Monday, September 21, 2009

The Surgery, The Implant, The Transformation (Part One)

I'm attempting to reach out to fellow readers and bloggers alike on a subject that many will overlook only to suit it to their lifestyle or belief. I won't hate on that, however, I feel that no one is owed anything without giving proper credit and thanks to those that have laid the foundation before us. This blog is dedicated to Dr. Afolabi O. Epega, my ancestors, my ori, and those that I have come in contact with that have helped me move forward in life, as well as I unto them.
One thing that Ifa has taught me is that you cannot do anything or go forward without mentioning those that stood behind you. We stand upon the shoulders of our ancestors. It's been said time and time again. I wonder if we are starting to lose touch with our teachers and trailblazers because of what Western society deems as 'self-deserving notoriety' in the technology age. One thing that is repeated in the lineage is that we know our information and continue to study life and nature. The ebb and flow of this surreal and very tangible existence before us calls us to react in a way that our spirits are not affected detrimentally by what we acquire, but what we've learned. Not by what we see, but what we feel. I was taught that you must "sacrifice the chicken within, in order to before we sacrifice outside ourselves". My mom always taught me to put a 'handle' (a proper address, such as Mister, Madame, Mademoiselle) on the greeting to an adult. Sitting down with elders unlock treasures and stories unheard of and so valued that you'd not want for the foolish reality shows. I have seen how we must consult our family and elder community, before we start anything, for their permission.
Respect comes in many forms.
In my six years of up-close Ifa experience, I have seen things that Dr. Epega and a host of African spiritualists, (or shall I say 'spiritual influences'), appear and manifest before me in astounding ways. To unlock the faith and strength within, through turmoil and through triumph, makes you wonder why do we struggle to understand others' behaviors? Ah, if only everybody understood Ifa the way that Jordan understood the game of hoops. It was one thing to comprehend Christianity, another to tolerate Islam. Both are somewhat dependant of the African lineage of the honing of oneself, spiritually. Somehow, invading became a big ordeal in order to spread the 'enlightenment'. Unloading your beliefs upon a culture to improve your cultural and political status is out. It's still being done today, but not as subtle, if it was at all. What gets me is that most Traditional African practitioners are looked upon as outcasts by the multitude, yet the ones that lead these hordes are secretly consulting the oracle (Ashe-O)! I don't want to give nor withhold too much of what I know, so I will just say this about what I believe Ifa has done for me. When I started to walk out of the boundaries of Christianity and searched for more slightly on Islam, I found out that the two don't contrast as much. In more than one instance they mention each other's prophets, guidelines, and even how they greet each other in a closely connected language. With Ifa, these differences are demolished by simply undressing the title of a person's beliefs and addressing them within their spiritual paths and taboos. I always tell the story of how I was pulled over by policemen, searched, harassed, and then arrested and taken to jail numerous times. Was it my first significant taste of discrimination, exuded upon me by the self-hatred of others? After all, a 'sista' called them on me, and they were two Hispanic officers with tazers and a glock pointed at me. I wasn't in the wrong, and yet, this was the time that I would experience why it must happen. I've been mired in the works of Ogun and Ochossi all of my life. However, in one instance, I was told to come to court for a judgment, and three days before that my life was changed in significant fashion. That will be revealed in part two.
It is believed that the only things that are certain are the days of a person's birth and death. Anything else can be manipulated to suit or help with the flow of your life's path. However, it is also said that to work against your ancestors is ruination and certain unease throughout your life. I've heard one person mention to me that it's (IFA) only significant if you believe in that type of energy. What you believe in isn't the problem. How you react and respect nature is.there are some Christians living the high life without acknowledging any Traditional African spirituality. There are some that practice Voodoo, Vodou, Voudon (sp), Lucumi, Santeria, Hoodoo, Candomble, Palo, Chango Baptiste, whatever type that is a derivative of the systems of Ghana, Congo, Egypt, and Nigeria, and they are wildin' out. However there are reasons for everything. Since I've been here, and only ONCE to Nigeria, I've come to realize that more of my blood leave the mother continent to search for God, Goods, and Glory...through CHRIST that strengthens them. My elder, Dr. Epega, mentions that they're just revering someone else's ancestor (that he is the most overused). So poetic, seeing that we don't search within the self, in order to better one's knowledge of using and misusing universal energy. After all, this shit ain't ours to keep...the energy we are given is to repair past lives, past situations, redeem, settle debts, find harmony and love, and redo this all over again. (TBC)

Sunday, September 20, 2009

What Comes Next After The Beginning Of Adoration?

Ok, who here can say that they haven't asked the 'pivotal question' to a significant other, a someone significant other, or an interest before?

Following topics are usually the 'make or break' key words that will either send your emotions high with great expectations and satisfaction, or sink them with disappointing results:

*Past, Present, and Future Relationships
*Occupation and Goals
*Hobbies and Recreation
*Troubles and Run-Ins with the Law

I'm sure there are more, however these seem to appear the most, (and not just by themselves, nor in a series of questions--sometimes it appears in one question).

Have you been turned away by the person for asking? Is this a comparison thing, or just covering your bases emotionally? Are there standards high and low during these inquiries? Are these 'pivotal' questions even that crucial? If they are, at what point do you ask or decide when this is the time to enact your certain scales or measurements of how close they are to winning you over? Have you been through this process?

Seriously, are we minimally shallow, or just affixed on what we think we deserve? I think we shouldn't be judging or judged on that, due to the fact that we all have to experience something natural beyond the critique and other's means of help. Can you put your whole body into a feeling, instead of 'stepping in the name of love'? Are we capable of blindly loving? Trust without the expectation of more or waiting for the futility to overcast your sunny disposition? Do you think you could reciprocate or be reciprocated? Love is the pivot. Where will you turn to? The tangibles, or the inner being?

(thanks to slim_goodie for these words of inspiration, especially since she had most of the sayings in here)

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Q & A Games

So last night we played the "What If..." game. It was interesting because what I thought would be said in an abnormal conversation (if there is such a thing with me) was all laid out. She admitted that I wasn't boring, and that she wanted to know more of me. More about me. My admiration for her increase daily, however, there looms an overwhelming feeling that there's going to be some type of rapid change that will smack either one of us square in the head. Speaking of which, I like to poke fun at her head, although it's the cutest :) But, I digress.

The strong emotions I feel are unreasonably growing through talking and building. The game we played brought up future children, relationship tooling, and location. I'm not entirely sure if this is a fantasy waiting to fuck me up royally in the end, or something that is a delayed reaction from painful experiences, into a blossoming revelation of happiness. Oya is right there between us. Our ancestors are right there circling us. It's almost like a tussle for trust. A rumble for real affection.

The "What If" game brought to my attention some things in her past and my past that weren't pretty by any means, but that was the beautiful thing about it. We were ugly in our living because of the energies we were allowing to occupy our souls at that time. It's scary not hearing her, not feeling her by me, not being able to see her everyday in my dreams. We share dreams like pizza, and wash them down with interpretations. This game brings out the best and worst in us, and we play it without hesitations on finishing. We take turns asking and answering "What If" questions like it is an inning in baseball. Better yet, if one of us doesn't have anything ready to ask, it's like a turnover in football, or basketball. Possession is held by the next person. Doubled up. No fouls given. No ejections. We laugh, we contemplate, and we definitely reflect.

That's what's scaring me. The last time I felt this happy, I ended up in a relationship that stung after the initial break-ups, and the final one was like a foot on my neck. From the outside looking in, it doesn't seem like she's looking for lofty goals, but I'm realizing that the more we spread out our desires, the less I am holding off the doubts. I don't like doubting. I don't like fear.

I am a night person...and also an early morning person as well. Hell, if I'm up, I'm up. I love talking (as you can tell) and reading poems and quotes to her. She asks me to sing, and yet I'm not the best person to belt one out. LOL Hell, I'm just singing because my momma sang. I love melody. This woman is putting it back in for me. I have my own tune. She likes it. Question is, "What If" I am not supposed to sing to her? Hell of a question, right? I'm so affixed on her, that I want to submerge my emotions inside of her abyss of pleasure. I sang for my ex a few times, but I never really thought she was receptive. She claimed she loved it. I only sing when I play Capoeira, or when I'm teaching the children in the program new corridos (shorter, verse-laden Capoeira songs) When I read my poems to her, she is seemingly floored. Most of my newer poems are inspired by her. A renewal of my spirit, of sorts. I honestly couldn't muster up a true poem for my recent ex, nor any one of my exes for that matter, because it never came. My inspiration (or muse) usually is not the one I'm seeing or trying to marry. Why the hell is that? As she would say, "We have to remedy that, right away."

We fall asleep talking to each other. We sometimes don't even sleep. If at all costs, we're constantly doing everything that we'd do daily, and just add each other into the equation along the way. One time we talked for 18 hours...I swear it felt like it. It effects our work and our thoughts at times, so we try convincing each other that we must go to sleep. I wish she would, so that way she could tell me more about her dreams. Hopefully, we'd meet inside of each other's dreams and share a bowl of blissful ice cream, you know. She claims that she had a dream eerily (or prophetically) about a person similar to me. I can't tell you if it was accurate or not, because what stopped me was the fact that the first letters of my first and last name (although reversed) matched the person in her dreams. Not to mention the fact that one name was Igbo, and the other was Yoruba. Oddly enough, I study Ifa, and my name is Igbo.

I love her writing. I wish she'd write more. It seems like a female version of my life, minus some horrific experiences that were placed upon her. I don't think I'd be alive, or out on bail if I went through that shit. Maybe it's something about women who've been through pain that attracts me to them, because I feel as if I have to redeem. I think I'll be bold enough to perfect my craft, just because she's not so restrained in telling her story. I should be so lucky to live through and be more confident. She gives me that confidence.

"What If" this is right? "What If" I'm choosing door number 3 in a fail?

Know what's funny? My ex's children had a game we all played called "Imaginiff".

"Imaginiff" (Imagine if) I actually stopped living in my head and started living for the now.

Is her heart the "now"?

Friday, September 11, 2009

There Can Be Only One...(It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Me Up) - Oya Energy?

This is getting addictive. Same old Ifeanyi. Making his heart visible for the seemingly unreachable. Giving solely because he feels that he needs to. Sticking his hand out to pull up the downtrodden fellows. Something about my energy that drives up the stakes for my soul. Can you grasp any concepts, Mr. Okoro?

Oya doesn't see me as a forgotten child, so why do I find myself in the midst of someone else's change? Particularly, another child of hers? Those that features and motions point to Yansan's protected, amongst the streets and schools and neighborhoods? I like how energies like ours connect. I think maybe it's destined to meet with these Oya children and make use of our time. Now, I'm trying to transform into a better being. Eating better, working out once again, and trying not to worry as much, if at all. My heart, however, always interferes with progress. I lose massive amounts of weight when near depression after a heart-aching experience, I lose focus on my job when I am deal with its issues, and, worst of all, I alienate a lot of my current friends. Is that how it's played for me? I must admit I do like to be alone on some fronts, but not all the time. Last night, this shining star and I talked about being alone and how it hurts the soul and physical condition. Oddly enough, my ex never wanted to sleep alone, even when we got into huge arguments. Her children even wanted us to stay together in the room (mainly so they could stay with us). I miss it. Not the arguments, but the company. Feeling someone cuddle (yeah, I said 'cuddle', and I despise the word, even 'snuggle' has me kinda eh...) under you. I even used the word to describe what I needed to feel emotionally.

When I live alone, there is no worry. I live far apart from society, or someone that knows me. Not on purpose. It just happens that way. I dated Xaviera, and I moved out of 3rd Ward. When I broke up with her and she solidified my trust in her as shady business, I reaped what I've sewn in being alone and was evicted. I literally was evicted by Hurricane Ike to move into my recent ex's apartment. We stayed together until we just couldn't see eye to eye. In her mind, I was behind, and in my mind, I needed time to reassert myself with her. She settled for another person she previously knew and desired, and I again was evicted, but by her this time. I stayed with friends pretty much for 4 years. Even my sister. That took a while, cause I separated myself from my family. Another thing we've talked about. People of African descent thinking they are disgraced for staying with their family. What else can be done to bring separated family together, other than death? Marriage? Graduation? Even when trying to start a new family, such as my last attempt this past year that was unsuccessful, it's something that we look down upon. I even frowned at being with anyone after my recent break up, because I wanted to start over again, by myself, and no one to give me any lectures, speeches, or get well soon card sentiments. I wanted to be isolated. Is that bad? In a spiritual way, yes, because you decide to be bitter and encased in solitude to the point that you harbor bad feelings, even if the energy called for the relationship to cease, for now, or for good. Why get mad and set yourself away from your people?

In '08, I left a job that paid exceedingly higher than my current job ever did when I worked for them in the past as well. Yet, this job was a family that had dysfunction. The current job has very little problems, (actually it just started to surface now) and the children are just as receptive and loving as were the previous ones at the old job. There are parents that still consider me a father to their children because of my methods and ways I loved them. But I have no children from my being. I am a father-in-waiting. I deal with this one young man named Clay and he's constantly struggling to get shit right in his life. He calls for support, and I'm spreading myself so then, that I can't offer it to him when I really need to. It makes me seem as if I failed him. He does some knuckle-headed things, yet I really wanted him to settle down and think for a moment on the situation he puts himself through. He's like my oldest son. I hope that he can right the ship, but his timing is off in this fucked up world. Now's not the time to start getting it how you live. Time to reflect and then repair. Can I take my own advice? Am I having these dreams about children from my past for a reason? When will I be able to have a son or daughter? I would itch and scratch forever for a daughter.

I constantly desire to talk with Oya in person, or in spirit to see if I'm screwing my destiny away, or if I'm getting closer, but she's busy putting my scenes of my life together. I feel like the more I try to separate and be by myself, the more I develop a sickness, or some malady. Or a blockade. I've even lost 300 bucks to a woman, trying to move out into 3rd Ward again. What's that about? So I've assessed that there are meaningful and painful changes up ahead for me. I'm not sure if my karmic debt is settled yet, however I know I'm losing my direction after losing my religion (but when you let go of false things, someone or something should be there to pick up you and guide you...right?) So I've abandoned Christianity and left the method of respecting the ancestors' ways of surviving to that faction. I've abandoned being scared and started writing and typing and being more open to others. But where's my next step?

I want to venture out. Chicago, Illinois? Bahia, Brasil? Aba, Nigeria? Underground? This is the time that I need to die and be reborn. Mentally, I'll be better for my phoenix-ing. Rising from the ashes. I help people out to extend my life-force past forever. Yet, I'm slowly dying inside. Needing the backing that me and the shining star talked about late last night/early this morning. What must be done for me not to throw all of my efforts to everyone and that NOT be the last attempt to spread my soul around to everyone. I can't save or soothe everyone. And even when I need it, like the surrounding of family, friends, and loved ones...I cannot usurp it. Why? Where are my millions to hold me up? Just one true soul. All I need.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Which is it?

Which is it, America? All of us or none of us? Indigenous occupation or Columbus land disfiguration? Pilgrim or pillage? Pilgrimage to villages of my ancestors' souls' sole prints on pyramid grounds, not Plymouth Rock. Plundering, pasty, pale face pirates barter we good for their goods in our hoods. What's under the hood? Volkswagen? Folks draggin' my mans an' nem the body tumbling and thuds background sound for America's anthem. Mexican reclamation of real estate, now y'all up at arms throwing immigrant tantrums unforeign to we colored folk that have seen this before. Which is it, America? Go green or be black? Plant a tree for your tomorrow, while we sob in sorrow. Can we borrow a saw to sever our fruit from your bigoted branches and uproot racist remarks? You lie? You lie! You lie on our creativity's bed, reproducing cash from fucking us instead. Reduce credit, reuse demoralizing themes, recycle beats for sympathizing beatniks to freak and front our flavor. Profiting from persona-pimping my people from hip-hop, to rock, to jazz, to lips, hips, hair, nose, genitals and ass. I ask which is it, America? The other white meat, get beat to the white meat, or influenza driving under the influence of swine no matter whole, malignant, or benign. Pork, police, or pressing the oppressed to get shots, or get fined, or get jailed, or get shot, or get sick, or get profiled, or get pulled, or get lynched, or get premium lunch meat. Which is it? Bald Eagle or Pitbull? Sick of Vick or sic 'em? I guess while dogs battle now, back then they circled us like herded cattle, nipping at our dogs, so tired from protesting. Gnawing at our bones simmering in the Mason-Dixon sun and determined sweat. Your pup shits on trees while your laws shit on we. At least your bullets were free to roam in our dome, right? Can't even call this place your home, right? Which is it, bitch? Health care or Hollywood head? Which? Bi-partisanship or badger bi-racial brother? Monotonous monopoly on mahogany inspiration. WHICH IS IT, AMERICA? USA...or US?

Tree of Life and Love

Under the Weeping Willow Tree we meet
Conversing with verses that are matched versus
the Words of Man
In the World of God
We share smiles similar to similes that mirror our affection for each other
Dark and lovely like 'universal forevers' echoed in the canals of ears
In the annals of time
Confined to this Earth with your lips pursed,
Eyebrows raised and hands extended interlocking with mine as roots would sacred soil
Deep stares I dare levy upon you to let your love sweat love out of its pores
For a heartbeat concedes to both of our inner selves breathing in each other's air
Even before wanting mouths explore and tongues so African reconnect
I resurrect amorous psalms and proverbs before your presence
Like limbs and leaves erect,
Letting the ori omit opposites of bliss and Oya
bless me with your breezy, easy calm
Before the storm of passion
fruit bares truth
You supply the sunshine lemonade made ready for consumption
as both our spirits bump your soul's selection
Under the rocking of the arbor's dressing
Feeling vibrations
We connect like Bluetooth
underneath the roof of the stars and heavens
Video strides I take to shake the visible blues
Ebbing and flowing to this day
Your hips directional sway,
makes my afternoon
Just before night swoons to daybreak
My ways with words are sometimes diverted by
Exploratory detours when the minds meet
Negativity's grinders causing mentality to
Ground and insatiable insanity to inflate upwards.
However, conversation that sate your thirst for edutainment
cannot delay me in drink you and I,
Smiles and all, knotted not in a carving of this tree's rough bark
In a flask not fit for mortals and men so petty to spark the not so slick spiel
So sleek that we grasp these emotions with grip tight rubber gloves
And hope that love won't slip from our celestial hands above.
This tree we congregate, spitting seeds of wisdom into the air
Sprouting elements of freedom and
Succulent visions of dusty domains we once called home
Represents strength in its branches that hold in our anger
And the stumps that lay roots sap our pains away
We now wail with the winds and cry desire from our pores
We dare rest here, beneath the shadow of the giant
Spooning like we forgot fruit pieces in serving bowls
Thanking the ancestors for become a blanket of eyes over us
watching the recreation of God
Take place
In a space reserved for
Do not park here.

No Brasil

Going to the Houston Brazilian Festival downtown made me want to escape to Brazil and never come back. That is, if I could take her and the children. I am not a fan of oppression, and I despise stagnation, so I am willing to live out my existence in Bahia or Rio. Who knows? I do plan to do a class and internship there next year with my friends. Advantages of speaking better Portuguese and maybe spending some time playing Capoeira there as well excites me! But that will take a portfolio, some scrilla, and total will to leave into a place so foreign to me. Come with?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Universal Verse Reversal - (She Is)

I am below below when she makes me feel above and I am not beside


I am climbing a climb endless ladder-high as I try escaping trapping eyes from


I am tied tight to my tongue's twists try to describe cryptic Coptic casing that is


Hangs on my copper limbs
I grow oil soil with thoughts of her black/slick
I scale to the skies
I am deeper than six feet
digging her whole persona
Reversing my patterns,
Reversing my position, my words,
My love will not stay in park, it's not even in neutral
My drive is there, however,
And there is no brake, no stopping, no rear view
My past is miles back of me
She uses deception in a receptive way
She likes what I say to her when I sing her soul to sleep
With my heart beat on the percussion
My mind on the spirit's sax
Under cardiac arrest
With trumped up charges of trumpet playing crimes
She chimes in with cymbals systematically
This is a grand band soothing her wounds
Swept away with Yansa's broom

I am guilty

She calls for me in the wind and dials up the number

She has my number

I am caught up

A rapture of reciprocity when I deliver my affection

It comes back to take me


I am beneath beneath the Earth
She is my fertile ground to keep me rooted
Even as we bear fruit from our roots up.

I stay grounded with her.


I am around the round solar symbol of myself
With my faith in my flares and my color as my God
I make my people brown-black-blue-red-yellow-goldenrod
When she mixes with me
I see we two hues make human
And humanity make humility their pledge to us
Under the skies that scream ancient praises
As we kiss the sky
Every morning

I am connected from the disconnected distances that only keep me from


I am longing for the short time that is between our meeting place on this Earth's face until I hold


I am reversed to birth cause I'm dying to love...


I am sent back to Earth cause Heaven isn't itself without...


I am without motion's emotions until the axis spins to rotate the beginning again with...

The last of the last 09-09-09 (Part Two)

Some people are just born to be against the grain, and all for the wrong reasons, shall I add. I just saw the Republican Party (Once Radical Republic, now just "Republi-cons" of the Trans-reformers... "More than health care odds") have their own good ol' South Carolinian hardhead Wilson shout out at the Pres. of these States Unified, calling him a liar. Of course, he got some looks form the "Auto-bamas" and a few from his own Republicons. In actuality, it's very legal to say what you will, seeing that free speech is a joke, and that it was only made for certain people of the hierarchy (i.e. rich, white men that had land and power). In other terms, shoes and bullets were used to express disgust (Bush and Reagan respectively). A babalawo once mentioned that the assassination of this new pres will be solely one of character. Why are people surprised? Obama can play this "I'm calm and cool" role if he likes, but the views of many that are sharing his skin, his past, and furthermore, his dream that seemingly is tanking by the second is now becoming dimmer and dimmer.

No respect for self. What was Obama doing this month? Taking heat about a speech encouraging the youth to pursue happiness through education and perseverance. No, he's taking the high road. Everyone mark your calendar when this great prophet...excuse me, chosen man didn't address Gates' arresting officer in a manner of chin-checking, position of power-wise. The flood gates have opened. You have natural born idiots that don't like to use common sense in consulting their ancestors or even some spiritual signs that appear to them. Here, I would have sent this cat to Ogun, or Esu to shut his ass up. No. Obama is trying his best to go Obatala's route, without using Obatala's strategy in thinking. Action won't take place without proper planning. He's balking on the Gitmo and Guantanamo Bay situations. he's not calling up the World Court on Bush and his cohorts for their part in the illegal capture and torture of suspects. Innocent ones, mind you.

Oya's watching and waiting tonight, throwing caution to the wind Obama is twirling in. He might want to gain his respect back by not letting a party push him and his image around. Then again, most of us good colored folk idol worship Jay Z and his "bride", Lil Wayne and Drake, watch Tiny and Toya, Really Asinine Housewives of ATL, and continuously dine on swine and slop. Our outside appearances are banged up through the inside. Oya wants you to be true. I've crossed over into the 9-10-09 date now in typing this. It's as if we're drinking all of this shit down and calling it a cure for the flu our minds have processed to believe we have. "Massa, we's sick?" America is built on September crashes and burns. The Titanic - September 1st.
German troops invade Poland as well as bomb their airfields.
Libya's Bloodless Coup
The world was changing. We're complaining about jobs and shit, yet we're not even stopping to see what the hell anyone else is thinking about our haughty, extravagant lifestyle. I'm awaiting this next day...just to see what transpired as a result of the last single digit ten spots are gone until 2101. (Not finished - TBC)

The last of the last. 09-09-09 (Part One)

September 9th, 2009. I can't remember where or what I was doing at this time on this date. Not on any September 9th. That's probably a good thing, seeing that my ori doesn't allow me to hold baggage too long. Memories...good memories, at that, bother me when they leave and come back in fragments. September is a month of ceasing. Hell, one of my favorite songs from Green Day touts the lyrics, "Wake me up...when September ends." I can't wait. The start of school was the first back then. September 1st. The football season began officially in September. Fall reared its head in the proper time. I'm guessing that change even places your memories in different stages. Like who would think of my past encounters and former girlfriends coming back to roam the area where I work? Thankfully, I haven't seen the one recent ex that is still around a nearby area. It's bad enough that we used to work together and my resources for maintaining my living here requires me to move around those areas she works and lives in. But this is how I think. How my heart reacts to pain makes me reflect on how much Oya has been moving things around in my life, despite me getting buck at everyone else that I've had around to blame.

I feel that every guru, every specialist, every life coach, and everyone too busy telling me about what we all need doesn't care. Why should they? Their life exists on you paying attention to what they offer you! Advice is one thing, but really, how often do we pay tons of money to better our life to get tons of money that doesn't determine our lives? Suzie Orman. Zig Ziglar. Tony Robbins. Deepak Chopra. Hell, anyone willing to sell their success and not honestly do this shit out of their heart is mad. Seriously. I honestly think I've been ruined by quotes that I don't make myself. Whatever happened to listening to our ancestors? They quoted the best. "Get your tail in the house before the lights dim!" "Boy, put a handle on that when you speak to her/him." "Go get me a switch." Ok, the last one usually was when all else failed. Has everything failed? Children don't care much for getting that ass whooped. Why? Society says share the love. Others try to tell you to forget the past. I'm trying to find out when did warriors 'put aside their weapons to tell the other side to stop killing and raping our women, or we'll hug your ass to death'. What the hell? Oya is a redeemer in many ways. She is also a life coach, a master teacher, a guru, a specialist, a counselor, a spiritual cleanser. She's not gonna forsake the righteous, nor the needy of knowledge. But we are placing our beliefs aside to try new shit that is created by the old enemy. Need I discuss who?

Or self-image has been shitted on, mainly by us. Oya has arrived on this cusp of the Age of Aquarius to correct this spiritual bullshit that we've mixed together and called it art. This isn't Esther Mahlongu. This here isn't dung. It's our souls we're ignoring here. Politics get us angry, but we're not angry at ourselves to make shit work for the most important people...OURSELVES. Where's our cooperative economics? Our self-determinations? Our creativity? We're sitting with our shoulders shrugged and our eyes widened with befuddlement as the same ol' train passes by, spewing manure as the message. (Subliminal - if a puppet can rule the nation, who the fuck controls the puppet to do so???) We all are leaders. So why do we depend so much on other words when we cannot muster our own strength to speak out?? To Be Continued.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

In Due Time

This is my first official post as a blogger on this site. I have been posting blogs for a while, however. I'm just not too accustomed to doing so. My first blog isn't a sweet one, nor is it something I'd really like to discuss. Instead, it's a reflection of how I opt to talk online, rather than to people offline.

I have someone in mind, yet my mind isn't a sharing entity. It's likely that I'm going to suffer this September, seeing that I want to do so many things, yet, I am tied up. I'm kicking myself for not being able to mail a present off in time, being financially sunk as of late, and will be commemorating my friend's death five years ago from this date. I'm struggling to recover quick, if at all, from a relationship that dented my heart's door from the kick of another person she's invited in. This blog should be finished within five or so minutes, yet I am behind, due to worrying about correcting myself too damn much on a damn blog!

Anyway, I promise more in-depth writings as the time comes, if I am alive long enough to do so. Who knows where I'll be? Who knows my mind? I can think of one woman. She has captivated me in such short time, and I am failing to understand what she sees in me. I'm always smiling when we talk, and I'm sure to the bone that I'll be able to help her as she has helped me. Her special day is coming up, and I'm willing to sacrifice a lot to just visit her, if not make her feel wanted...especially by me. She told me about having a dream about someone that seemingly had the same characteristics that I shared AFTER she told me. It was a vortex that I was sucked into. But I will give more as the time progresses. Until then, I'm closed. I need to be focused on getting my self right. Or else...