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.
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.
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.
What are you in search of? Capture a quest with your camera.
I’m Questing with my Words.
Quest for Wheatgrass — The Journey to Wellness
Saturday June 16, 2012
Undaunted and still a seeker for better health I went on a pilgrimage back to my old neighborhood, St. Albans, Queens, NY. Quest for Wheatgrass juice successful. Mission accomplished at Vital Health Foods, 196-14 Linden Boulevard, St. Albans, NY 11412, Phone: 718-525-0992. Open Monday – Thursday from 9:30am to 7:00pm, Friday – Saturday 9:00am to 7:00pm.If you live in Southeast Queens Please patronize this wonderful health food store. Let’s support Black owned businesses that are creating a healthy environment for our people. Boycott the fast food restaurants and buy good healthy food from Vital Health Foods! Yes it may be a little pricey, a might expensive but the cost of poor health and sickness is even more expensive and debilitating. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure! Now Wheatgrass does have a unique taste however the gentleman at Vital asked me if I wanted ginger and garlic added to my 2 ounces (the little plastic cup is about the same size as the ones on Pepto Bismal & we know that tastes gross), I said Yes. It definitely added a punch & a kick taste wise but you just gulp it down in one shot and keep strutting. I’ve also found eating Activia yogurts to be helpful but the juice is the best solution yet. Wheat -grass is an interesting fusion of flavors. Making small gradual changes helps to ease the transition. I have entered the Kingdom of Wellness.
Healthy whole Foods
I have a proposal to combat poor health habits within the Black Community. Since there is a church located on every other block and we all know the Black church is a bastion of fried chicken dinners and other unhealthy foods why not each church have a small section devoted to being a health food store outlet. The same way churches give away foods during the week they could set up small juice bars/raw food eating establishments that would promote healthy eating.
Given that African Americans, Black Women in particular spend lots of money on our hair and nails we must make an equal investment in our inner physical persons. We can shut down McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, KFC, Popeye’s and other greasy fried food joints by not going there. Refuse to buy from those artery clogging places. Black neighborhoods are a plethora of junk food restaurants. The alternative for eating at these heart attack/stroke establishments is winding up with the two most prosperous Funeral Homes: Roy Gilmores or J. Foster Phillips.
On November 7, 2008 I was rushed to the hospital from my job with extreme high blood pressure. Both numbers were nearly 200. The nurse at that time at my workplace had no idea how I was still standing much less being alive. Thanks to speedy treat at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital I’m here today but not without problems resulting from the hypertension. In January 2010 I had retina surgery on my left eye to restore some of my vision. At that time I was almost completely blind in my left eye. I could only see light and dark. I could not make out anybody’s facial features nor could I see anything approaching from my left side. Since the operation I can see out of my left eye but in terms of reading that ability is gone. I’m more or less legally blind in that eye. Sometimes I feel sad about not being able to read using that eye but at least I still have my right eye. Ignoring high blood pressure and eating the wrong foods brings consequences. I’ve since not only given up dairy products but red meat and most caffeinated drinks. I’m a soy milk, juice & green tea drinking woman now.
Organic Products — Food for Life
Yes like any other woman I get my hair and nails done but once my digestive and other health problems got in the way of going out with friends and enjoying life I had to take action. That carrot juice/apple juice combination did wonders! I was able to attend a concert yesterday evening and enjoy a great meal at an Italian restaurant in Manhattan with my buddies. No stomach pains! Was able to enjoy the music and the meal knowing my stomach was a peace. I know that returning to my Wheatgrass regime will also yield many good health benefits. I’m a Happy Camper!
Health is Wealth!! Progress is being made in the tummy trouble area. As some many know I suffered from food poisoning back in January. I’ve battled stomach ailments since my recover in April, but I’m winning! I’m beginning to feel better. Less and less indigestion. These videos you posted so inspired me that I went on my own little local health quest journey:
“Quest for Wellness” Hope Rae Dawn Chong will pardon the pun. Today is my normal day off and as usual I enjoy taking a little walk before I start my day. Motivated by the young gentleman in Video #2 I said perhaps there is a Health Food store selling wheat grass juice along a short stretch of Merrick Blvd. Those of you who hail from Southeast Queens aka Jamaica know the neighborhood. I only walked a short distance along Merrick Blvd and within about 7 or 8 blocks I past the following:
Dunkin Donuts, several dirty fried chicken restaurants, BBQ Pitt, a diner, a Subway restaurant, Bagel Factory, Jerk Hut, many liquor stores and numerous ads for “Mickey D’s”. Finally tiring of the heat and with no desire to walk into Nassau County I hopped on the bus in the opposite direction bound for downtown Jamaica. Hoping to secure secure the wheat-grass prize I went to the Jamaica Farmers Market. Yes they do have a Juice store within but they mostly sell shakes that include milk which I cannot drink or carrot juice with an addition of another type of juice. I decided upon Carrot Juice mixed with Apple Juice. It was good. For lunch I did have some Chicken Teriyaki. A Girl has to keep her strength up!
Like I’ve said before, Erykah Badu tried to tell you! She ain’t no joke.
On and on, and on and on
My cipher keep moving like a rolling stone…
She and her cipher still messing people up. It’s all good though. But right here in this clip, she’s on a mundane tip – trying to teach the Creator’s righteous chirren how to eat to live and not live to eat. Common’s in the first 2.5 minutes of the video. Let’s sneak in and take a listen.
Then we have Brother Mawuli of RawStar Raw Vegan Cafe at 687 Washington Ave., Brooklyn USA. This brother will melt your hardened, fat encrusted heart, and make you desire to pursue a raw vegan lifestyle. He works his majick on you, even as he’s telling you he believes in to each his own, and that he doesn’t push his vegan lifestyle on people.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 