Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?
As I’ve recently shared my word of the year is LUSH. I love this word. It reminds me of my childhood when everything was LUSH; a way of expressing my enthusiasm and my curiosity. When it wasn’t shunned to be in your feelings. When it was natural to full of awe and wonder.
I’m evoking LUSH this year to get back to that state. To foster these feelings more in my every day. I want to feel the LUSHness of life.
And yes I have been in my feelings this week, even if those feelings have been of pain and annoyance and regret towards my recent accident. But you have to experience all the feels in order to appreciate the joy and pleasure.
As a way of anchoring myself into this LUSH life. In order to have a reminder of where I am, what feelings I really want to wallow in, within joy and pleasure and self-love, I have this green ring I wear on my left hand. It’s a commitment from myself to myself. It’s a reminder of the love I am fostering and leaning into towards myself.
The ring has weight to it. The ring is beautiful. When I wear it I’m feeling it’s there on my ring finger and it’s reminding me I am loved and cared for. I am enough as I am, no conditions. This green ring, significant LUSH, is unconditional love for myself.
During my time of hibernation, (have I mentioned that here?) I’m resting of course but I’m also writing and dreaming and catching up on the things I want to do with my time and energy.
Another one of my abstracts was accepted for a special publication by Demeter Press around mothering and life writing. I completed an essay in 2023, around my Black Matrilineage and last year I complete an essay around Black Mothering and Creativity. This is probably going to have to be redrafted this year, but in all honesty I was just happy to submit something, as I had a major block around this essay. I think it was because I allowed my creativity and energy to be sucked into other people’s creative dreams and lost sight of my own last year. So when it came to writing the essay my well was dry.
Anyway, I’ve started the reading and writing around my third essay now which is all about Black mothering and fugitivity. I love fugitivity and it is one of the supporting words for 2025. As I mentioned before, I’ve been exploring fugitivity for the last few years and what this means as a practice. So I’m mighty pleased in having the time and space to explore it further and deeper through writing this essay.
While going over my abstract again and riffing off from it, I remember my creative non-fiction novella I created called rubedo. I think this came out in July 2016, after the 2015 shit hit the fan episode in my life. rubedo was my exploration of this time in my life and how I got through it. It was through finding myself after years of repression and not listening to my inner wisdom that I came to be who I am today.
Anyway, I revisited rubedo with this chapter/ essay in mind, realising that 2025 is 10 years since this episode in my life. It sometimes feels as if it was just yesterday. I know I felt it keenly last year when Darkling came out. Darkling is my first poetry collection since Laventille (2015) and the shitstorm episode. And to tell the truth, I’m waiting for the the shit to hit the fan again, as I’m sure there are people picking their way through Darkling as I type to try and find evidence of plagiarism again. As they say once a plagiarist always a plagiarist! It’s not a term or label I identified with then or do now. As that’s not me, that’s not who I am but that didn’t stop people then or now from looking for the evidence to prove/support it.
But I’m not here to talk about that. What struck me about rubedo is the raw honesty of it all. And how writing, writing it all out literally saved my life. I’m so grateful that Ian brae enough to pick up my pen and writing through the shit to now.
Here is what I wrote about my capacity to love no matter what:
“But something does inside die this day. And the days that follow. Something inside of me, the capacity to have patience and make allowances for other people’s bullshit was destroyed during this lynching. No doubt, using the term ‘lynching’ will invite criticism. I know when Andy Croft my publisher used the term to condemn what was happening to me on social media he received a fair amount of criticism. But I do not use this word lightly.
Ironically, in the months leading up to my death by social media, I was researching and writing poems about lynchings in America. I was referring to the postcard images that were collected as souvenirs by the spectators of lynchings at the time. There were those people who got their hands dirty during a lynching, who actually tied the knot of the noose, beat the victim, mutilated the bodies. And there were those who came along to watch the spectacle. Viewing the death of another human being as just another social event, a festival, something to be enjoyed. Both killers and spectators relish the sport.
This in my opinion is what happened to me. A public lynching and souvenirs where taken. One person on Facebook, joined in the thread of conversation with a comment as a means of marking it. This person was rubbing their hands with relish, saying that they didn’t want to miss a thing as this spectacle was just too good to let pass by.
When I died this cruel death something inside broke. I’ve recently come to realise that is was my heart that broke that night. I’ve been visualising my heart with a rose in the centre. This rose is closed. This I read as a symbol of
me shutting down, dying inside, shutting off the natural flow of love from my heart for my family, friends, for the world around me. My heart was broken, so I have been denying myself and others love. I’ve been living in fear, fear of it being hurt again, fear of my heart being broken again, fear to love. In a way, this had to happen to me. For one, I’ve always disliked that capacity in me to keep forgiving others, letting them back into my life when they’d let me down and not lived up to my expectations. I’ve taken on board the responsibilities of others, thinking I’ve had too high standards and I’d been unfair. That capacity has been obliterated. I can’t take anybody’s bull shit anymore. But at the same time, this capacity to forgive is part of my large capacity to love. And if this is who I’m really are , then I shouldn’t fight it any longer but accept it.
My true self is my capacity to love, to love fiercely and powerfully. I accept that now and I’m no longer blocking up my love. I can’t live in constant fear of being hurt, of getting my heart broke again because then I would not be living true to my capacity, true to me. I would just not be living at all.“
I’m so pleased that since then I have found others, such as bell hooks and Joy James, who write about revolutionary/ radical love and validate my ways of loving, which at times hurts me but also brings me a while heap of joy also. You can’t love without the expectation or knowledge of getting hurt.
Last year’s word of the year got lost in the mix. It was ‘self-authority’. Not sovereignty as that has colonial connotations for me.
I might not have been intently focused on the word – ‘self-authority’- throughout 2024. But I feel as if by the year’s end I have come to some new understanding of this way of being. I have a new kind of clarity around my own power and grace and being for sure.
As always I will continue to carry my word of the year along with me for the rest of my life and practice. My words of each year do become part of my arsenal, part of my way of moving through this world for ever more.
So what is my word for 2025.
LUSH.
Lush is my word for 2025. I’ve always loved the word ‘lush’ since I was a child. Especially after I moved up to the North -East of England when I was 10. Lush was the in word and it was used to describe anything that we thought was good, and inspiring and exciting. It was our go to word to describe anything that was positive and good. Lush has stayed with me, even though it might have fallen out of fashion over the years with others.
What do I mean now though when I use the word ‘lush’? First of all I just love the song of the word as it sizzles off my tongue. LUSH. LUSH. LUSH. So even the word itself is lush to me. But why do I mean when I use it in my life?
Lush usually refers to nature. To the lavishness of the vegetation. Green is the colour that comes to mind for lush. There’s a sense of abundance to it. Lush can also refer to the loveliness of a a person, their vitality as well as their sensuality and sexuality. Back in the 18th century say, lush also referred to a person who was in the habit of getting drunk. Maybe this gives the impression of lushness being to the excess. Like too much, too green, too beautiful.
For me, I’m picking up lushness for its sense of vitality and abundance. It’s innocence and child-like wonder and pleasure it brings me when I say the word as well as use it to refer to something as being ‘lush’. It could be a lush vista while I’m out with nature. It could be a lush colour. It could be a lush feeling. And this is where I’m starting with lush within my feelings.
This year, with carrying lush with me, I want to feel the thrills and pleasures of lushness. I want to feel the joy and exuberance of lushness. I want to feel the sparkle and abundance in everything and everyone I come into contact with.
This image is lush. Lush because of the way the water reflects the blue of the sky. Lush because of the dusting of snow on the mountain peaks. Lush because it is a moment of stillness and beauty and I’m part of it. Lush because I am present in the moment. Lush because I’ve grateful to be there. Lush because it’s the start of a new day. So much lushness to draw upon within each moment, each snapshot of my life and this is what I want to be tapping into more times than not. Lush is my anchor, my reminder, my mantra.
LUSH. LUSH. LUSH.
Do you have a word for the year? Please share in the comments if you do, I’d love to hear about it.
This summer has been the summer of hydrangeas. Everywhere I’ve been this summer, on my travels and just walking the neighbourhood, I’ve been met by these blooming bountiful heads of colour. Big bushes bursting with these delicate four petal bunched-headed flowers. And every time my heart has sung at the sight of them
And as the summer comes to a close, with the changes in temperature and of light, these flowers will start to turn brown and in this flitting beauty of autumn, they will still make my heart sing as in their beautiful fragile death there will be rebirth.
So Day 4 of #GloPoWriMo and I’ve managed to read poetry and write some for the last four days. I’m pleased with that as it’s the most I’ve written all year!
I’m sharing this little surreal prose poem that came my way by Franz Kafka that really inspired me. The illustration is by Aimee Pong and you can find more illustrated poems by Kafka here too.
This is what I wrote jumping off The Sirens-
The sirens of waiting – a surreal prose poem
Waiting. Seductive voices floating through the dark night draw me in with the promise of beauty; laying down my load and being rescued.
Thick velvet air, their song like the Sirens overwhelm my senses leading me to think I’m safe and wanted and loved. Isn’t this how all men ( little boys in grown up clothes) draw their prey in?
The Black Madonna, another mother for all white people. With my eyes sharpened through carrots, I’m no longer waiting for someone to come and save me. There is no one. There is no such person. It was a construct fed on a reel since the day I took my first breath. A falsehood fed like life itself.
I’m the one I’ve been waiting for. Me in all my fucked up glory is the one who will save me. I see it now. I feel it now. I hear it now in my lament sung aloud. Listen. Doesn’t it sound so beautiful?
Living Wild Studios 