakfront LOL!).  Which brings up another thought, maybe because I’ve lived so cloak & dagger, super secretive, I always think I’m under the microscope.  Hmm.

Anywho, this pet peeve has been the catalyst for some interesting moments, to put it lightly.  I’d lash out, feeling someone’s glare creep up the back of my neck, and promptly ask with as much attitude as I could muster, “May I help you?”

Well, I’ve been trying to take a mini-chill pill on this thing lol, and one day, even though I knew hubby was reading my screen….I just let it happen.  {Feeling my own head} What?  When he was good and done, he says, “Who wrote that?….you didn’t write that!”  Laughing, I replied, “yes I did!”  He walked away with his lips tooted in the air.  That meant two things.  One, “stop telling them tales” LOL!  And two, “who is this woman?…this is not the woman I married”.

If anyone has had a front row seat to my 180, it’s hubby.  When I tell ya I’d never had a desire to write or read, he’s the loudest voice in the amen corner.  And while not all aspects of life change are easy or without challenges, I’m having a ball exploring this new love of writing and reading.

Hey, it was only a rough draft of a few intro paragraphs, my character beginning her search for answers, but…..You wanna read my screen too?

If God made another vegetable rich in iron on the third day, He hid it from my Mama.  All I knew was that this stuff rhymes with feet, and that’s exactly what they tasted like.  Feet.  Feet soaked in vinegar. Wet feet that left big pink footprints on every other food on the plate, if I let the juice run.

Cole knew it was true.  Sitting across from me with his uneven fro and half-formed smile the moment Mama sat his plate down.  He wouldn’t even look at me.  Partly because he knew I had a silly grin on my face, fork-mic in my hand, and I was just dying to make him laugh.  He’d be in big, funny trouble too.  Cole could bust out laughing at any table in the city of Orlando, except the avocado-green formica and chrome dinette located at 2075 Mercy Drive, subsidized Unit #106.  Especially when Mama had just presented a nutritious, gourmet meal, rich in iron, on a food stamps budget.

I could tell he wanted to politely excuse himself from the table, take a trip to the only  bathroom in our apartment, and pull a somersault out the broken window above our toilet.  It occurred to me too, on a separate occasion.

But, like any big brother setting a good example, he graciously said, “Thanks, Ma” before Mama’s fingers even released the plate.  We both better had.  See, it was better for us to offer speedy thanks, than to appreciate Mama off beat to the battle cry of “Whadya say?!”

“You’re welcome”, Mama said without slowing down, or even looking back at Cole.

“Thanks, Mama!” I said, as she zipped around the table with my plate of white rice, one fried chicken leg, a square slice of Jiffy cornbread, and a battalion of beets. Cole slipped me a subtle nod of approval.  Apparently, my verbal appreciation beat Mama’s expectation of an on-time delivery.  Two points for me.  Though, by the looks of my pink rice, Mama had let the juice run.

…continued (c).

Inspiring Words

They had always been inside of her. She just never knew when or how to get them out. Actually, she didn’t even know if she wanted them. Words. All shapes and sizes. Telling the tale of a traumatic childhood, and the treacherous road she came over (overcame) to reach survival’s side.

Then one day last month, we met each other.

Being an “author-in-residence”, I try my best to support the newly published. Those who have crossed the burning sands in my horizon *smile*. It was my first book reading. An intimate gathering at an upscale restaurant/club to celebrate the release of a friend’s book.

When I walked in, I saw her (let’s call her Tina) sitting next to another lady chatting. Tina was sophisticated, yet unpretentious. A naturally beautiful woman who didn’t need the touch of red on her lips to brighten a room. Her smile sufficed. She wore her silky black hair in a ponytail; sunglasses on top of her head kept any stray strands neatly in place. I didn’t make out the Asian and African-American cultural mix, but I’d see it clearly before the night was over.

I greeted my author-friend and made my rounds around the room…giving hugs to those I knew, introducing myself to others (folks, this is a miracle in itself…me? I’m workin’ it step by step. I digress). I briefly introduced myself to Tina…nothing major, just a hello.

The evening was wonderful, my friend’s book a hit, the live music oh so lovely.

Somehow, Tina and I were some of the last supporters to leave. She came up to me.

“So are you an author, too?” I smiled and told her I was working on the manuscript..no ETA for the book as of yet. “So, what is your book about?” Now, this question always gets me, because I haven’t really ironed out my 1-minute pitch yet. How can I describe my book in a sentence or two? I made up something quickly.

“My book is about a prominent female attorney, who after some pretty embarrassing bouts with anxiety, begins the process of memoir therapy…and let’s just say, the secrets buried beneath her pages aren’t very pretty.” “Wow, so is any part of the story yours?” I allude to childhood trauma, how the character, like many of us, is a wounded big-little-girl. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but before you know it, we were trading signals, secret verbal codes, and confirmations that our real lives had some strange similarities.

“I would love to wrap my truth in fiction like you. My mother just passed, and I kinda feel like I can tell the story now.” “You’re kidding, my Dad just passed [a month after your mom], and I couldn’t fathom telling my story while he was alive.”

We went on and on, had a bite to eat with my author-friend, we all talked some more (off subject). Tina was going to ride home with my author-friend, but she asked if I could take Tina home. Realizing she was on the way, I gladly offered.

On the way to her house, I listened to this wonderful woman’s story…surviving incest, resulting pregnancy, abandonment from her family, reuniting with family….Ahhh!!! I couldn’t believe the story, or our similarities…but then again, I could. Tina expressed how hearing my story inspires her even more to tell hers, perhaps a historical piece detailing the culture clash and romance between Asians and American soldiers. However she chooses to use her words, one fact about our meeting rocked me more than anything….Here I am…novice writer, fresh out of hiding myself, inspiring words in a beautiful woman old enough to be my mom…Tina was 60 (doesn’t look a day over 45)….and still emotionally impacted by events in her life.

Tina and I talked last week for the first time since our meeting. She shared things with me…could count others who knew on one hand. She is so on fire lol, so compelled to write *smile*. We’ll do coffee soon, meet up with our laptops, have some writing sessions. Hubby commented to the effect, “…get ready, girl. All the hell you went through wasn’t just for you….they’re coming….the ones God had in mind while He was working on you…”

I really don’t know what I can offer Tina…how or even IF I can help…then again, sometimes all you need is a little encouragement from someone who’s been to the same/similar hell…and back. Probably means more than the world to her…like it does to me. Ashe.Selah

The Secret Keeper

At first, I took offense to his words. I was 30+ pounds heavier at the time, so I guess my head went right to the thighs and booty. (I kinda miss my old booty, but I digress lol). I didn’t show my offense, of course. Struggled hard to keep from wrinkling both the left and right eyebrows. For one, he was Daddy, and respect was first nature — not second. Plus, Daddy’s words always had this underlying meaning. A punchline you never saw coming when it punched you. You never really knew where he was going, until YOU got there. Yeah, we’re nothing alike, right lol?

“You’re gonna have the heaviest casket in the family.”

I don’t remember if he asked me something, and I replied, “sorry, can’t tell ya” or what. But when I realized he meant my ability to take “business” to the grave, from that day on, I knew how serious Daddy was about me being the family “secret keeper”.

I’d hear him on the phone with my siblings, talking about personal issues. He’d say, “Look, what you need to do is tell {my name} your business. She can hold water…you know I can’t. She’ll tell you what you should do, and she’ll never tell me or anybody else.”

I still to this day consider this one of the best compliments Daddy ever gave me. Only now, the more I work on my book, I’m wondering how long I’ll be able to hold the title…

Some of the scenes in the book are shifting. Time shifting. Say, where there was a flash back, I think I need to bring the reader into it present tense..and vice versa. I’ve also been doing some heavy research for the doctor character in the book, yeah, i.e. therapist. Being that I have no formal training in psychology, psychotherapy, counseling, and the like, I want this character to really know her stuff. She must be as awesome and dynamic as another character will need her to be…

Funny. Guess what? This is my 201st post here at Ashe.Selah, my anonymous footprint in the blogosphere, where I tell magnanimous secrets. How crazy. Who’dve thunk I’d still be here in ‘08, that anybody anywhere would give a hoot about my life and thoughts. Oops, I digressed again, didn’t I.

So, here I am researching characters, and I’m uncovering myself. Finding answers and reasons for this intense desire to disclose, come out of hiding with all my junk (even if I’m cloaked in a pseudonym). Man, what happened to that secret-keepin’, heavy casket chic?

Well, she kinda stumbled upon the mental, emotional, psychological benefits of — Writing. Let’s be clear folks, before stuff hit the fan, I wasn’t a diarist, a journalist, no pad and pen beside my bed. I had zero desire to write, not alone a passion. Fast forward to the present…I’m blogging, writing a book. Where’d that come from? Why did I gravitate to writing, of all things?

And lordy, don’t talk content. The secrets I’ve held for a lifetime wrapped neatly in fiction. The book I wish someone would have handed me when I was reaching up to scratch the bottom. Because I’ve gone through such a butt-naked transformation lol, I get lectured all the time….”there’s a difference between transparency, and uncovering” or “tell this part, but don’t tell that part.” No, I don’t want to do all the work it takes to write a book, and end up regretting it cos I “told too much” or someone says “uh huh, I know you were talking about me/them.” Truth is….I care, I don’t want to hurt anybody (esp. family)…..but I just don’t care enough to keep it bottled up inside anymore. The Great Secret Keeper…is fading fast….I dunno…

For now, I’m really digging Pennebaker’s research…why do we keep secrets, how do we categorize secrets, how does secret-keeping affect our stress levels, our health? I believe there’s some truth to the positive correlation between writing about traumatic or emotional experiences, and mental and physical health.

Who was that chic that said, “Secrets are like kisses. Feels better when you give them away.” Cover your ears up there, Daddy. It was…Me. Ashe.Selah

Let’s Talk About…

See there.  What are you thinking?  Did you think I was gonna say sex?  Well, if you did, then you are absolutely dead right lol.  Just know this post has a big fat TMI advisory…it’s transparent just like I have to be right now.  What?  Gas prices and time shortages are cutting into my one-on-ones, so…..let’s see.

Umm, Tyler Perry started it.  Huh?  See, me and the fam were all sprawled out on the sofa watching “House of Payne” a few nights ago.  It was the episode where the son and his friend skipped school, invited girls over, got caught, and learned lessons about abstinence.  OK.  So me, son, daughter, and hubby (sitting in that order) are watching Allen Payne’s character tell his son about teenaged preganancy, STDs, how the best choice is to wait until you’re married (what we teach our kids), yada yada…..Hubby interjects to the kids, “you guys here that?”  Then, the son on the show almost causes me to black out lol.  He asks, “Well, Dad, did YOU wait??”  Ohhhh Lawd lol!

What happened next is hilarious to me…in hindsight.  I froze.  Literally.  Like if I moved one muscle, or took one more breath, it would be the catalyst for son or daughter (mainly daughter) to ask, “yeah Mama, did ya’ll wait?”  Thirty seconds passed.  No question.  I took a chance, and with face towards the TV, I rolled my eyes to the right to get a peripheral of hubby at the other end of the sofa.  His silly tail was doing the same thing…looking at me lol.  But he had this innocent, tell-tale smirk on his face, like a cat with feathers hanging from its mouth lol.  I wanted to burst out laughing.  But I know hubby would have bust me out, “Whatcha laughin at baby…something you wanna share with the group?”  He’s crazy funny like that…

So lss, no questions that night.  We escaped to tell the truth another day.  And tell it we must, especially with all of our talks about honesty and how Mama and Daddy aren’t perfect.  But this scene took my mind back to those days.  Outta Mama’s house, on my own in college.  Boy, was I a trip.  Couldn’t seem to spell abstinence.  It was like I was on Soul Train at the scramble board arranging letters — the “i” was missing.  My approach to sexuality was both dangerous and unhealthy – to my physical and emotional well-being.

I’ve read alot about how sexual assault survivors approach sex.  There are about as many mindsets out there as there are survivors (unfortunately…everybody’s different, right?).  Extremes from those who totally abhor sex and anything that relates to sex, to those who crave rape/S&M/bondage scenes in their sex life.

I don’t know if there is a psychological term for my come from.  I jokingly (but truthfully) refer to it as “avenger”.  Take the weapon used against you, and flip it.  I don’t know what it was, but there was just something about holding the strength of a man in the palms of my hands….watching him melt like ice on a hot plate, with yours truly at the controls.   Control.  That’s exactly the high I was on.  Even in my neophyte days of sexual exploits, the guys couldn’t explain it, but I immensely enjoyed hearing them try…describing my touch, my movements, my scent, my taste (and this is by no means a boast or brag, but a glimpse into a dark abyss….my sick, unhealthy approach to pain).  I really didn’t know what I was doing, but I liked the response.  Thought it was empowering.  Sure, I was taught to wait for marriage, honor God with my body (was taught other things too), but I was in the driver’s seat now, and decided to take matters (and my life) into my own hands.  Felt like I couldn’t reach the brakes, and so I quickly exalted myself to Nascar status.  I commanded their bodies.  Resistance was futile.  The more they called out in pleasure, the more intense my efforts flowed in retributive justice….I remembered when I wanted to cry out, but couldn’t…with filthy hands covering my mouth, and a knife pressed against my neck.  Who’s in control now?

Took a minute for me to realize it.  Punishment and revenge through pleasure?  Wasn’t the joke STILL on me?

Funny, there’s no punchline to the roots of this mess.  Isn’t this what “they” taught me as a kid?  My worth and value was inextricably tied to my willingness and ability to give pleasure.  Refuse, and face rejection, cutoff, disconnection, abandonment from acceptance, affection, and love.  I refused…promise kept.  Although events had already reached a hideous level, and I could go no further, I wondered over the years how things could have been different, had I not refused.  Maybe they would’ve still loved me.

It took 25 years to reach the “mirror” of these events.  No longer a child, I was grown now, and had just experienced some life-freeing transformations.  Cool with being vulnerable.  Ready to open myself as I never had before in my life.  Willing to try. It’s crazy how with some mirrors, we “go back” to right the wrongs…do things differently for better outcomes.  Experience our strength and growth…find courage, ”I can do this”.  LSS, I didn’t refuse this time…on the contrary, I opened big and gave more than what was actually needed, above and beyond what was asked for, all of it taken nonetheless.  No, I didn’t refuse this time around.  So painfully strange how…I was left with the same abandoning outcome.  Everything else…I’d just given away (can’t get it back now…that sucks).

Years, experiences, and lessons have taught me….My beautiful now….I love making Love.  I am no longer an “avenger”, but one who’s learned to give Love and affection genuinely, without motive or agenda…looking ahead, not back.  There’s an intercourse in spirit that I’ve opened to…a connection that transcends the physical, and takes you to beautiful, euphoric places longer than the hottest orgasm(s) can (yeah, I didn’t believe it either lol).  I no longer rely on the hypothesis that climax = intimacy, but I’ve been blessed to experience climax + intimacy, and its rapturous parallel universes *smile*.  And there’s still more to learn and experience over time in the Love Garden we’ve created.

To the Creator, who looks down into my heart….First, I’m grateful for your hand of protection…shielding me from unwanted pregnancies, possibly abortions, STDs, HIV, in the height of my disobedience and dishonor of You and myself.  I’m so thankful for your patience, forgiveness, and Love through some of the most stupid decisions I’ve ever made in my life.  And as far as those big holes left in my soul from that crap are concerned, please teach me how to fill them with You.  Even though sometimes (like lately) I’m struggling, and tempted to fill those chasms with counterfeits…I get it, now…Only Your supernatural Love can heal me, take me the rest of the way to wholeness and purpose.  But, I’m being honest and transparent with you…I’ve told you every secret I hid…sometimes, I am struggling…Save me.  Ashe.Selah

Me? Wordsmith of the Month?

Super cool! The same evening I’m fighting off writer’s self-doubt, arms and fists waving like a windmill lol, I get the message that I’m the Po.e.treat Poet of the Month (July) — woo hoo! Being a neophyte wordsmith in every sense of the word, honing in on my writing craft for only two years now, I really appreciate Mone’t and the MahoganyBooks crew for this honor.

Wow, I don’t care what your gift, talent, or craft is. It’s in your heart and your hands to give away, to share with others. And when it’s received favorably, when someone “gets it” (and not all will), that has to be one of the most satisfying feelings in the world . Ashe.Selah