Mother May I?

        Do you know how many posts I've dictated to myself in my head that went absolutely nowhere because I didn't have computer/internet access? Now my very own, brand spankin new laptop has arrived, I have access to internet 24hrs a day (if you include work) and my mind....is a blank.  

        To be honest, I think I've just gotten used to not having anyone to talk to (about anything that's really important) so the thoughts have just dried up.  

        I'm dried up.  There's such a thing as too sober, as my dear Papa has wisely stated.  The last time I saw him, a few weeks ago, he was in a desperate state, worse than I've ever seen him; I'm scared to call him now because I know my mother left him hanging and I don't want to hear the suffering in his voice.  Just when I finally got him to admit he needed her and to be willing to give her an official position at the university (instead of just milking her); it's what she proclaims she's always wanted and I finally make it happen and she abandons him like he was her own child (ha!)

        She finally arrived literally at the stroke of midnight on the eve of my daughter's ninth birthday (her first with me and without her mummy).  Earlier that night, I lay with Ms V on our empty balcony to watch the full moon traverse the trees while an outdoor concert filtered through the night air towards us.  And she said, 

        "Maybe I could just kill myself. Life is so DIFFICULT!"  and she was disturbingly calm and flippant.  It was a rough night.  Never count on my mother for anything, except that she will show up too late whenever you need her the most.  I was so broken after this shitty month in Uganda and yet by the time she showed up, I'd already pulled my shit together and moved my baby and I from the old place to our new home.  By the time she showed up, all my vulnerabilities had been tucked away behind my warrior spirit, so much so that it didn't even phase me to put my arms around my little girl's articulated ribs and hear her threaten to take away everything I have committed myself to living for.  Can you imagine? Five years; ten; fifteen years down the way, after so much loving and bonding, and FUCKING committing she may decide to let her demons win after all, and poof, it will all be gone.  I should be able to imagine since I know exactly what it feels like to have the heavy love of my mother's arms around me, but still feel empty and insubstantial enough to think it no big deal to wish myself away.  

          Besides that rather dramatic moment (in the end I dredged through the psyche that is Ms V only to find she was "afraid to fail"-we had been discussing her upcoming entrance into school-and so it goes), the most amazing part of that night was that Ms V didn't know the date so she wasn't sure when her (happy) birthday was.  I convinced her the date was August 5th and we'd missed it by 3 days-it was surprisingly easy to convince her, but in true Pollyanna fashion she said "well, never-mind anyway, but at least we have to celebrate my Happy Birthday sometime".  

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          In the meantime, I've become a working woman.  We live exactly nine minutes brisk walk away from my job. We also live two large blocks away from the ocean, but the last block is a series of ultra-exclusive mansions that hide the view unless you walk about 10 minutes down the road to our favorite pier.  

           At night, just about now, I hear the Islamic prayers observing Ramadan, the sounds of night insects have replaced the crows and exotic day bird sounds; and then, out of the blue-the deep, deep blue, in fact-comes the bloated groan of a cargo ship at sea; it sounds to me like a plaintive yearning; a reminder of obligation and duty in it's most lonesome form. But there is something else: it sounds to me like a miracle begging to be born, magic begging to be remembered, the chance of a lifetime waiting for the perfect moment.  When I hear that sound I feel renewed in my own commitments; I've come this far, but my journey goes on; beware-the journey goes on.  I hope that sound will always affect me like that.  I want to always remember that this-right here-this is what I started.  And I am committed to carrying it on (and therein lies the miracle, right?!).

          Perhaps it is time to air out those hidden vulnerabilities.  My daughter has chosen to flirt with alienation from me.  My mother is here for a time, but it was I who had to sit her down and break all her Ego barriers apart so that she could do a decent job standing in for me as primary caretaker.  So now they are enjoying each other generously; following my orders in partnered conspiracy.  It is a painful thing to go through.  I needed her, my mother, to take some of the load off while I get into this new job, but that need has come at the price of being excluded, of losing respect.  I don't understand why, when it was my mother who was working, my daughter revered her for it and looked down on me for staying at home, and now I go to work, but it seems this too has earned my daughter's disregard (if not disdain). Frankly, I think it is the ironic fact that my mother really doesn't give a shit (and I do) that makes her the favorite.  

          In any case, plugging along warrior style just makes me a poor facsimile of my mother; I am not so cold and practical; I am not so ruthless and flippant. Both my daughter and I are flirting with separation, testing our need for each other, testing our Love for each other, hoping perhaps it is not so strong, hoping we can reverse the bond; denying our mutual commitment. Perhaps she is scared I will slip away from her, as my mother so often slipped away from me. I know I fear the indications that the journey ahead may not be as straightforward as I naively believed. I know I fear there is a burden in her heart that was there long before I came along and may be there for a long time yet.  I think we are both suspicious of the other, suspicious of the other's potential to break our hearts.  My mother is just a distraction.  This right here, this is a Transition and we are fully in the throes of it; we are suspect that what we go through in the next several weeks will determine forever; little do we know.....it's all already happened.

          I held her in the moonlight but only after letting her slip into a pit of fear and leaving her to flounder; at first I lay there alone and felt....betrayed; then it hit me: the future cannot betray you, but your present fears can; if she was not ready to fight her fears, then I would fight them for her. So I pulled her down to me, into the nest of my Love, and begged the moonlight to fill her with the heaviness of its beauty.....of its existence. I whispered,

 "Life is not difficult; Life is just Life. Who ever told you it was supposed to be different? Who ever told you it was supposed to be so simple?  I think Life is beautiful and so do you; you sing about the Joy of Life all the time baby, all the time; you don't even hear yourself; but I do. In every moment it is up to each of us to decide how we see Life-beautiful or difficult. But either way, Life is just Life.....and baby, we are ALL afraid to fail....
          
          Her tense body relaxed into me and she began to yawn,

          "Hey......guess what happens at midnight."......

  

           
        

Is That The Planets Shifting, Then?

        Last night was my first night ALONE since moving to Dar.  The Little One accompanied my mother on a trip out of town; I had to stay behind for rehearsals for the play.  I thought I would be anxious about it, but for the first time in forever, I feel safe....safe, for the first time in too long.  It's sad though, in her absence, my heart can only now feel the full expression of my love for my daughter.  


        They say time flies when you're having fun, I would argue the opposite and say time slips through your fingers when your struggling to hold on to your sanity.  When everything's falling apart, the clock seems to tick faster and faster, like sand through an hourglass. Joy actually freezes time, in my experience.  When I am so content with the moment that nothing else matters, no future, no past, no wants, no unfulfilled needs, in those moments time does not exist.


         March came and went like a roller coaster ride through anxiety and tension, with brief moments of holding it together.  There was too little joy in March, and the struggle to figure out what the fuck was going wrong sucked all the grains of time down until, suddenly, the month was over.  It is now April, my birthday month.


         I find myself here, now, as if finally coming out of a really bad hangover.  I am still amazed at the loss of time, still confused by how it happened, but feeling, at least, like I can breath.  The air is different, infused with a cleansing agent; the light is clearer, showing me things I did not see before. Is that the planets talking, then? Can this be explained with by a shift in the Cosmos, a change in the weather? Or is it just my Faith in these things that somehow survived the pressure of melancholy and the onslaught of worry so that with the shift in time and a new rising sun, like magic, the curse seems lifted? Is it so simple, then? Planets move and shift, time slips by, and suddenly even my trivial mortal circumstances have shed the weight of futility and regained the lightness of hope.


         My breath is slow and steady. And the small achievements that did occur now rise up into my consciousnesses having previously been suppressed and drowned in such heavy, damning, despair.  I have my health back, a good 20 lbs heavier unfortunately, but strong and vital and myself again.  


         My blood work confirmed no more anemia and all other organs are functioning (at least organically speaking) with full vitality.  While doing my check up, I managed to finally find a proficient dentist and go through the first of several stages of treatment to my damaged mouth. Having done it and survived, having found a doctor who actually understood how terrifying these procedures have become for me, and having had my mother go full on warrior by my side through the whole affair-all of this is still hard to believe, to internalize.  It has been this running commentary between my mother and I, "what are we going to do about your teeth??"; the frequent days of pulsing pain and the inability to chew properly have just become a part of my life. Now, just like that, it is all gone; I am healed.  


         A small, physical example symbolizing a much, much larger affair: The Stumble Out of the Path of Light and Peace. It always begins with a simple slip and fall, a wrong turn, a misplaced move; then the initial denial of trauma or danger, the attempt to ignore and the hope if you just keep moving all will be well; finally the awareness that you are in fact wounded, you are limping and scared that you have forever lost your way. And then one day, you are safe; you are healed; the process is over; those scary moments are gone. You will only ever understand only parts and pieces of how you were healed.  Some things you remember, others you will never know. Like did the planets quietly shift in your favor? Did the moon tilt to help you see a way you hadn't seen before?


         I shouldn't regret the loss of time, when so much of it was filled with hurt and worry; I am glad for the speed with which it seeped through me, though there are still residual aches.  I am not even looking forward yet.  I am here, now, on this day, and it feels safe.  Let the planets move me at their will, let the moments settle down and take on new shapes. I think I see my Path up ahead; it is there still, waiting for me.

        I will not look for the bliss and joy just yet, but I will not stop them from coming either. This is my silent day. I am alone (but full of love); I am MINDFUL; I am healing.  


        My breath is slow and steady.

Movie Magic

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       Ah! Me! Why oh why do all my love affairs have to happen as if lifted word by word/scene by scene from an epic novel made into Oscar winning epic movie. I've had, in my disturbingly succint romance history, love affairs that rival "Out of Africa", "The Bridges of Madison County", "Before the Sunrise", "An Affair to Remember", and of course the bum who my heart insists on calling my soul mate would be cast well in such notable pics as "Walk the Line", "Memoirs of a Geisha" and maybe even a little "West Side Story" thrown in for good measure.  My romance life makes Bollywood look avant garde.
       Does that sound delicious? Am I wrong to complain that when I do fall it is always with someone incredibly handsome who says and does the most wonderful things, though only for a short while? Should I be happy with that? I want to bump into someone in a supermarket, meet someone through friends, take a class with someone, and then two to five years later joke about how we've never been apart since; I want a "When Harry Met Sally", but am more likely to get a "Friends With Benefits" (w/out the ridiculous Hollywood ending).  I am not allowed the normal.  I tried it briefly, in Uganda, to disastrous results; my Soul still threatens to make me vomit at the thought of him. But it would have been so incredibly easy.....But okay, maybe the truth is I do NOT want a normal; maybe I want incredible; maybe Harry seems like a total jackass, loser and I'd never have banged him. As envious as I get of my friends relationships, that is often the case.  If I could switch places with them, I'd never have got past the first date-ewwwwwwww, they are all so......un-magical! 
           And I get this. I do.
           I have learnt more in the times and ways I've been excluded from normalcy than I have by being a part of a real production. 


           I wrote to him as just an editor, an editor who seemed invitingly writable.  And  then he asked for my picture, and so many words that I'm not sure I actually feel slipped from my fingertips and out to him.  I could own him if I wanted to; I think, he wants to be owned.  

         I've had such an exposing week. First the editor who has now become a constant voice in my mind, and I feel I must be in his as well.  Then there is the that ka-guy who is being amusingly persistent.  And now I pushed my self to get involved with a performance.  Which leads me to think there could be even more interesting interactions in my future.  The editor has suggested a meeting.  Next week. He would fly half way across the world just to have a conversation with me, if that's not romantic I don't know what is.  All of this exposure, so fast, all of a sudden, the question is, am I ready for my close up?

Is this Matha Nay-Cha?

   
        It actually began two Sunday's back when Z had a lovely, magical post that led me to have a magical date with the Little One. She had triumphed over her new Lego-like building set to create these gorgeous little boxes we turned into secret gift boxes, a nice little arts and crafts project, no? 


           We decided to exchange our gifts at bedtime and dashed off to the pier for one of the best sunsets in paradise I've had yet. Vannesa played in a supervised play ground with the most attentive clowns I had ever seen on the job and a scattering of children in all the shades of the rainbow conversing through merriment in lieu of language.  I didn't mind that, as I am an anomaly of sorts, I sat singularly excluded among the couples and sisterhoods of nursing mothers with infants, a stones throw away from singletons enjoying stimulating cocktails and romantic tête-à-têtes. No, I didn't mind at all, because Z's post hand left a feeling of fantastical possibility in me and I smirked as if I knew something no one around me knew, as if all of them were living ordinary lives and I was dancing with fairies they couldn't see (maybe it was the lamppost or her partnership with the Sage). 
           The sun drooped down lower and lower, it's light having a romantic tête-à-tête with the Ocean and the dhows, and sailboats, and fishermen canoes scattered in the water like the multi-colored children, floating with merriment.   I thought of Z's friend Kenny and wondered if he might soon have a chance to meet my grandparents since passed and if they would have a laugh at the oddity of how he has come to be connected to my spirit (because in that moment it strangely felt he was.....connected) and I sent a prayer that they may comfort him for they know the pain of transitioning without your dear Beloved by your side.  Then the sun set and I made a secret wish....

           It was not until the next night, at bedtime, when I was stressed and tired and desperate to put Ms. V to bed (now I know the cause of my stress-it was after all a Monday!!!) that she found one last way to stay up just a little longer, having made a repeat performance of our gift boxes; though this time I did not participate, she still wanted to give me what she had made. I barked something about "for God's sake we'll do it tomorrow!" and immediately felt like SUCH a tool and called her back. 
           She knelt at my feet while I sat on the edge of my bed (kneeling is a sign of respect for elders in my culture but I have never expected it of the Little One, and she has never attempted it before. This seemed a subconscious act) there in the box was a small square children's drawing, with the word MOTHER scrawled across the top.  And I did that thing where you say you're going to cry just to show how touched you are, but don't really mean to: "Awwwww, this is going to make me cryyyyy" and promptly started bawling uncontrollably with heaving and hawing. I could see her big eyes staring up at me with a blank look of....shock? Pleasure? Fear??? I don't know, but I do know that only with the thought that this could very well be utterly traumatizing to her, was I able to pull my sobbing self together.  

MOTHER 

           Since then, the notes have continued (so I guess it wasn't traumatizing after all) as have the unexpected, and frank discussions on which version of the word to use for me.  Since she already had a Mummy, I have proposed Mama (which is what I'd always wanted to be called anyhow).  I never mentioned it here, but the words "I love you" have also, up to this momentous occasion, been used rarely and with great trepidation and only by myself; they often elicited that same blank stare, and I couldn't figure out if it was triggering a past memory, pressuring her to respond with something she didn't feel herself, or scaring her because she didn't believe it was true.  It has quietly weighed on my heart, not being able to freely express this phrase, but I've felt determined to be patient and gentle about it, to not over think it.  Well among the notes, this phrase has taken on official proclamation status and is now being tossed with such frequency (and SUCH sincerity) between us that I wonder how she has held back using it for so long (She is a sentimental wonder that One, and I feel like an awkward doff to her explicit and often public outpouring of affection). All this while, she remained mostly silent, still, and loaded with unspoken thoughts and feelings; it seems, my Little One is fluent in the language of Love.

           If the same can be said for E-N-G-L-I-S-H, that remains to be seen......

Brigit Has Her Say

Brigit is said to have been born at the exact moment of day break, she rose with the sun, her head radiant with rays of luminous light, associating her with ascended awareness, enlightenment, new beginnings, sun beams and warmth. She is celebrated on Imbolc, falling on February 1 or 2, celebrating the return of the light and the coming of the spring.  Thus her solar aspects may also represent Brigit as the Promise of Spring, the Bringer of Light after the dark months of winter. This energy brings with it HOPE, renewed enthusiasm, renewal, and new beginnings.

Brigit is considered a Triple Goddess, yet many references distinguish Brigit differently than the traditional Triple Goddess aspects of Maiden, Mother and Crone.  Rather Brigit is frequently referenced having three sister selves with three distinct roles, Lady of Healing Waters, Goddess of the Sacred Flame and Goddess of the Fertile Earth.  These roles are then multiplied through Brigit’s vast and varied responsibilities . . .

Who is Goddess Brigit

             Today began on an ascending note.  One second there was come quiet grayness: I did not know who I was or what I felt for the future.  I was in a pre-dawn limbo, clinging to the dreams of the night before, shying from the nightmares.  

             My mother and I were both pulled to convene, but I'm not sure we knew about what or why. It felt like a ritual we had not meant to take part in, but that may be just the retrospective knowledge that a Goddess had arisen to claim her Authority and Bless us with her healing.

            Our communion began with an ironic discussion on the subject of communication. It didn't go well, and "we are NOT communicating" became the pat phrase to explain why we were getting heated as we tried to analyze how better to communicate, especially vis a vis disagreements had in front of the Little One and especially those that are about her.  I would have thought all this pathetic and never dared to mention it, except somehow during it, something happened.  The sun rose and so did Vannesa, and the exchange shifted to one of personal revelation.  "I am afraid," I blurted through unexpected tears, "that no one will allow me to express negative emotion."  I had become so raw seeing how the slightest scolding from me would shut Vannesa down into a frighted, trapped, broken animal-whereas the same. exact. words, from my mother would inspire an assertive, receptive, good-natured response.  And there was that same look...in my mother's eyes and body, during what I believed to be a simple, mildly uncomfortable exchange.  "I don't know how to be heard" I groaned, "without having to make a big deal of it."

        The way it goes, the way it's always gone, no matter the form-letters, jokes, broken dishes-I use to express negative emotions, is that people scrunch up and pull away.  And that is, in and of itself, So. Very...lonesome; but it gets traumatically worse that the very same people, the very same ones, yearn, demand, and nurture all that is healing and nurturing in me, never understanding, never accepting that the latter comes from the same source as the former.  I am one being, yin/yang, positive and negative. And my passionate expression of one  is the very same flame I use to fuel the other.  That is the conflict I bare; my confession to share.  I am revered and rebuked, nurtured and negated for things that come from the very same place deep within me.  The conflict is in the reception (expression); I feel faithful in the belief that the source is one whole...holistic being.  

      My confession left a feeling quite different from resolution, there was none of that. There was a gentle meditation on the Truth behind my revelation.  It was sacred, even if we didn't know we knew it.

     Somehow this bright sunshine day led us to take charge, the Little One was strangely drawn to me-well strange as there is usually a balance or her affection slightly favors Mukaka when Mukaka is around (but this isn't so terrible: I'm understandably more childish around my mother, and anyhow they hardly get to see each other, and lastly I would do the same if my grandmother were around).  But today her beaming eyes shined directly on me, like I was...well...a Goddess; and she was beautiful for her attention, though it frightened me to think how I would...manage such fierce light for the next 9 hours or so...

            We went back to the school that has given us our last hope for getting her placed; we went determined to communicate our position: "yes, you do want her, forget what the papers say, she is a light and we need a fireplace to nurture her; here, she. will. thrive". Brigit had spoken for us, it had already been decided, "yes, we do want her, we know she can thrive; we just may have to wait..."  It was good, it was very good.

           Today was a day were the sunshine seemed to burn our fears up, then bathe us in healing light of faith and inspiration.  I gave Vannesa "work" to do, "we all have to work don't we?"  and so forth, she tried to shrink in; she tried to not believe in herself-but the light was too strong for her to hide.  When she was finished she sighhhed, "I could have never believed I could do so much, Ahhh God."  I laughed, "I always knew it," I replied, "Ehhh? Since you met me?" she questioned. "Since I've gotten to know you, more and more I think, look how much she can do when she just tries!"...

             The Malaria kicked in around 5, I had to give in and lay down.  When my mother came I hadn't started dinner, she went right to it, and it was only hours later that she realized I was ill.  She had a huge report she swore she would do, and she never even mentioned it once.  The flow by evening was as if we were all one; there was no longer a need to speak. 

            Three Goddesses are we still searching for the right, the authority, to be in our power, but today we were Brigit in her 3 potent Selves; she didn't ask us to be bright, or cool, or nurturing, she just rose with the sun and in her light, we thrived.

Tsk Tsk Tsk-I wanted to write for NOTHING...

            I am losing the thread of the cloth I've only just begun to weave.  I have 20 pages of written words and no new posts. Words like "marketability" have stunted me.  I am losing the voice as my mind goes searching for the ear to whom I speak.  I wanted to write for nothing, and now everything has found me; all my desires, wants, ego-thrills, all that bullshit is now cloaking what was so recently a clean, white space.  Damn it all to hell-the results of a well trained mind: if it's not academia coaxing me "how can I make sure there is a contextual flow in my writing? Can I find a way to use "once upon a time" in this post?  Where is today's story and how does it tie in with the Little One and my history?", it is the hungry, hungry entrepreneur "Does this SELL? Whom to? And for How Much????" Shit. SHIT, and Damn it all to hell, those were just accidents of pure desperation, I was free-falling and now I spend hours looking for adequate references before I make an observation.
            I thought I'd find a way to hide from my thoughts, but somehow my thoughts have found me.  They keep Her muffled; She is still trying to shout, but they whisper questions that she must first address and slowly the days go by and nothing gets posted.  The bureaucracy of thinking; the red-tape of fear; I will go mad if I cannot find away to shed those tiresome policies and guidelines that inhibit my Voice.  My Philosopher will punish me ruthlessly if I do not defend her against my own conditioning.

         
           Today a parasite swims around my blood-no seriously, a delayed Christmas present of Malaria...and guess what? I'm LOVING it.  Okay, I must confess, loving all that is strong and healthy in my body, loving the the feeling of physical strength does not completely cancel out the perverse enjoyment I get from physical ailments.  I, IN NO WAY, crave disease or calamity BUT, have compassion for a mind as wild and uninhibited as mine, like those old school maps of Africa with a big blotch stamped "unknown territory", my mind is a jungle of which there is still much to discover, and in the process of carving out paths and finding direction, I find respite when my mind is forced to focus on some more...physiological struggle.  Whether that makes sense or not, it is a truth I've known on the very rare occasions I fall sick.  But it isn't just this perverse-pulling out gray hairs by the roots/twisting a loose tooth-pleasure, but also my experience of the medical process in Dar, that has me glad I fell sick in the first place. Wowzers and beyond! Just like the flat, smooth rodes and the electricity (you have to pay like crazy for) but which never goes out, the efficiency at the clinic was refreshing and healing simply because it reduced my conditioned acceptance to the ineptitude and negligence found in Kampala.
           I will use these days of recovery to indulge my body to the point where my mind gets bored and wanders off, and then...before it come to its senses again...I will write.

           Oh! This image of Africa reminds me, I've chosen my next tattoo. I serendipitously found a tattoo artist on New Year's Eve-well it would have been serendipitous except we got delayed with packing the next day and I never went to get it, but I've decided I will not post a photo for this blog until it is done-it is the only image that could possibly make sense...

Safe Landing

(I wrote this when we came to visit Tanzania last month, to plan for this move, which I wasn't sure I was going to be apart of. Now, oops, I'm here. But as is often the case with transitions, this business of landing, jumping up and dusting yourself off-this "hit the ground running" shit, is a myth, an utter myth.  It's kinda like my brain's been scrambled by the ride: just Kampala to Dar-an hour and half by plane, but one lifetime has ended, and another one begins. And though I'm filled with hints of thoughts, associations, observations, and wonderings, any attempt I try to put them in some sort of wise-let alone-poetic analysis is utterly futile.  The most coherent thought I keep returning to is: "wait, so what day is it again?" So here's a little story I wrote in a brief moment of Zen. Once upon a time...)

Gooooood...
Mourn-ing meester fishermen
The rain don't seem so bad today
Catch me somethin sweet, yea
... My app-e-tite is rich-a
But my wallet is not so-oh
A favor for this gal, yo

Mama's off to work again
Big boss is up in drama
Development makes bizness sense-
Another day, an-other dolla

Morning Mr. President, staying just next door
Last night I thought your special guards
Were perverts on my floor
M'i'bad Mr. Man, hope you had a rest
Your guards were very dutiful
Cameroon, you are de best.

Dar, Dar, Es Salaam
In-sha-llah?
Yes I am!
Some mornings are so sweet you know
Makes this life a treat, you know?

Dar, Dar, Es Salaam
Inshallah, where I began

And now I make my way-ay-ay
Have yourselves a Blessed DAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!
♥