Woman got herself dry socket. Exposed bone and nerves after a tooth extraction happens when the blood clot for Porte took doesn’t form properly or get dislodged.
It’s painful and can lead to infection. Guess I’m one of the lucky ones. As mine is infected.
I thought the pain and bad taste and breath were part of the healing process. No pain no gain right?! Seems this level of pain and the foulness is a sign of dry socket and infection. Go figure.
Thank goodness for saltwater washes, walking and self-care. Looking out for myself has become a priority in a world that just doesn’t care.
It’s nothing major or anything spectacular. All the the time I’ve lived here which will be coming into it’s third year at the beginning of July, the yard hasn’t really featured on my radar. Yes maybe to put the washing out or store my bike. But as a place to hang out, like an extension my home, no way. Maybe having neighbours who allowed their dogs to pee and shit in their backyard which is joined to mine, separated only by a short fence, was a put off. It was a smelly place I didn’t want to be.
Now we have the sun, the fresh air and the morning bird song, I find myself flocking to the backyard as soon as I wake. I throw open the kitchen door and give thanks for seeing another day. I’m setting up a table and chair and having my morning coffee in the backyard while I visual journal. It’s helping me with my mood. I feel as if Mother Nature is holding me once more as I go through a health issue that is making me stay close to home.
I know I’m privileged to have an outdoor space which is private. It’s waiting for me to put my mark on it. Of course that will involve colour. But for the moment, with my permaculture hat on, I’m just observing and interacting within the space. I’m sitting in the backyard and marking where the sun is and moves. I’m dreaming into the space and opening up to how I want to feel while in this space.
At the moment, I’m feeling expansive within the space, within a contained way. It feels good to feel the sun on my skin and the breeze moving through my hair and clothes. It’s being outside as well as being inside, as my kitchen is just there for a refill. I’m also close to Miss Ella’s bedroom window and I can hear her talking to herself or watching TV, chatting to her friends. The backyard is my sanctuary and I want more.
There is something here in terms of fugitivity. There is a quote that I used just the other day when I finally completed my chapter on black mothering and fugitivity. Hold on let me find it …
In Stolen Life (2018), Moten writes, “Fugitivity … is a desire for and a spirit of escape and transgression of the proper and the proposed. It’s a desire for the outside, for a playing or being outside, an outlaw edge proper to the now always already improper voice or instrument” (131). BECOMING FUGITIVE: refusing what has been refused of us dr. sheree mack
That desire for the outside, I’m feeling it on so many levels. I’m choosing to lean into it. No matter where it leads, I’m enjoying how it feels. I’m enjoying that sense of freedom, out from the enclosure. Continue.
Summer Solstice came and gone. I had plans to hit the sea at sunrise, but didn’t make it because I had a restless night what with the heat and house and car alarms going off during the night? Are they sensitive to the heat? I do not know. I thought I was trapped in some kind of twilight zone with the incessant calling alarms and no one moving to switch them off. But I digress. maybe I’m just sensitive to senseless noise!
Mid-year reflections. What can I say? I’m not getting anywhere fast and I’m okay with that.
I FaceTimed with a very dear friend many miles away today and she asked and what’s happening with me. What’s happening in Sheree World?
At first I felt I needed to fill in the gaps with some of this shit and that. Or I’ve been asked to do this shit and that? That I had to show I was hustling and beating the grind real good. But shit ain’t happening in Sheree World and in all honesty I’m happy about that.
I hibernated well into April this year what with going to Paris and celebrating my babies’ birthdays. By the time I came out of my cave, everyone was well into their year, well into 2025. And I could do one of two things ( probably other things too but focusing on just the two for now!).
I could drop everything my heart desired and focused on catching up with everyone else. Max out my diary with jobs and commitments and watch the money roll in.
Or two, I could, continue to roll out of my SheCave slowly and mindfully, carefully and with a whole heap of love and grace for myself and just take things on a day to day basis. No rush no sense of urgency and definitely no panicking.
Which option do you think I chose to follow?
I’m not even sure it was a viable choice because I’m so used to practicing Slow Fugitivity now that it’s the only way I can operate and keep myself sane, safe and thriving.
I’m not measuring my success by how much my bank balance is telling me or more like alerting me to. I’m not measuring my success by how many people are singing my praises. By how many people have my name on this lips and are ready and willing to work with me. Promote me, award me, accept me.
I’m measuring my success on how good I feel moment to moment. How much joy and love am I feeling now? How much care am I giving to my self and those around me? How much am I showing up into situations, gatherings and meetings as myself? Transparent, honest, earnest and hopeful?
How much am I being open hearted, loved, loveable and loving towards myself and those around me?
This is my measure of success.
I’m not turning away from all the shit and cruelty and destruction that is happening around me and in this world. I’m feeling it for the people who are getting caught in the middle of men with big egos who are playing at being leaders and pretending to protect their people. I know what is happening in the name of religion, or history or land and justice. I’m listening and seeing genocide after genocide happening and those responsible not being held to account. I see it and feel it and I want to do more to stop it, to fight against it. So trust me when I say, I do not turn away or ignore it when I choose joy and care and love as my weapons of choice. I’m not living in a fantasy land of all happy happy joy Joy. I’m not being naive or flippant.
I’m choosing to refuse the stories we are being told. I’m refusing to perpetuate the capitalist structures and feed into the patriarchy and imperialist tendencies. I’m choosing to refuse the roles assigned to me as a black woman as just another body to be used and abused and disposed of after I’m no longer useful.
Fuck that fuckery.
So mid-year reflection is that:
* I’ve got no regular working gig on the horizon.
* I’m searching for my tribe.
* I’m dreaming of other possibilities, another way of being.
* I’m refusing the shit sandwich that is offer me again and again.
* I’m refusing what has already been refused of me.
* I’m creating spaces for creative fugitivity.
* I’m creating gaps or breaks in the capitalist dome from which we can break free into the land of possibilities filled with imagination and play.
* I’m embracing craftivism. My word are my weapons. Always have been, always will be.
* I’m lingering in the midst of flight.
* I’m taking MY TIME to stretch OUT my tired limbs. Limbs reaching for the sky, eyes focused on the stars above as I’m breathing deeply, and allowing my deep belly laugh to roll out over the landscape as I pick a rhythm to my own beat and I’m shaking shake shake shaking OUT by big beautiful black behind.
Come join me if you dare. Make sure to bring a plate of food and story to tell as we gonna be gathering around the fire soon to build a free community, or as my dear friend Dal was saying just the other day, build a village. Yes thank you, indeedy!
Let’s get to shaking, shake shake, shaking this shit up!
It makes a difference when we’ve got the light. And it’s warm with it.
I’m in a three day streak of getting into the sea, straight after the school run. The tide has been in too. Which I love.
I love it when the bay is full to the brim with sea. I don’t have to walk far before I meet the water.
I give thanks when I greet the sea. Because she’s always there for me. Not judging me. Not rejecting me. Just welcoming me.
In the past, the sea has healed me again and again. The first time of any significance was when I miscarried our second child, back in 2009. We moved to the coast soon after as I needed to heal.
And to be healed is not a one time thing. Healing is a life long process. Sometimes I’m locked into my healing journey and sometimes I veer off course and need something or someone to remind me to get back into the practice. The practice of healing.
So with a new month comes a renewal. And this is the time of year to renew. Spring is well and truly with us now. And the blossom may be receding and just pink petals on the wind, or white even. But I’m catching hints of bluebells.
So my list of habits and actions to lean into for a May of Healing includes:
A high protein breakfast.
Making sure I get 8+ hours of sleep each night. Priority!
Getting lost in a few good books.
Walking each day. Getting outside into the light.
Getting into the sea as often as possible, at home and away.
Visual journaling daily.
Getting back into painting for pleasure. To hell with the results.
Increasing my fruit and veg intake.
Increasing my water intake. At least 2litres a day.
Continue on my strength training journey.
Insight timer daily.
Reconnecting with friends and family I haven’t talked to for a while.
Solo dates like to the cinema or a museum. Or a delicious meal out for one!
Acquire some new plant friends.
Create a zine or two.
Plan the summer holidays for Miss Ella and me. And also solo me!
Keep traveling for pleasure and joy instead of work commitments and responsibilities.
For years, I used to travel into Scotland, maybe with work in Dunbar or Edinburgh, and stop off on route at this beach, Thorntonloch Beach.
It’s nothing spectacular, apart from stretching out at the feet of Torness Power Station, but it would be a good place to stop and stretch my legs and calm my spirit.
I remember stopping there on my first trip to Iceland and being all giddy as I watched the waves roll in. That was May 2016.
I say all this because for the last few years and the last few trips across the border, I haven’t stopped and walked this beach.
I do not know why. Maybe I didn’t want to step back into a former Sheree. Maybe I didn’t want the hassle of sand in my toes. Or maybe I just didn’t register why I really used to stop at this beach.
I used to stop at this beach, to just be. To breathe. To be present.
Torness Power Station, Dunbar
And this time as I skip across the border, I pull over, park up and just be with the beach and sea.
I hope you’re keeping safe and warm as the weather and climate at the moment is freaky. Those times of being secure in the seasons and what would happen weather and temperature wise are gone. Gone. And there’s still people out here denying climate crisis. Please.
I’ve been easing into February after my time away in Barcelona. I sure did enjoy my time away. And let’s get one thing straight. Me going away is not me trying to escape my day to day life. Or to bury my head in the sand and ignore stuff. Nah man! Me taking myself away, spending money on experiences rather than material things, is me giving myself the time and space to dive deeper into myself. To strengthen the person I am becoming on the daily.
Spending time, in new and old places, travelling and meeting new people, is an opportunity to gain clarity on the person I am and becoming. It’s a concentrated time to explore my values and morals, my dreams and plans. It fills my pot with images and words and feelings at the same time as bringing out into the world insight, thoughts and actions.
So January was good in terms of feeding my pot and keeping me in rest mode and February will continue this quest of rest and dreaming.
A highlight of January, and Barcelona is in there of course, was finding a Black Madonna and child just by chance, just as I was leaving Barcelona to take to the sea of Sitges. This sighting and time spent with her was a gift. A gift I carry with me and which is fuelling how I move through the next month.
February the month of love and grace for me. As I’m not looking for love anywhere else expect from myself. And how am I showing myself love this month? Resting when it’s needed. Not rushing to do things I don’t want to do. Not being a doormat for other people. Distancing myself from toxic people and situations. Not playing the games that belittle me. Not voicing my power and choice as a way to keep the peace or to be looked upon fondly. Being honest even when it hurts including myself because life’s too short to be wrapped up in charades. Caring for my needs and wants. Prioritising my needs and wants first because then when I turn up for others there is no resentment just an open heart.
Of course February will see some more traveling as I continue to fill my pot with experiences that make my heart sing and smile shine. #onwards.
1. While visiting Paris in April, I’d made arrangements before I left to visit Vichy and visit the Black Madonna there in the Old Church, chapel Saint-Blaise.
I’m returning to my relationship with the Black Madonna here but still exploring this connection. This pull I sense towards these Black Virgins.
2. This chapel has always been a magnet in Vichy due to this Black Virgin of the 14th century. She is known for her miracles.
3. I’ve not brought with me the Christena Cleveland book, God is a Black Woman but I know I’ve written about this particular Black Madonna here before.
4. It was during the French Revolution, that she was burnt and only her head remained, thanks to a ten-year-old child who saved her from destruction.
5. There have been times that I have lost my head. Or been disconnected from my body. There have been times that it’s felt that I’ve been burnt at the stake. That my life has gone up in flames.
6. In 1802, her head was placed on a wooden base covered with the old cloth until 1931 when she was given a body again. Became a full bodied statue thanks to the sculptor Emma Thiollier.
7. No- one stitched me back together. Forged that (re)connection with head and body. I had to do that myself. Over years and over turbulent waters.
8. Vichy is known as the “queen of spa towns” with five healing thermal mineral springs.From the Roman times, people used to bathe in the waters, later to just taking to drink from the spring. It was only later after legends linking the healing qualities of the water to a white fairy that Christians connected the blessed waters with their miracle working Black Madonna of the Sick.
9. I’ve always thought of the sea as my medicine. She has healed me more than once. Healing is not a one time deal. It’s a practice and a process. But I’ve not been taking to the waters of late. I’ve not been taking my medicine.
10. I turn up here, create stories as a part of my healing journeys which are never linear. Spirals and circles instead.
My mind and body are hurting with the constant stream of information and images of this and that atrocity, and there is very little space to breathe, rest and take stock. I’ll be honest, I’ve been checking out. Checking out into Netflix boxsets, mindlessly watching episode after episode, numbing the pain and feelings of being inadequate , or not doing enough, being enough. Enough.
I don’t know about you, but it’s an overload at times of these times, which feel cruel and oppressive, evil and violent and unbelievable and yet we accept. There are no quick fix solutions but my heart and soul wants to feel that all will be well.
Society and culture ( the whole world) at the moment feels toxic and dangerous and I’m all for just slowing down and connecting in more deeper, honest and nourishing ways. I’m still leaning into my joys. Still bending towards the light as I don’t want to lose myself in this crippling spiral.
I’m slowing down alone and I’m slowing down in groups that I’m supporting and who are supporting me. I’m not by-passing the pain, the harsh realities, the genocides ( as there are multiple happening at the same time just now or have always been going on), but I’m also acknowledging how much I can endure and not beating myself up if I choose silence instead of performance. I know this is a privilege which I recognise, voice and keep checking.
Below I share the images from my Paris trip of Our Lady of Good Deliverance, often referred to as the Black Madonna of Paris. Over a 6 miles walk to see her, I covered more miles within my mind with my thoughts and feelings wondering and wandering, which were silenced or put to one side when I met this Black Madonna. I had the small chapel , in the suburb Neuilly-sur-Seine, all to myself when I visited. I walked around, I sat and looked and I lit a candle and remembered my ancestors and give thanks for this deliverance.
Deliverance: being rescued or being set free. How apt she comes back to me today. How I must have unconsciously known I needed her guidance today, needed her love and reassurances that liberty, salvation, change is possible. I’m not religious or spouting anything remotely religious or pious. I’m not preaching or looking to convert.
I’m spiritual and believe in love. I believe in the good in people and try to connect there on that common ground rather than separation and hatred.
What I do know is this isn’t a neat, tie-it-all-up-ending, with ‘this is what I want to say and you to take away’ as that would be another construct and false prophet.
I just know starting to look/ believe that ‘God is a Black Woman’, that the Black Madonnas are here to support and love us through difficult times ( as well as good times, our pleasures and joys) feels like a blessing to me that I will continue to lean into during these slowing down, turning away from exploitative and extractive society and culture times and continue to nurture others ways of {BEING} in this world.
I’m onto the second reading of this book. I think I heard Christena Cleveland on a podcast talking about her journey and I knew I just had to get her book. I’ve used the saying myself, “God is a Blackwoman.” But I didn’t know there was a book all about it.
The book explores Cleveland’s spiritual/ religious journey as she falls out of love with Christianity as its essentially fathetskygod/white make good and is used to uphold white supremacy, patriarchy and capitalism. Basically just looking out for white cis males.
The book also follows Cleveland’s four-hundred-mile walking pilgrimage across the Auvergne to visit eighteen Black Madonnas. The book manifests Cleveland’s transformation through the Sacred Black Feminine, healing her Black female embodied soul.
Each chapter takes the reader on a journey in the present as Cleveland walks and also into the past as she reflects on her upbringing within her family, the church and society. How she grew up feeling unloved by God, unseen and not looked after. Each chapter also introduces the reader to a Black Madonna, each one Cleveland encounters along her pilgrimage.
It was when I read Chapter 5 and Cleveland introduced us to ‘She who cherishes our hot mess’, the Black Madonna Our Lady of the Sick in Vichy, that I got it into my head I needed to go see this one for myself.
Now I’ve seen the Black Madonna in Le Seu, Barcelona. Even climbed a mountain to see the Black Madonna of Montserrat, just outside Barcelona. But this time, this need felt different. A lot has changed for me since I’ve last seen these Black Madonnas and a lot more life experiences to heal from/ through/ round/over/in.
The Black Madonna of Vichy was decapitated during the French Revolution but the people who were oppressed loved her. They tracked down her head and built her new body out of walnut and put her back together again.
I love this story and it spoke deeply to my soul because I know what it feels like to be separated from my body in an act to fit in. To be disconnected from my body, living in just my mental space and not listening to my physical pains and discomforts but soldiering on. Denying my needs and wants as these are seen as weaknesses, produce feelings of shame and are not welcome here. Squeezing myself into smaller and smaller spaces so as not to take up any room and apologising for the space I do take up.
Been there, done that. Now I intentionally practice being with/in my body. I enjoy an embodied presence in the present. My head has been reattached to my body and I’m allowing my body to lead the way with practice. I’m no lover afraid to express my needs and wants or to walk away if these are not being met.
So once I realised I was definitely coming to Paris this year, I made the arrangements to go that extra mile or two ( well 450 round trip) to see ‘She who cherishes our hot mess’ in the flesh.
It would involve a 3 hour train journey each way. An over night stay and a little hope skip and a jump up to the Notre Dame des Malades, the new church where she stands.
And for a minute there I thought the church was locked …
I’ll leave it here for now because trying to see this Black Madonna turned into a bit of a crusade to see her again and again during my time in Paris. More to follow!
Living Wild Studios 