Morning routine done. Still completing my rituals before I greet the world.
Decided to add 2 more to the list so I can complete some stuff I want and don’t want to do this month.
One is to continue to add to my wall for my fugitivity essay. Two, tackle one task per day for completion of my counselling skills course.
Guess which task is the one I don’t want to do?
Completed reading the ebook, In the Cut by Susanna Moore. And I’m not going to spoil it for you but I just didn’t see the ending coming. I was reading this after reading an article with Susanna Moore speaking with Allison P. Davis and it was exploring writing about sex and murder. Somethings I’m considering writing about. So I thought I better read the novel. Let’s just say it’s an interesting read and I think I was expecting more sex! Call me greedy!
Went out for a walk and was remembering my drive home yesterday in the sunshine. Reminded of how being with Kiwi, and our on adventures is my happy place. More!
Returned home and forgot to post some stuff so had to go back out. And Tynemouth is heaving today because the sun is out and it’s the weekend and it’s station market day. I tend to avoid the crowds at the coast and head in the opposite direction but today I did not mind the people as I felt like I belonged.
It’s been a while since I’ve taken you on a photowalk. With the nights getting lighter, and being away in Kiwi, I felt the urge to watch the sun go down over Loch Morlich.
When Kiwi and I were coming back from Glencoe in the New Year, we planned to stop off at Loch Morlich on route but it had snowed and more forecast. I’d never been to the loch before so I erred on the side of caution promising myself that we would return some other time.
That’s a practice of mine. To not run around like a blue arsed fly trying to fit everything in/ see/do everything but to leave something to come back for. A reason to return.
We were due to return to Loch Morlich in January but after my fall, I postponed it till this week.
So here we are parked up at Glenmore Campsite nestled in Glenmore Forest and kissing Loch Morlich.
Of course I’ve already been in the loch and it was fucking cold. I was tingling with renewed life afterwards though.
Enough energy therefore to take you on a photowalk as the evening draws in.
When my sixth form tutor advised me when I said I wanted to be a teacher, that I’d be better off serving in a shop, I felt I needed to prove him wrong.
That I could be a teacher and a good one at that. I studied hard, got to Uni, struggled financially and to dropped out to gain employment. But that didn’t work out, so I returned to complete the degree and then went on to train at the Institute of Education in Secondary English and Geography.
I had to prove that tutor wrong but I also had to be a positive role model for kids who looked like me; brown and black students.
So inner city London teaching was where I got my first teaching job. I didn’t realise the school was under space measures as a failing school. Every term we were inspected to make sure we improved and got out of special measures. But I loved it as I felt as if I was making a difference.
With my rose- tinted spectacles still on, I didn’t realise I was propping up a system with its purpose to create factory fodder rather than free-thinking individuals.
Fast-forward to teaching in the north east with curriculum responsibility. Actually teaching in the same school I went to as a kid. Some of the teachers who used to teach me were still there including that sixth form tutor who said I would be better off working in a shop.
I showed him he was wrong.
But I also realised during this period, that I was wrong. I was in the wrong career. Not only was the hours long and tasks never ending. Not only was there a distinct lack of creativity.
But I was bored and frustrated by all the rules, timetables and regulations. Basically at every point or time in the school day, everyone knew where to find me. In the same classroom teaching the same stuff. Life was controlled by the bells and the timetable never changed from each week to the next.
I was bored and when I tried to bring in some fun and excitement by inviting guests and creatives, I was told that this is not the way to teach. It’s just not done that way.
I was dying from the inside out. Little pieces of my soul were being eaten away from the rules, the controls, the regulations. I had to go.
I jumped ship without a net and suddenly I was no longer bored but full of wonder and curiosity and fear of the unknown but so much more energy for life. And willingness to explore.
I’m using my morning routine as an anchor. Each day comes and goes, but I can show up and repeat a selection of rituals which keep me present and bring me joy.
When there are days when I hit a funk, when the energy is low and I forget about the abundance in this world, I lean in a bit more fully or a bit longer into a certain practice until I come back to myself.
Today, I needed to move with the sea. It’s been two weeks since I’ve been into the sea what with being away and experiencing the come down. So I promised myself last night, today is the day to return. I kept this promise to myself, strengthening that muscle of trust in the self.
It was freezing and beyond. The wind chill was sharp and painful. The waves were high out there. But I walked in and out, did my acclimatising dance and gave thanks.
I thanked the sea for being here, always to greet me. No matter how long I’ve been away, or how broken I turn up. She is always there to greet me in all my fucked up glory and I thank her for holding me, for rocking me back home to myself. To her. To the universe.
Quantity over quality is a characteristic of whet supremacy culture. Say like with social media, we are wired to focus on the numbers. The number and amount of followers, likes, comments gives us the buzz. Keeps us returning usually. Rather than the quality of interactions. The quality of connections.
But in this instant when I say I’m on a reading tip and boast that I’ve read 12 books already this year, fiction, poetry and non-fiction, I’m taking the buzz of the numbers because I know they were quality reads.
Last year saw me fall off my reading horse. Reading was only happening when I had an extended amounts of time off the clock. Summer reading mostly. I didn’t have the bandwidth or desire to read at any other times. I was too antsy and not able to settle, as too many demands were pulling on my attention.
So I’m really happy that this hibernation season has seen me dive back into books. Physical and digital books. I do not care which as long as I’m reading, expanding my thinking and formulating new pathways of understanding and connection.
So White Tears Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad was completed yesterday. And it so feeds into my experiences with white women. Even though they’ve caused offence, been racist that is, it’s me who’s consoling them and making sure their feelings are not too hurt. Or it’s me having to apologise because my reaction to their racism or them touching my hair without my consent has been deemed far too aggressive and not very collaborative by the organisation or group I was working with.
They are used as a weapon, white tears, to shut down the conversation. To get the white person out of an uncomfortable situation and out of having to look at themselves and their behaviours.
It was so validating to read this book and recognise that it doesn’t just happen to me and that this is a centuries old tactic of the damsel in distress. And that damsel is white as Black and Brown women have never been deemed woman enough to protect. And all this shit is wearing thin with Black and Brown women. Believe.
This book was an extension of an article Ruby Hamad wrote back in 2018 for The Guardian. You can read it there and just know that one Black woman, Lisa Benson, who was working as a journalist at the time got fired for simply sharing this article because it was deemed ‘an attack on white women’. White tears in action right there!
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.
Living Wild Studios 