The Black Woman in Society’s Mirror

On July 10, 2013November 8, 2013 By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, African American Queen, African Goddess, African King, Colour of Beauty, Dark Skin, DeBorah, Ethiopian Goddess, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Goddess, Menopause, Mother over Israel, Scars, Spirituality, Tattoos, Visions, Wisdom, Woman4 Comments

The Black Woman in Society’s Mirror

It’s dangerous to be a Black Woman over 40 and seeking that special life partner. You’re an entity of exotica, scorn, repellent to some and desired by others. Both Jezebel and Sapphire. Succubus and Saint. Are we sex monsters or vixens. Or have we become the seductive Sirens of Green mythology dangerous and beautiful femme fatales who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting melody and singing to shipwreck on the rocky coasts of their deserted island.

Do we aspire to Hatshepsut or the Mata Hari?

At the demands of a modern sex driven society some of us re-imagine ourselves as the Vixen capable of seducing any man, but is this only a self-imposed illusion that aligns and binds us within men’s’ fantasies?

http://82nd-and-fifth.metmuseum.org/monsters

There are special dating challenges for dark-skinned Black women and Black Women over 50. All women have insecurities about their looks and self-worth. Am I ever good enough? Do I measure up? Thomas doubted Jesus. We doubt ourselves. In the process we lose some of our dignity. We are raised to compete for a so-called small pool of Black men. Daily images of perfectly shaped buff voluptuous curvy young sisters are thrown in our faces by the media. Women must always be perfect. Perhaps we are more lumpy than curvy.

We must fit the image society has for us. Even though in this country we have the right to choose a marriage partner, but from youth girls are trained to believe marriage and children are the end-all and be-all of life. We aspire to that. We are misguided. Then as you approach 40 some of us become more desperate because that’s when you fall off men’s radar.

After age 50 you totally disappear. Relegated to the trash heap of modern antiquities. Relics of a bygone era. Back in the day women like me were called spinsters or Old Maids. Heck there was even a kid’s card game called Old Maid and you didn’t want to get that card! Even though we no longer use those terms they are still in the back of our minds. So many emotions jockeying for position inside our heads and ingrained in our Psyche. I think it is much worse for Black Women. We become veterans of romantic wars at odds with our uniqueness vs. the Stepford Women of society and media.

And we do know that Beauty misplaced may yield the seeds of misfortune.

In my 20s I was just coming into my sexuality and my imagined power to get men to do my bidding based on my body. In my 30s I yearned to settled down, not necessarily to have children but to play the role of wife. Such a role was never realized. By 40 with both my parents gone and not wanting to spend the rest of my life alone I entered into a long-term relationship with an abusive man who in small doses of love mixed with pain destroyed my self-confidence, belief in myself and planted seeds of doubt that it took years to root out. Age 48 my abuser left me for a younger woman after years of tearing me down. I was rid of him physically but emotional, physical and sexual abuse had taken its toll.

Emotional scars take longer to heal than physical. More rapidly than I would have like 50 seized me by the synapses and the emotional roller coaster of Menopause played havoc with my emotions and feelings. I had to throw off the shackles of past abuse and find a new me that I could love. So I re-imagined myself into Storm and Cat Woman. Sounds odd but fictional strong female characters allowed me a safe space to grow into this new phase of womanhood. Now at age 54 I can truly say I’m about 95% at peace with myself and for the most part I enjoy the pleasure of my own company. Perhaps one day I’ll dip once more into the dating pool but today it’s all about me. Me being a Unicorn.

Eye of the Beholder

Masks for the Masquerade

Be Original. Be Yourself.

: Be Original. Be Yourself.

Ms. Afro Rojo signing off.

: Me channeling Cat Woman Halloween 2011

I’m Gonna Keep Sitting on it Scrubs

On May 2, 2013 By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, African American Queen, African Goddess, African King, DeBorah, deception, Ebonics, Edward Palmer, Ethiopian Goddess, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Images, Mable Palmer, profane, Sacred, Scars, soul, Spirituality, Stigmata, Tattoos, Visions, WTF1 Comment

I live in Bodega-Land, Brooklyn. Exchange at the Bodega across from the Laundromat. I’m wearing an old Ecko Red short sleeve shirt and some skinny jeans. I’m waiting for my Beef Patty with cheese and coco bread. While I’m paying for my food and drink I get the following rap from Snagglepuss. “Ya keep ya body nice. Can I get your number and can I give you mine.” I’m polite and keep that smile on my face knowing I’m about to reject this fool because I don’t want any confrontation before I get to eat my food or check my clothes washing across the street.

He notices that I speak proper English and says; I see that you’re an intellectual. Hmmm I’m thinking just because I live in the Ghetto doesn’t mean I must lapse into Ghettoese or Ebonics. Crooked teeth continues, maybe you and me can get together and discuss spirituality, blah, blah, blah, bullshit. You know the way that Rasta Negro was eyeing me up and down his mind wasn’t on the things of God or any type of Spiritual talk. Leon Spinks just wanted to find a way to get some “Coochie”. I lied and told him I had a boyfriend. I just wanted to get away from his sorry ass, finish my food and get my laundry done. Mission Accomplished.

However in the words of the immortal Ruth Brown, “I’ll Just Keep Sitting on it. I ain’t giving it away.” Rochdale Village had its share of old coots prowling for “Coochie” I see Brownsville/Bed Stuy has it’s own share of horny fools with really lame game.
http://youtu.be/KPll4sQDssU

Talk to the Hand cause the Face ain't Listening. — Talk to the Hand cause the Face ain’t Listening.

Ladies, always remember Men are like the City Bus there’s another one coming in 20 minutes hopefully with good teeth, fresh breath, who bathes and uses deodorant.

Honey if you’re game is lame and your rap is weak don’t even think of stepping to me. No romance without finance. And no I don’t do Ugly, fat or Stupid. I may be broke but I’m never desperate. I’d work 40 hours of overtime before I hook up with your no job, no car, no talking sorry hoodrat/thug/bad boy ass. Been there. Done That. Paid the Price.

http://youtu.be/pKV8uSX2nEQ

Ladies you gotta let these men know what’s up. They telling you they can do acrobatics with their dick! Really! Are they fucking double jointed or contortionists? Give me a fucking break. Please! Why is their dick so much more special than any other. Is it extra long? Does it swing from side to side. WTF! Then they a fucking freak and belong in Ripleys Believe it or Not. Or maybe they should be making porno films. I’m older and wiser now. Dick don’t mesmerize me anymore. Get something in your head or you’ll never get me in bed. My body is my temple and only my true King who I choose can enter in. Don’t get it twisted. Little boy your package does not impress me. In the meantime Losers give your Ding-A-Ling a hand job.

My Ding-A-Ling

Ladies if you’ve had the best don’t settle for less.

Get up off your broke ass, fix your face , see a dentist and fix your teeth, and get an education and a decent job. If you can’t come correct don’t come at all.

Hello Summer in the City!

Big Pharma — I’m Your Pusherman

On April 5, 2013December 28, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Black Orpheus, Curtis Mayfield, Death, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Grim Reaper, Jelly Beans, Pusherman, Spirituality, Visions14 Comments

I’m Your Pusherman

Curtis Mayfield

http://youtu.be/hCDAfa-NI-M

Yes I was a functional addict. A junkie in clean fashionable clothes, who lived in a nice apartment, drove a cute little Honda Civic, had a great job, that friendly voice who stopped to chat with you in the grocery store, had a handsome boyfriend, highly intelligent, living the good life or so it seemed. I was that one who could excel at work, attend professional and social events, school and sit next to your in the church pew on Sunday without nary a soul able to realize or see through my mask. A sanctioned addict because doctors gave me pills legally. But gradually cracks began to appear in my facade. A thousand little band-aids could not cover and certainly not heal my sick soul. It took coming face to face with my cousin who uses “illegal” drugs, drugs that the Rockefeller laws that could have you spending a long term visit at Bedford Correctional facility; to shake me up, empower me and force me to take a good long look at myself. Addiction is death. First it becomes a living death then finally once the body is broken and beaten drugs drags that empty shell into the grave. Death no longer carries a sickle in his skeletal hand but a bag of pills. Red ones, blue ones, green ones, all beckon you like Easter basket jelly beans. You think you’re chasing him to the false paradise of the next high but as in the movie Black Orpheus the Grim Reaper is in pursuit of you, mind, body, soul & spirit. And believe me the next opportunity to get high is always around the corner. Like the lyrics in the Beatles song, “I Get High with a little Help from My Friends.” Everybody is an aspiring junkie.

However I’ve managed to stay away from Ambien for over a month. I can’t say I’ll never fall off the wagon but my desire to live, progress, and do better is stronger. I know I have an addictive personality. My mother was an alcoholic. The overuse and misuse of alcohol was her only means of silencing the voices inside her head that came from having schizophrenia. Often addictions are passed from one generation to the next. Cravings to dull the pain are sadistic taskmasters driving the addict into a narcotic haze.

Addiction is often triggered by a traumatic life event such as sexual abuse, domestic violence or the death of a close family member. At first the addict thinks they can control the drugs but after a while the drugs begin to control them. Drugs are the new age demons that bid you escape your pain and heartache within the thrill of the next high. However within the last 20 years or so with the advent, promotion and marketing of anti-depressants, anxiety medications, pain pills and sleep aids Big Pharma is now the largest, strongest and most powerful legally sanctioned drug dealer in the United States. In hindsight it is interesting to note that within the last 5 years or so nearly all the anti-depressants I took from 1999 to 2007 have been shown to cause panic attacks and suicidal thoughts. Below are two blog posts about how I fell into the Rabbit Hole and the appeal of altered states to an addictive personality. Breaking free was and is very difficult because certain types of medications allow you to function normally at school, church or work yet enjoy those other dimensions or astral planes that exist in all our brains.

Pharmacia Cornucopia

Holmesian Psychology Behind the Rabbit Hole

Freedom from the Drone/Hive Mentality

On March 9, 2013 By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, Abuse, African American Queen, African Goddess, cacophony, Catharsis, DeBorah, deception, Deliverance, Delusions, despair, Dissonance, Domestic Violence, Dreams, Drone, Ethiopian Goddess, Fantasy, Fears, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Goddess, Hive, Instability, Koyaanisqatsi, Photographs, Pictures, profane, Protean, Ritual, Sacred, Scars, soul, Spirituality, Stigmata, Suffering, Surrealism, Tattoos, Vision Quest, Visions

Freedom from Drone/Hive Mentality

Spiritual Spring Cleaning: “Purge items and photos that remind you of destructive people or forces, which perpetuate negative life-story patterns. Spring is a great season to begin a new chapter, but you’ll need a blank page to get started.” — Bajay Pitter

Strategies for Deliverance

I love seeing formerly battered and abused women go from victims to Victory. Being a survivor of domestic & sexual violence I can relate to the pain and sufferings of women trying to escape abusive relationships. Even after being delivered from my abuser physically it still took a long time to be delivered mentally and emotionally. I’m still on the road to complete deliverance but at least I’m further down the road than 6 years ago.

The pain is there. It’s real. I’ve learned I must speak my pain but not to dwell within the pain. I must not make a home inside the pain. One of the ways to move past that pain is to destroy any reminders from that time period. I kind of had a waiting to exhale moment. No, I didn’t burn up his clothing but whatever he left inside my house went into the garbage that included clothing, computer junk, his old business cards, anything related to his pigeon hobby, and any photographs of him.

I especially found destroying the pictures to be a type of Cleansing Ritual. It was therapeutic because I was symbolically as well as physically removing my abuser from my life. It was the first step towards healing. I can remember during the time I was with my abuser I went to a Women’s Retreat with my church. One of the things our Pastor’s Wife had us do was to write our fears or challenges down on little strips of paper and throw them into a fireplace. Fire represents a form of purging and casting photos of the abuser along with the bitter memories into the flames is cathartic. Think of it as conducting our own personal “Burning Man” ritual. Of course depending on where you live and if you live in a house or an apartment it may not be practical to build a bonfire in the backyard or sacrifice our kitchen stoves at the risk of violating our city’s ordinances or creating pyrotechnics worthy of Mrs. O’Leary’s bovine arsonist.

A safer and less risky ceremony would be to take every picture of your abuser and run them through the shredder. This would accomplish the same fulfillment which is to banish this person as much as possible from your life. Now for me it was easier because we only had a common-in-law marriage and did not have children together. For those ladies who have property and children in common with the abuser this might become more difficult but still doable. If there are children involved I’d save two or three photos for the children to have once they become adults but I’d place those pictures in a safe deposit box or a strong box located in the basement, attic or a close family member or friend’s home to give the kids an opportunity to decide what they feel and make their own personal decisions upon reaching adulthood.

The objective is to begin the process of purification. Wash away the slime, filth and dirt off our bodies and out of our lives. To arise from the ashes like the Phoenix reborn, renewed, and ready to rebuild our lives. Today take up the shattered pieces of your life and build something brand new. A new beginning. A new identity created and defined by you not your abuser or outside detractors and naysayers.

Phoenix arising from the Ashes — Phoenix Arising from the Ashes

Graduate from the School of Hard Knocks don’t take up residence there. Resistance is not futile. Do not be assimilated into the Hive. Our identities and self-worth do not reside within another person but within us. The power to become free resides within us.

There is a Reset button to life. Not to move us back to before our relationship with the abuser but now knowing the signs, how not to be so needy to return to those destructive relationships. How can I Love myself and build up myself so I can attract healthy romantic relationships. Of course none of this freedom is won overnight.

There will still be days of doubt, fear, and frustration but those are the days when we reach out to our support group, our inner circles for help and reassurance that in time everything will work out.

Today I release myself from the Island of Lost Souls back into the solace of self and community.

Go back

Your message has been sent

A Warrior Mother Over the Lost Tribes of Israel

On February 26, 2013 By dancingpalmtreesIn Africa, African American Queen, African Goddess, DeBorah, Ethiopian Goddess, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Genetic lineage, Genetic Memory, Gifted & Black, Goddess, Isaiah 54: 1-3, Judges 4: 4-5, Judges 5: 7, Maternal lineage, Matriarchy, Mother, Mother over Israel, Mozambique, Spirituality, Visions, Zion1 Comment

A Warrior Mother over the Lost Tribes of Israel

The Younger Women are my Sisters and my Daughters. The barriers of race, religion, ethnicity, all fall before the face of Love. The Veil has been lifted and we all Rise as one. Daughters and Sisters My Purpose is to uplift you. Truly My Heart belongs and stands with the Sisters of Zion. The daughters of Tamar shall be desolate no longer. A Mother over Israel has come to Redeem them back to the fold. Under Her Wings she shall find peace and rest for her weary soul. For I hear the Great Archangel Gabrielle blowing her trumpet calling forth the exiled women summoning them back to Eden.

Lauryn Hill — Zion

http://youtu.be/ktgHNJ4RmIY

Isaiah 54:1-3

New International Version (NIV)

The Future Glory of Zion

54 “Sing, barren woman,

you who never bore a child;

burst into song, shout for joy,

you who were never in labor;

because more are the children of the desolate woman

than of her who has a husband,”

says the Lord.

2 “Enlarge the place of your tent,

stretch your tent curtains wide,

do not hold back;

lengthen your cords,

strengthen your stakes.

3 For you will spread out to the right and to the left;

your descendants will dispossess nations

and settle in their desolate cities.

Deborah - A Judge over Israel — Deborah – A Judge over Israel

Judges 4:4-5

New King James Version (NKJV)

⁴Now Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lapidoth, was judging Israel at that time. ⁵And she would sit under the palm tree of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the mountains of Ephraim. And the children of Israel came up to her for judgment.