Lord I Believe Help me overcome my unbelief. Father please remove all fears, self-doubts and my nagging sense of failure from my troubled heart and soul. I am the broken winged sparrow lying shivering cold, bereft of hope, hungry for acceptance, on yon forest glen. A Woodland Tragedy. Will Jesus the Gentle Woodsman gather up my shattered heart and bind up my bloody infected wounds? Lord Hear my plaintive cries.
Which voices do I believe? The Judging critical voices of men with ravenous sharp toothed dogs or the brutal voices of women holding sharp knives ready to strike and drive men into grave ground. Or Dear Lord your Tender Still Small voice as you Cradle me in your arms, safety bound. Oh God comfort the descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar that we may find solace, peace and sanctuary in a weary heartless land.
My friend Author Catherine Townsend-Lyon is truly Awesome and Amazing!! Cat! Thanks for the Vote of Confidence! Thank you for having faith in me! I’m touched that you chose to re-post my humble blogs. My major goal in life has been to touch other women’s lives. To encourage and support Women. To uplift All My Sisters Worldwide No Matter what race, religion, faith, ethnic group, or country. I’m so very honored that you decided to share my writing!! God Bless you My Beloved SisterFriend!! Much Love to You!!
I couldn’t build a tree house. Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day. Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials. There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood not too far away.
It has become my sanctuary and safe haven I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine was a tepee without the buffalo skin covering all bones and framework.
Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of squatter voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family. They created a dissonance within the time frame continuum of my thoughts.
You see our house, if you could call that ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco addendum and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.
I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts. The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss. The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds.
So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylum as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.
The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep. Blessed sleep. As I drifted off I thought I heard sounds creeping up on me. Maybe it could be…. Naw. How would those deviant mutations get all the way out here.
While pyrotechnics roared and exploded beyond the glen my dream state thoughts went to Calista and Cassandra those Kudzu Chia matronly tumbleweeds who wreck havoc and chaos wherever they spore and spawn and their equally troublesome and problematic one-legged Siamese twin cousins Morton and Milton.
Long ago and far away when I was in my 20’s and 30’s my Aunts on both my mother’s and father’s side were on my back about being married despite the fact that nearly all of them were either divorced or separated. I can still hear their voices, “Deborah you need to learn how to cook so you can get a husband.” All my Aunts on both sides were good cooks yet none were with their husbands! It got to the point that when my maternal grandmother Hattie Banks passed away in 1990 the aunt my grandmother had lived with introduced me to my grandmother’s Pastor as my 31 year old single niece from New York. This caused my grandmother’s Pastor great concern and he asked to speak to me privately. He began to question me concerning my singleness. After a while I figured out he was trying to ascertain as to whether or not I was a lesbian! I assured him that No I was not gay just had not met the right person. Now over twenty years later I realize his fears and opinions reflect a lot about people born and raised in the 1900’s within the confines of rigid Baptist teachings.
Fast forward to 2007 when my abuser finally left me and I finally felt free to confide in certain females whom I thought were my friends. I found that to be a big mistake. Women often don’t support other women who have been through the wringer. Too much Blame the Victim mentality out there. Then there is the other side of the coin with women pushing newly single women back into the shark infested waters of the dating game. Amazing how many insensitive and snarky comments I received about either not wanting to date or taking a break from dating.
I’ve had close friends yell and scream at me for my decision not to date. As a result I’ve had to ask these girlfriends not to bring up that topic. All the while I listen to them whine, moan, bitch and complain about what the latest boyfriend is doing to them. These women imagine there is a Mr. Right for everyone or that I’d want that person. They’ve bought into the mentality that a Woman is not complete without a man. They are brainwashed with that fantasy of John and Martha running to each other’s open arms on white sand beaches or in a meadow filled with fragrant flowers and four leaf clovers.
I do not lack male attention. As one of my supervisors at work likes to say, Ms. Palmer you have many admirers. Trust me when I say I wish many of them would find some other woman to admire. Whether on the job or in my neighborhood I’m always polite and mannerly but I always keep things platonic and on the friends side of the relationship spectrum.
I do admit that since the break-up with my ex- and during the few times I’ve dated since then I’ve engaged in battles of self-hatred self-destruction. I was participating in an online group for Domestic Violence Survivors. I was really saddened to see how emotionally bankrupt many of the women were.
Because so many years have passed since I was delivered from my Ex- I was able to be a source of encouragement to women still suffering. A few Friended me or Subscribe to my page and my goal is to offer strategies towards wholeness yet still revealing my struggles and vulnerabilities. Being an Overcomer or Victorious does not mean you’re not going to have bad times but you’d do not dwell within those bad episodes.
No matter how many compliments I receive about how much I have to offer a man and how beautiful and wonderful I am that does nothing for my inner healing. Sounds like I have nothing to offer outside of being with a guy.
Those remarks may or may not be true but that type thinking is missing the point and counter-productive. No matter how well-meaning or well intentioned those remarks may be THE POINT IS, I’m Not Ready and it may be months or years before I am ready. Right now for me the relationship waltz is an emotionally crippling dance. Also I want to concentrate on Me, Myself and I. I’m not to the point where I’m ready to make an investment in a relationship. I Love being an Autonomous, Free and Independent Woman.
Oh yes for those wondering if I still have a sex drive the answer is Yes but menopause has put a damper on it and I no longer feel compelled to satisfy that urge. Truthfully most days I’m just not interested in sex and for the times I am I learned to control myself. Also I made the decision to remain celibate and there are few if any men who can make me change my mind.
My life is not the Black remake of Eat, Pray, Love but more like Having our Say by the Delaney Sisters. The Joys of Singlehood. Can’t even tell you how many miserable married women I know. Constant refrain of, DeBorah I wish I was single like you! Proof that marriage is not all it’s cracked up to be.
And yes I’ve read all the relationship books written by men on what women are doing wrong and how they can better please the men they want in their lives or who are currently in their lives. While other women frantically put desperate profiles on various on-line dating services, engage in speed-dating at the local recreation center, join the singles ministry at church or buy tickets and expensive clothes for silly singles cruises, I’ll be at home comfortable chilling with a good book and drinking a Smirnoff Ice.
I will not be typecast by the slant of my eyes, the color of my skin or country of origin.
I am a Woman of faith of dignity who demands and commands respect.
I refuse to suffer indignities of your racist sexist perversions.
I follow the laws of God as dictated by my belief system whatever it may be.
I am not an exotic playtoy or life size Barbie doll existing only to gratify, satisfy or fulfill your twisted sadistic carnal predilections.
I am not the one and today is not your day.
I will not be afraid and will not back down.
I am not a victim.
I am more than a survivor.
I am defiant.
You do not have license to ill.
My height, weight, shape do not delineate me as a loose woman or a hot number.
I am not your Ethiopian Chocolate Fantasy or submissive Asian delight found in the back covers of men’s magazines.
I am not your Indian Maiden with feathers in her hair or a sari wrapped around her waist.
If I’m a Lesbian nothing between your legs will make me straight and certainly does not impress me.
Whatever fever you got, be it Jungle Fever, Yellow Fever, Red Fever, Hot Spicy Latina Fever, I’m about to throw cold water all over it and knock you out cold. Get over yourself. You’re not all that and a bag of chips.
I choose who, when, where and if I will lay my body down.
I am the Goddess and only the worthy may gain access to the Temple. As Women we are called to maintain order in the Universe. Ladies ~ Realize your calling.
Asshole Repellent
Ladies sexual abuse, workplace bullying and sexual harassment is the Elephant in the Room that everybody sees but fails to acknowledge its presence. Instead we step lightly around him hoping he will go away of his accord. Do not remain silent. Speak up. Speak out.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 