She put her hand to the Stone……………………

She put her hand to the Stone and a million millennia of memories coursed through her soul and out from her pores.

She put her hand to every boulder and heard the rocks cry out their praise to Our Creator.

She put her hand to the magnificent Oak Tree and received the voices of streams, rivers, oceans, lakes and streams.

Woman Tree
Woman Tree

She put her hand inside Gaia Mother Earth and heard the calls of sacrifices, bog dwellers, cave peoples, the cries of those murdered all crying out for justice.

She extended her hands within the forest absorbed the singings of creatures past and present reverberating within her spirit. Her fingers touched the voices of cave dwellers imbuing their drawings with Life. And in the fullness of time vibrations echoed through the eons.

She put her hand upon the Rock of Ages and they extended their hands inside her inner being enveloping her with knowledge, wisdom and understanding.

What Are The Akashic Records & How to Access the Akashic Records

The Workers Leave No Footprints

Dreams Never Die

Misty Foggy Morn

Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.

Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.

Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.


The Working Poor Leave No Footprints

Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw.  Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds.  Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers.  Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads.  Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands.  Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.

Foggy Misty Morn

I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served.  Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.

My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead.  Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games.  Freedom lies dormant within my imagination.  My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin.  Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table.  Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!!  Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them.  We be Aliens in our own Land.  Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.

Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.

Descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar

Descendant Daughters’ of Jephthah and Tamar

Rape of Tamar
The Rape of Tamar

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.


Generational Curse? or What is the new definition of Blackness?

Generational Curse? or What is the new definition of Blackness?


Our young people are being fed a steady media diet of mindless drivel which they mistake for supreme wisdom, truth and as an acceptable lifestyle.  In the name of “Keeping it Real”, morals, decency and values have been cast aside.  Fame & fortune gotten through illicit or illegal means has becomes society’s new aspirations & goals.

Who do our young people worship and hold in high esteem?  Snooki, Brittany, Lilo, Kendra, any rapper, Housewives of ________ (fill in the city),  Lady Gaga, and of course the latest apostle Charlie Sheen.  Of course then there is Hip-Hop.  Music that started out as fun, a bit light hearted and fill with societal messages has now become a medium in which our people continue to degrade Black women, uphold illegal lifestyles and program our children into idiocy and foolishness.

Spirituality, Intellectualism, the pursuit of Knowledge are laughed at.  Young African Americans have a narrow view of what Black means.  Do the Millennials conceive of Black in terms of the baroque painter Juan de Pareja, Aleksander Puskin, Alexander Dumas.  Do the names Charles Drew, Hugh Masekela, Maya Angelou, Diana Sands, Diahann Carroll, Verta Mae Grosvenor, Douglas Turner Ward, Roscoe Lee Browne, Cicely Tyson, James Earl Jones, Gloria Foster, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Gwendolyn Brooks, Langston Hughes, Josephine Baker, Calvin Lockhart, mean anything to the younger generation or have they been conscripted to the dinosaur age?  Is Malcolm X and Angela Davis just posters or pictures on T-Shirts?

Despite Disco and Blaxplotation films all the time I was growing up it was stressed and imprinted on us that we must be a credit to our race.  We must uplift the race. We had an obligation to do better.  Be better.  Education was held in high esteem.  Teachers were venerated.

Now the new order of the day is how low can I sink, how many clothes can I take off, how much illicit sex can I have and download it onto the Internet, how many curse words can I use in public, how much can I offend and disrespect our elders, in general how low can I sink to be authentically “black”.   I find it very sad to see our children not only believing but living the hype.

To Be Young, Gifted & Black

By Donny Hathaway