sometimes I fantasise about disappearing. not death.
just checking out. take to my cosy cottage in the shadow of a mountain.
grow pumpkins and squash. swim in a lochan daily.
write that novel. for me. not caring if anyone reads it.
i’m {BEING} on my own time.
slipping under a liminal moon. free.
those questions that provoke and are testing you, to establish if you really want to have a conversation or if you just want to use and abuse me on your own terms, for your own agenda and gain.
Unto the deep, the deepness of calling
stepping out as a battered sojourner,
into the beauty and stillness of autumn,
strength comes from struggle and speaking the uncomfortable.
Anger but also grace in the refusal.
The whole shebang.
I second guess myself around race and the way I’m being treated. Or think I am. The vibe I’m sensing from other people. And if I always have to bring it back to race. Why I’m always seeing the gaps and having to speak up.
I’m judging myself as wrong on the ‘i ain’t smiling’ stuff. How I’m doing this to individuals who have probably not done anything to me. It was someone else who looked like them who did me wrong.
And I’m treating them in a way I don’t want them to treat me. Like lumping them all together and not seeing them as individuals. Judging than as all the same and not giving them the benefit of the doubt. Not giving them a chance. This individual might be different. Might be doing the work. Might see me. Might smile.
I think I’m tired. I’ve been living that way for so long now. Smiling into the faces of strangers. Smiling with hope without much in return. Without much connection and now I’m just not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt because I’m not given the same curtesy.
We see in the US, the Republicans are in office, have control of both houses, Congress and the Senate. They have all the power and are shutting down the government peddling lies that it’s the Democrats fault. But instead of the Democrats stopping smiling and taking the gloves off, they’re reaching across the aisle, holding out their hands and hoping that some Republicans will join them and vote against the shut down.
Now I’m not dissing hope. I still have hope. Hope is a wonderful thing. We have to have hope. Hope is a practice. But the uselessness of the Democrats hope is around where it’s placed.
Even when the Republicans know they are wrong, doing wrong and being dishonest, they will not admit it, take responsibility and change. Act differently, no. Something about keeping face. Winning an argument and keeping power is the mission. Not giving anything away out of fear and greed. Keeping power.
This is how I see my situation. I’ve been appeasing monsters. I’ve been holding out hope for change and I still do. But I’m just choosing to place this hope elsewhere. Holding hope within my community ( village, Dal!), for and by us.
Smiling into the faces of the comrades and friends as they have not let me down. They see me. They respect me. They listen to me. They’re with me not against me.
I don’t need to perform any convincing, or prove my credentials as a human being. They love me as me. And there’s the rub. They love me. And I love them.
I’m smiling at that.
&
One time when I came home crying after being called nasty names at school, he told me to fight back. If I couldn’t use my fists and feet to fight back, he said, to then pick up a brick and use that to fight back instead.
Aged garlic, deep coloured. Dark brown to black cloves. An ancient East Asian practice of placing garlic in a warm, moist environment to allow the cloves to turn black over time. Something new that crossed my path while visiting a garlic farm on the Isle of Wight last week. Something I got the opportunity to taste within a black garlic, chocolate and cherry cake. Yummy.
Visiting the garlic farm has fostered a new appreciation for garlic and all its properties, culinary and medicinal. It’s a remarkable herb which has been showing up in most of what I’ve been eating since.
The next step is to attempt to grow garlic as I start to create a winter salad garden as part of my applied permaculture design portfolio.
Still doing it even if it’s a slow process and I haven’t updated my permaculture blog in a while. But I’m getting back on it as I complete another Permaculture Design Certificate course with Liz Postlethwaite again called The Gathering. And as I start to complete the permaculture teacher training course as well this autumn so I can become qualified to design and teach my own permaculture design certificate course.
retro disco. good tunes. way back to our youth. we’re dancing. enjoying the tuuuunnnnneeees.
i kick off my shoes. barefoot in the grass. the cold september grass.
i look around. blond woman staring. pointing at me. talking to her man. me and my bare feet. laughing. i know she’s not saying anything good about me.
i stare back. she sees i see her. she tries to cover her tracks. too late. bitch. i see you.
before. i’d smile. make it appear as all is well. while i bleed from another wound inside.
before. i’d smile. make her feel better. while i die another death inside.
tonight. i ain’t smiling. i give her cut eye. i stare her down. she looks away first.
i continue to dance barefoot. smiling inside.
i’m protecting my peace so i have the energy for me, to {BE} in service for we, the we that looks/{BE} like me
this is all becoming clearer now
i’m not expending or wasting any more time, energy, attention on those (white) people who do not see me. or when they do see me, they do not see me as human
as Akwugo Emejulu says, the black woman can never be a human being
for decades i’ve spent time, energy, attention, through my practice and day to day life, trying to convince others ( white people) of my humanity. i would bend over backwards trying to get accepted, recognised, cherished as a fellow human being
look, please, i’m human. look, please, i feel, i hurt, i bleed. i breathe
no more. i am no longer prepared to play that role. dance this stupid dance. as i will never be accepted, recognised, loved as a human being. the system won’t allow it. (white) people won’t allow it
i’m no longer wasting my energy on proving jackshit
i’m refusing what has already been refused of me ( fugitivity)
i knowing who i be. i am smart, i am kind, i am important ( The Help). and i don’t need/want/entertain any (white) person to tell/grant/recognise me as such
and i’m no longer apologising/ playing it down or safe/ tempering for how i feel/act/ {BE} about this situation
as that just expends/takes/sucks out of me a whole heap and of other energy
i ain’t smiling.
Living Wild Studios 