Category: Mable Elizabeth Palmer

Breaking All Chains and Shackles

On By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, Africa, African American Queen, African Goddess, America, Ancestor, Ancestry, Angel, Army, Battle, Broken Angels, Broken Bones, Broken Hearts, Buddha, cacophony, Catharsis, Craving, Creativity, Damaged Goods, DeBorah, deception, Deliverance, Delusions, Depression, despair, Dissonance, Dreams, Edward Palmer, Ethiopian Goddess, Eva Gordon Palmer, Evangelists, Explore, Faith without Works is Dead, Fallen Angels, Family History, Family Tree, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Genetic lineage, Genetic Memory, Goddess, Hattie Finney Banks, Innovation, Inquisitive, Japan, Jerome, Jerry, Jesus, Knowledge, Koyaanisqatsi, Lost Souls, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Memory, Menopause, Mother, Mother over Israel, Nirvana, profane, Redemption, Refuge, Rejection, Religion, Rescue, Riders on the Storm, Sacred, Sanctuary, Scars, Songs of Solomon & Sheba, sorrow, soul, Spirit, Spirituality, Stigmata, Tree of Knowledge, Uncategorized, Vision, Vision Quest, Walking Wounded, War, Wisdom, Woman

Osiris & Isis
Osiris and Isis

Despite the Challenges and setbacks in life my journey takes me to new places, new discoveries and new learning experiences.

Within the Soul the two natures of man exist each seeking the preeminence and each wanting to be the dominant force.  The Sacred and the profane.

The Struggle of the Two Natures in Man George Grey Barnard (American, Bellefonte, Pennsylvania 1863–1938 New York)
The Struggle of the Two Natures in Man
George Grey Barnard (American, Bellefonte, Pennsylvania 1863–1938 New York)

A Lost Soul finds her way home. Chains are being Broken.

Tasha Cobbs — Break Every Chain

My Awakening has happened over a period of time.  I went into the next phase of my  Womanhood as I entered Menopause. Truly over the last several years as I entered my 50s, (I’m 55 now) I’ve undergone a revealing Change of Life.  The Universe has opened up new portals and realms in which I travel taking on the mantle of being an Elder. I take my place within the Council of Elders as I march towards Infinity = Eternity.

The Heavens opened up and all my Ancestors, African, Native American, Christian, Buddhist, Indigenous Faiths began speaking to me on next steps in Life.  I truly believe in the Scripture that says, “The Steps of the Righteous are Ordered by the Lord.”  I’m discovering the Galaxies within. Through my Kindred Ancestors I’ve found into to Leap Forward I had to step back confronting my fears honestly with faith, gentleness, Wisdom and Understanding. I gather each of my broken pieces, honor the Divinity of each shard, embrace my tears, and like Isis I’ve gathered the pieces of my scattered tribes and Ethiopia is Reborn!  Shall these dry bones live?  Yes says the Creator of the Universe!  Once again I sing the Songs of Solomon and Sheba.

Habakkuk 2:2-3 New International Version (NIV)

The Lord’s Answer

2 Then the Lord replied:

“Write down the revelation
    and make it plain on tablets
    so that a herald may run with it.
3 For the revelation awaits an appointed time;
    it speaks of the end
    and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it;
    it will certainly come
    and will not delay.

The Land of the Rising Sun embraced me as I entered the Border-less Gardens.

Live the Sankofa bird I’ve returned to myself.  Despite raging battles without and within my Calling and Passion as a Scribe bid me come forth to record my Voyage.  Grounded in the Lily.  Supported by the Lotus.

The Queen has returned to her Queendom. She sits upon her Throne whilst reigning over the Seven Lands, A Judge and a Mother over Africa, Israel and the Americas.

Judges 4 & 5.

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.

Break every chain!  Indigo Children Rejoice!!

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams

On By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, African American Queen, Black Unicorn, Cornucopia, Creativity, DeBorah, Deliverance, Dreams, Edward Palmer, Ethiopian Goddess, Eva Gordon Palmer, Explore, Family History, Family Tree, Fantasy, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Folklore, Genetic Memory, Goddess, Hallucinations, Hattie Finney Banks, Hypnos, Innovation, Inquisitive, Insomnia, Jacob's Ladder, Kinky/Nappy Hair, Lyrical Family Memories, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Maternal Heritage, Maternal lineage, Matriarchy, Memory, Mid-Life, Midnight Marauder, Morpheus, Mystical Creatures, Negritude, New Age, Night Bird, Nirvana, Oneiroi, Optical illusions, Orpheus, Poems, Protean, Quilt, Sacred, Sages, soul, Spirituality, Stigmata, Surrealism, Thánatos, Tree of Knowledge, Vision, Vision Quest, Visions1 Comment

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/planet/

 

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams

Underground Railroad

Grandmas Reign Quilt

Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer -- Grandmother
Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother

Epoch Heydays beat rhythm time Tempo bringing Glory Days and Golden Age into Earth, Space, time Continuum alignment around my being. Spiritual Discernment begins the convergence of planets, Moon-Womben Star-gazers endlessly birthing heavenly bodies and floating orbs.

Underground Railroad_2

Mother Africa as Creator Goddess singing Reign Blessings upon her children.

My World, the ones I saw in my Grandmother’s Quilt and the ever expanding Galaxies beyond Earth, Sky, Sun and Moon-Daughter Wishes, Hopes and Desires.

Ancient hand stretching finger Ancestor Dimensions reaching forward into time and eternity bringing revelation knowledge of history long past yet made fresh daily.

Troubles beating bloody fists upon my pate.

Belladonna into Nightshades.

Tethered by an unholy umbilical cord to a dead albatross. Dreams deluge.  Green metal Frigidaire Fan blowing air opposite it’s promised heat relief. Stub toe late shift Dad curses Castro and his Convertible. Bucolic heat wave summer in the city. 25 cent Ice Cream salvation dispensed by Mr. Softee. Martha Reeves and her Vandellas gyrating to Dancing in the Streets while kids follow her Piped Pipers.

Kool-Aid libation sugar screams ensue while transistor talking heads Ralph Kiner and Lindsey Nelson called Shea play by plays. Bygone days of Tri-Corn braids.  Fletcher’s Castoria Beef Iron Wine cocktails.   Childhood freedom beckons signalling release from adulthood chain gangs. Teeter-totter bring unbalanced superimposed idealized memories to double-doubted times past. It’s 1964 and my Dixie Peach anointed head snuggles with Panda pillow transcending time once again in the loving arms of Grandma Eva’s patchwork quilt.

Color Him Father. Color Him Love.

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Daddy, Edward Palmer, Father's Day, Lyrical Family Memories, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Stephen Vincent Palmer2 Comments

Memories of Daddy

HAPPY 85TH BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN DADDY!! Feb 11, 1930 to May 13,1995. WE LOVE AND MISS YOU ALWAYS. DEBORAH AND STEPHEN

Edward G. Palmer Korean War
Edward G. Palmer
Korean War

Proverbs 13:22 English Standard Version (ESV) 22 A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children…….

My Dad was that Good Man. He fought the good fight of faith. Daddy persevered during his short stay on this earth always putting his family first and taking joy in our accomplishments. An inheritance is more than money, more than genetics or DNA. Our Dad left us an Inheritance of morals, values, good character, faith in ourselves, love and concern for our fellow humans and animals. Yes, speaking for my brother as well as myself, Stephen and I are truly proud to be our Dad’s Legacy into this world. Edward G. Palmer ~ Feb. 11, 1930 – May 13, 1995.

Stephen, Me & Daddy at my 1977 High School graduation.
Stephen, Me & Daddy at my 1977 High School graduation.

Edward G. Palmer was everything that his name Edward embodies: Edward is an English given name. It is derived from Old English words ead (meaning ‘wealth’, ‘fortune’ or ‘prosperous’) and weard (meaning ‘guardian’ or ‘protector’).

My Dad Believed in us!! And today my brother Stephen and I are all the better for Daddy’s faith in his children!

Tears of sadness for I will never on this earth Dance with my Father again. Daddy our next dance is in Heaven.

http://youtu.be/J_mzw2MdIFY

Our Florida vacation around 1986
Our Florida vacation around 1986

Our Dad was the Guardian, Protector and Provider for our family. A Loving Husband and Father. Dad’s middle name was Gordon which means “Beloved”. Truly he was a Beloved Father always looking out for his family. 

First Dance with My Father
First Dance with My Father

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY IN HEAVEN DADDY. LOVE, DeBorah and Stephen.

Edward Gordon Palmer_early 1950s

Optical Illusions

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Autism, Back Alleys, Better Homes & Gardens, Broken Angels, cacophony, Catharsis, Damaged Goods, DeBorah, Depression, Developmental Disabilities, Diabetes, Disability, Dissonance, Edward Palmer, Fallen Angels, House Beautiful, Images, Inner-City, Inscriptions, John 21:18, Kinky/Nappy Hair, Koyaanisqatsi, Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous, Lyrical Family Memories, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Optical illusions, profane, Rheingold, Sacred, Scars, Schaefer, soul, Stephen Vincent Palmer, Stigmata, Tattoos, Under belly, Unloved, Unwanted1 Comment

Angels Falling
Angels Falling

When I was a little girl during the 1960s my mother had a love affair with Better Homes & Gardens and House Beautiful magazines. However try as she might and my Mom was an excellent decorator (I believe she missed her calling) with two kids, a husband who smoked and various dogs our house was never as clean or as orderly as those pictured in the magazines.  Periodically my 4’11”  95 lb mother would move those big heavy 1950s furniture from one end of the living room to the next causing my father great consternation when he tripped over tables or chairs that seemed to magically appear usually around Midnight when he got home from his late shift.

Though the houses and rooms were beautiful, they were only beautiful in an anti-septic, unlived in way.  Pure white living rooms untouched by jumping muddy dogs, kids with drippy Popsicles, or cans of Rheingold and Schaefer beer cans making little rings on the end tables.

Everything is arranged, after all those pictures are photo shoots put together for maximum impact to the readers.  Kitchens where nary a fried chicken or pork chop popped grease or soup boiled over.  No cans of Crisco sitting on the counter-top. No spilled glasses of Kool-Aid, Orange Crush, Coca-Cola or Pepsi.

No smells of fish and chittlin’s being cleaned or bugs flying in from the holes in the ratty screens we put in the windows during the summer because we had no air conditioning.  The pop and sizzle of the steel straightening comb being pulled through my Ultra Sheen saturated nappy kinky hair on a Saturday night in preparation for Sunday school in the morning.

 

Too perfect and we all know that life is not perfect.  I like furniture to have character. Those little cracks, dents and chips give an openness and appeal that utter perfection cannot rival.

18th Century Masonic Chair
18th Century Masonic Chair
Perfect sterile Kitchen
Perfect sterile Kitchen

 

My family’s lives were not perfect. We were and are real people with real lives. Nothing is staged. My mother was a functioning schizophrenic alcoholic, my Dad was in a job that he found not fulfilling, my brother was born with Autism, I’ve battled depression since my teen years. No there are no picture perfect lives here. But now I’m no longer afraid or ashamed of my battle scars. I wear them proudly.  I’ll take the nitty-gritty, those who society has deemed damaged goods, the unloved, the unwanted, the back alleys and the under belly of the business district at night, inner-city over Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous any day. I’m Blessed to be a Broken Angel.

Broken Angel
Broken Angel

 

As for disability Jesus said it best, John 21:18
Common English Bible (CEB)
18 I assure you that when you were younger you tied your own belt and walked around wherever you wanted. When you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and another will tie your belt and lead you where you don’t want to go.”

http://www.upworthy.com/a-gorgeous-woman-shakes-her-body-on-stage-and-the-crowd-goes-wild?c=reccon1

I’m Still Here

On By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, Acceptance, Alice's Restaurant, Catherine Townsend-Lyon, Character, DeBorah, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Pharmacia Cornucopia, Pusherman, rabbit hole, Shinnyo-en Buddhism, Spirituality, Stigmata, Suffering, Suicide, The Walking Dead, Understanding, White Rabbit3 Comments

I’m Still Here…………

http://youtu.be/BbhEo-4_ETc

Mable Elizabeth Palmer
Mable Elizabeth Palmer

Today I am 55 years old.  It is a Blessing to be this age.  I have depression, anxiety and panic attacks. I’m also a domestic violence and sexual abuse survivor.  I’m the person sitting next to you on the bus, subway, at work and in church. No I don’t want pity just acceptance. Recently I had a conversation on my Facebook page regarding mental illness. It was good sharing with my FB buddy who works in the mental illness field about the obstacles and hurdles faced not only by the mentally ill but their families.  The government just seems to put more roadblocks in our way so we wind up taking many detours towards a place called Wellness.   My mother Mable Elizabeth Palmer lived most of adult life as a functioning schizophrenic. There is a serious lack of support services for the mentally ill thus we read of all these horror stories in the newspapers but for the most part many mentally ill folks carry on with their daily lives.  Despite all that I’ve been through as a child and again as an adult I’m happy to be alive.

Sometimes when I tell my story people who have these “happy lives” meaning a satisfying long term marriage, house in New Burbia, kids, grand-kids, successful careers feel sorry for me, pity or think I’m a walking tragedy living a substandard life. Not true!  I live in full life in spite of my numerous desert and valley experiences.  Perhaps an even fuller more substantive life than those who eat from silver platters.  Mine is not a half-life of only the sunny side of the street but a full life that includes the alleys, back-roads, ghettos, and dimly lit streets populated with voices yearning to be head.  I like it that way.

Nothing to be sorry about. Despite all the things my parents went through, especially my Mom’s battles with her demons, she was also an alcoholic, overall I had a good childhood. We have a choice to dwell on the sad past or the fond happy times of the past. I think about the good things.  The fun stuff our family did when I was growing up. Of course now being an adult I have a different perspective. I was not so accepting myself when I was younger but age, maturity, experience and time changed my viewpoints.

It’s the government and people’s approach to mental illness that needs to be healed. It should not be a stigma. I readily admit to my struggles with depression, anxiety and panic attacks. That’s my life. It is not a tragedy.The tragedy is other peoples reactions and perceptions of mental illness. My Mom was a good wife and mother. I served my country in the Army, earned my BA in English, held down jobs all my life, went to church, now a full participant in Shinnyo-en Buddhism etc… It would be good if people with mental illness were more accepted. If there was more help for those of us suffering. If people would stop trying to impose their expectations on me of what happiness means. Everybody has a past. Everyone has a story. Life goes on. I’m just happy to be alive.  Pitiful prayers, slapping oil on my head, telling me the latest New Age positive thinking strategy 12 Steps to Happiness, and sad sack face looks going tsk, tsk, tsk are an insult to my intelligence as a human being.  It is what it is. Raw, exposed and uncut.

I have health insurance so I do have the option of returning to those mind-numbing anti-depressant drugs I took after my mother’s death but I choose not too.  I choose the full gamut and range of my emotions and feelings as opposed to being a drug induced zombie.  During the high points in life I love my odd slightly off center sense of humor. The times when I’m at my lowest are the times when I’m most creative.  I’m a better writer, a better photographer because I know what it is like to live life in the margins, the outskirts of society, to be a misfit and an outcast.  I’m drawn to people living alternative lives.  That’s why I love Street Photography.  I don’t want what’s staged, posed or set-up. I want real. The nitty gritty. The down and dirty. The quirky and unusual.  If life was meant to be perfect happiness or total sadness the books of Job and the Song of Solomon would not be in the Holy Bible.

What would the world look like if gave a helping hand to the Mentally Ill by supporting organizations like NAMI, prosecuting men who abuse their wives and girlfriends and pulling the collars off ministers who are rapists.  What if we weren’t treated like modern day lepers?  Instead of further victimizing people living with mental illness write to your Congresspersons and Senators to create laws that will enable us to receive the treatment and support systems we so desperately need.

No I don’t need to be “healed” but our society does.

Me in 1961
1961- A Very Good Year