Awaiting Ascension Juxtapositions — An Ode to Eden

Are we living breathing time capsules waiting to be opened by future generations?

Alive. Merely existing.

Unquiet extreme desperation for something more but we don’t know what that more is. Blend in. Blend in. Like a Chameleon. Validation mode on.

Fire Salamanders emerge from still hot ashes and charcoal bits whence Paul dipped his hand yet brought back his hand unscathed by neither flames nor poisons.

Creator demands that we be broken down into our Essential Elements.

Are we really primordial primates amphibian reptiles species awaiting Rebirth into the next level of Evolution?

Sentient beings searching for our next form. Next pattern. Next Dimensions, Galaxies and Multiple Universes.

We 20th Century born sat at the feet of our Elders absorbing our family oral traditions. Treasured Griots sharing knowledge, wisdom and understanding.

But how will our 22nd Century descendants interpret the Throwing of our old bones.

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Long abandoned Blogs filled with dusty forgotten posts on desiccated lives. Forever seeking release from a wireless tangled Matrix.

Will we stand the test of time?

Or will Haramattan Sirocco winds blown from Pyramids and Sphinx wipe our Talking Heads from the Akashic Records.

Homage to Eden

Farewells Ain’t Always Final


Snippets of Stories

Snippets of Stories turn into Treacherous Tales

Sad to be unearthed from a peaceful slumber. Birthed from a Place of death.

It was the Scent that unearthed him. An untimely aroma that penetrated layers of dirt, weeds, rotting leaves, beckoning him to return. He was a professional Snifler rising to the ranks of Master Scentinal. Meaning One Born with an extraordinary sense of smell.

He had the ability to recognize more varieties of scent, odor and fragrance plus the accompanying emotions and feelings. Better than any tracking dog or hunting hound. His nose more delicate and discerning than any long time Sommelier. Most Excellent of all Proboscis.

The townsfolk built a Cairn over his body little knowing that neither well entrenched tree roots nor volcanic mountains spewing Lava can stop his progression. How He came to be in this backwater Medieval Dark Ages place far from African homeland is a story within a tale. This place a desolate wasteland caught up backwards in time. Theirs a nation that broke away from Antarctica, sunk into ocean depths and arise. Sadly Erroneous Euros had infected his home continent like a Raging Virus spreading infection everywhere they stepped foot.

His anomaly is that though he is buried He can never decay unlike the putrid rancid corpses reeking of decomposition which surround him in the City dump miles outside city limits, where thieves, beggars and criminals make their home alongside the garbage and trash.

He need not sully his immaculately groomed fingernails clawing seeking release from rubbish for his drones will dig him out. The drones are akin to the Flying Monkeys featured in the Wizard of Oz film. While awaiting rapture he casually cracked his knuckles hands protected by satin silken gloves.

The Foolish townsfolk are held back in chains by their stupid superstitions. They are prisoners of their fears. Fear has its own unique smell specific to that person. Communal Security rooted in fear provoking failures.

He felt like the Three Wise Men except he lacked the companionship of the other two. Here and there they were Renaissance pockets periodically springing up only to be beat down by the Ignorance of the Majority.

Erroneously thinking that this minor man made avalanche composed of debris and junk is able to imprison him. Playing to their ill seeded minds they though many in number have absolutely no negotiating stance compared to Him as he has been in space, time and detentions before the time of Adam and Eve.

He who was dispatched by The Ancient of Days Shall Render Justice until The Arrival of Time of The Ascension.

Like Hoarders these uneducated stubborn Villagers hang onto rituals and rites creating more dogmas and doctrines for each occurrence they could not explain. Little did they know that their archaic beliefs caused Him to arise. .

Birthed in Africa his Fellow creators gave him the name Naivasha or Nai’posha which in the Language of the Originator Indigenous Peoples means “Rough Waters.” Truly He has lived up to His name being His destiny. Albinism a mysterious genetic quirk passed from Mother to Child causing His hair to be a bleached bone hue whiter than the snows of Mount Kilimanjaro. In the Sun or bright Moonlight His Hair appeared nearly translucent.

Hirsute silken coiled strands covered much of his Crown, face and chest. Fleecy Tresses sprung from his scalp. Tresses that bespoke Rivers and Roads. Flowers and Leafy Greens. Visions and Dreams. Threading inward and outward. Joining together tribes North and South from East to West.

Thus he was branded by the Ancient Ones as a Mystic Eccentric. For his arrival signaled the time to sew and bind up old wounds whilst creating new gashes in the fabric of humanity. Still he missed the rich savannas of his youth. The rich soils home to grassy plains and grazing animals.

Outsiders called him Caleb The Wanderer.

To be Continued

Impermanence and Grace





Canopic Jar Tiye







Snow Leopardess

Meet The Silver Fox






The Snow Leopardess ~~ She be Faith, Fury & Fire

Agility, Strength and Resilience

Possessed of Fierce Fighting Skills ~~ A Feline Ninja Who Vanquishes both prey and foes


In Moon-time Epochs Long Gone She carried the seed of Moses delivering a future King to Solomon’s Abraham


Atlantic beach waves lapping a Goddess relaxes along the shore. Gray heads nod to grey heads. Sunrise on the Dnieper flows near.

Dipping into the Reviving ocean tides she relives girlhood glee encompassed within the sea.







Slipping into the Season of Sixty

When I was a young woman my Dad used to say that I had to get dressed up just to take the garbage out! LOL! Yes I was a real clothes horse for a long time. Cue in the Carly Simon song, “You’re so Vain.” Always keeping up appearances. Everything had to be just so. Especially after I entered my 50s and the gray hair that was once a small area began to take over my entire head.

Time and circumstance always has lessons for us. Finally earlier this year I stopped coloring my hair. I let it be all white. I seldom get pedicures anymore and as for manicures that was rare for me anyone. Stopped worrying about my uni-brow and my menopause mustache.

As I get closer to age 60, (Feb. 2019) my goal is to just stay healthy. I have nobody to impress. I’m not trying to win the Ms. America or Ms. Universe pageant. Freedom is not having to impress people especially men. I always wanted to look good for guys. But my dating days are long over with and my focus is on other more important goals.

60 is not the new 20! Body parts will go south. That tummy fat is here to stay. In August a short time after I retired I went to Coney Island beach only about an hour away by subway. Thanks to Uncle Sam and my U.S. Army training it’s natural for me to get up early. At 5:00 am I’m ready to tackle the world. Arriving at the beach around 8:15 am I was in the company of many elders especially the Russian immigrants who live in the Brighten Beach/Coney Island neighborhood. Gray heads see grey heads. We nod in silent greeting and acknowledgement.

People in their 60s, 70s and 80s. Ladies unafraid to wear 2 piece bathing suits. Walking with a spouse or a beloved dog. Taking their early morning walks and sunbaths. I felt great. Waded in the water. Totally unconcerned about my looks. I’ve been wearing my hair natural for years and I recently decided to cut it all off back in April so other than a trip to the barber getting wet is no problem.

For me Freedom is getting older and accepting myself. Freedom is silencing my critical inner voice. Acceptance and adapting to my upcoming senior years.

Sixty. Yes I’m truly looking forward to that birthday on Feb. 2019.




Thursday photo prompt: Waiting #writephoto




These caves were the last glimpses of my homeland.  Once captured by the strange once pale now burnt red face. Creatures with filthy yellow hair who wore odd clothes and spoke a guttural harsh language we were kept without shade from the hot sun or warm cloths to protect us from the night air.  Water would be thrown on upon us forcing us to lap at our skins for moisture.  There was very little food. So little that my younger sister died from lack.  Once our captors saw that she had died they removed her chains and disposed of her body by throwing it into the fierce ocean.

Our tribal warriors had rushed the invaders trying to kill as many as possible so that we could be released but fire spears had murdered our most skilled yet the unexpected attack did create enough of a diversion for some who were not yet manacled to escape. But not me.  My chains held fast.

Finally the time came for us to leave this unholy chamber.  The blazing sun hurt my eyes after so many days in darkness.

Along with many others I was led away in chains.  Aboard boat that was easily the size of 24 of our village fishing boats.  From that point on I knew that I might never taste freedom again.  Yet off in the distance right before we were forced down into the maw of this vessel I saw my sweet sister amidst the Ancestral spirits Rising Up, Up, Up………….





My New Look ~~ Wakanda Warrior Woman



My New Look ~~ Wakanda Warrior Woman


Well Folks I’ve decided to embrace my gray/grey hair and the aging process. Yes I cut off all my hair very short something like the Warrior Women of Wakanda. My hair has undergone the changes of menopause, aging, stress, illness and disability resulting in thinning and hair loss. Those women over 50 understand what I’m talking about. If you are not yet 50 don’t worry age will catch up to you.

BTW, No I am not going to discuss my chronic illness and disabilities. That includes my vision loss. It is what it is. One does not have to look sick to be sick.
I do not want people’s pity so I will not entertain questions about my health. I find those questions and comments annoying and upsetting therefore they will be deleted. 
Once you have a disability there are some days you might feel better but there is No get better.  Being that I’ve been dealing with health issues for over ten years I’ve accepted, adapted and for the most part moved on.  I will Not allow this blog to become a disease of the month club.
My Relationship with God is #1, Then My Brother Stephen, after that my creativity as expressed through my writing, photography (Please check out my blog, Roaming Urban Gypsy) and my artwork.

A Warrior Woman showcases her strengths not her weakness!

Instead I’m focusing on what I can still do. My abilities. Not my disabilities. Mostly my photography and Mixed Media Picture/Photo Collage skills.  I’m moving forward with my skills, talents, gifts and abilities.  Thinking Positive from now on Not negative!

Here are photos of my new look and my artwork! Happy Dance!

Wakanda Forever!!

Wakanda Warrior Woman Pose


African-American Warrior Queen

African Goddess