Today after a release of Beyonce’s visual art and music in which she speaks of some pretty significant symbology that may be tied to West African rooted practices, my time line and inbox was a buzz with Team Orisa Hashtags and references or comparisons of Beyonce representing Oshun in this blazing Glory... and something did not sit well in my spirit the moment I heard it let alone saw it...
Do not get me wrong there is no Hateration on my part as while I cannot claim to be part of the Beehive by any means I do find Beyonce entertaining and talented.
The issue I have are the obvious ones in which the empowered beautiful women gets to have water gush through and from her, while she wears yellow and go apeshit on a neighborhood while being applauded for her power in her stride and beauty.
My issue as an Olorisa is that there was simply not enough for me to see Oshun there past the obvious good looks and perhaps golden hued clothing.
See the problematic lenz by which Oshun is often seen is this aesthetically pleasing eye catching woman who captivates men and women alike, men want her women want to be her. The issue is by that standard Ive seen other empowered feminine Orisa also “water” deities who embody this very thing as well to various degrees.
Why was it so easy to see Oshun in that imagery and not Oya, Yemoja, Obba Nani?
The reasoning comes from this standard by which beauty is measured that boxes the Divine feminine and how it manifest physically through ones fashion or general expression.
I wonder if Gaby Sidibe shot this visual art in a yellow gown would people be seeing this Oshun imagery? If it was Viola Davis, or Tachina Arnold, or Cicely Tyson or any of the various beautiful black woman of different ages, skin tones, body shapes and such, would this celebrated and glorified image of Oshun be identified?
I think Beyonces look, and dare I even say her skin complexion and well kept flowing hair helps aid the notion of her beauty and touches on a under current of colorist thinking prevalent in the new world and diaspora. I believe this would not have been afforded to perhaps some other women in the industry.
I personally think its important to see that Obba Nani, Yemoja and Oya are present in a woman's power and dare I say Ire, the awesome beauty seen in the destructive flood of the river banks, can likewise be seen in the fire, the Tsunami or the tornado/ maelstrom. The mix of an empowered walk and equal confident beauty exhibited in the powerful woman is not exclusive to Oshun alone, not by any means. That could have easily been other female orisa manifesting through a woman who found an outlet to her pain by destroying and deconstructing things around her until she got to herself and allowed herself to go through the same process so that healing can occur, and in turn the next step of her journey into further loving herself and resetting expectations and standards for the next possible relationship.
Again this is nothing against the Artist Beyonce, but a plea for folks to adjust their lens a bit and perhaps see the many facetted divine feminine as it exist in all women at various stages in their life. Look past the obvious and perhaps delve into the deeper understanding of Orisa as they manifest physically and spiritually.
That is all...
Friday, August 10, 2018
My forever response to the use of Odu to oppress LGBTQ
My response to the recital and use of Odu in a small minded manner.
The description that palm oil is a supplement to yams is subjective. It is literally the equivalent of saying Ketchup goes best with french fries.. I personally do not like ketchup on my fries. In fact I hate it. Some like mayonaise with theirs. This point is relatively moot to make as ones preferences vary and cannot be defined and coined based on one persons interpretation of Odu or common law of the land.
The ladder is good to climb to the roof- This in itself shows the time frame of this odu and the interpretation thereof. At one point Obara had a symbol of the rope which was given to Orisa even as ebo, as a symbol for something one climbs to ascend and descend. Later on the verses change to ladders, something newer invented for the same thing and with sturdier outcome and less effort. We also see this in verses of Ogunda when you hear rifles make their way in verses as oppose to other weaponry that predate guns and were commonly associated with war and or Orisa Ogun. This shows that Odu grows and incorporates the times of the people in order to make its point, that is why Ifa is wonderful it fits to the needs of the people and is a living and breathing entity which can always further grow and expand.
The notion that it is better for men to sleep with women and it being more enjoyable is again subjective. From personal experience as a man who has had many sexual encounters with women all of which were very pleasurable I did not fully connect to the idea of love and or sexual fulfillment until I followed my natural inclination to be with men. So this whole part of this verse is again subjective to the one that interpreted it.
Then to say that men who engage in sex with men will have boils and that women who engage in sex with women will have horrible odor and irritation can be debunked. In fact, I do not have nor have I ever had bumps and abnormal swelling in my nether regions and many women I know are engaging in sexual relations with loving female partners whose vaginal areas smell exactly as they should. This was most likely interpreted by a man who has no knowledge of vaginas and how they work let alone penises as they pertain to gay sex.
This interpretation is crawling with ignorance, while I think Ifa is grand and full of knowledge I do not believe every awo who interpreted verses like this and orally passed them on (telephone game, think about it) always got it right without inserting limited thinking and or plan bias and agenda.
Since Ifa does not lie and most, if not all of the above can be argued down and proven as not entirely true then it leads me to believe this may be a gross misinterpretation of the intended purposes of the verse.
Iwori Wodin’s opening line says it all.. “IF this is the way to manage a community, the community would have been very eager to live in the house.” If implies possibility of otherwise, alternatives.
There are many ways to manage communities with societal norms. There was once a societal norm that black people could simply be killed by whites by simply whistling or looking in their direction. This was the way the communities were managed, many were ok with it other than those who inherently wanted the freedom to live. This led to civil rights issues being fought in this country. I think you get my point.
Odi we know deals with reproduction and one of the primary ways of reproduction is sexual intercourse.
However, while at the base level that is true in many instances it is not. Therefore, the man born sterile and or the women born barren, who engage in sexual intercourse will still not produce children. This being said then are they themselves having useless sex and should therefore stop having sex?
Now to refer to another woman’s vagina as being “LIFELESS” simply because she looks upon anothers with desire, is a gross misconstruing of words which again reek of misogyny and ignorance of womens wonderful vaginas. In fact with or without men the vagina is LUSH with Life. Bacteria and flora of which is constantly producing and working.
One of the many lessons of Odi is found when Iya Loja learns the beauty and sensuality of her sexuality and then proceeds to “dip into her honey pot” and gain a slew of customers because of it.
The rest of the verse, Iwori Wodin, Ifá says:
In this Odu. Ifa explains the meaning of the son of Omo-Osu (Ilemosu) referring to a woman who had been married once, but who due to a reason (divorce, death of the husband, separation, etc.) returned to the house of his parents to live. When she returned, she promised never to have anything with a man again and that she would better choose a female companion to love and make love to her.
What I find interesting here is the desire to manipulate and dictate who one falls in love with or seeks comfort in the arms of. Many women who have been mistreated by men decide to be alone, and many with traumatic male interactions almost their whole life may or may not seek the comfort of another women and their relationship may or may not become sexual.
If Ifa is the grand keeper of knowledge of the all that is in the universe and Odu contains this very wisdom then we have to adjust our hermeneutics when examining the knowledge found within. Sexuality from the animal kingdom into the human kingdom is a fluid construct. Many male dominated fraternities and societies or spaces have developed encounters that led to sexual fluidity and same with female ones. This is all over the world, and therefore in Yourbaland as well. We cannot act like the natural notions of life are exclusive to everywhere else other than Nigeria.
Societies have always had to change to various degrees to meet the needs an demands of the people, this is how life works. This is how people work, this is how Orisa works because this is how nature works. Even now Cheetahs once lone animals, are seen hunting in packs to bring down larger prey than they would normally attempt to hunt. Lions usually depending on one male to a pride are starting to from groups of young males, something unheard of. Fish who have a dip in population of one particular gender have been known to change their sex at will in order to provide what was needed to their social group. Amphibians, like frogs have also been known to switch. Homosexuals can have children while in same sex loving relationships. It’s been done one only has to look. Many engage in adoption of youth who were abandoned by their heterosexual parents. Many use surrogates and have agreements with other male or females of their choice who help to mother or sire their child.
Many things of the Yoruba past are no longer done, human sacrifice and ebo being one of them. You can now find verses in Irete to support this. These verses are supposed to grow and change and record the notion of odu Ifa as an expansive pulsating living breathing entity.
I am well aware that men and women have their own specific Ase they bring to the table just by their gender and/or dare I say assumed gender.
The big issue I see here on a societal level is a fear that goes against the notion of Ire omo. Once you dispel the fear with facts, which has been done above we can move past the notion of fear. Knowledge battles fear quire effectively. Ire omo can still happen, grown adults can still have children and contribute to the community they exist s culturally part of.
What is not ok is to keep chanting the same verses and edicts without allowing it to grow as needed to actually help the people it needs to.
I will accept more from Abimbola, Popoola and anyone else when they can sit in a panel discussion with other leaders and figures in the Diaspora or otherwise who can have actual in depth discussion on sexuality and what it actually is and how its developed and attached to the psyche, the Spirit and the finally the body.
***Chief Oluwo Solagbade Popoola Wrote the below sentiments in his work,
“THE POSITION OF IFA IN HOMOSEXUALITY / LESBIANISM
Much has been written and said about the position of lovers of the same sex in the Religion of Ifá. Some say that Ifa is very silent about this practice, others say that Ifa is against, while others say categorically that Ifá supports this practice.
To avoid doubts, we should recite three verses from Ifá to clarify their position on this controversial subject. It should be taken first from the Odu Ofun Alaaye (Ofun Irete) where Ifá says:
Palm oil is good to supplement the consumption of yams
And the yam is good as a supplement to eat palm oil
The ladder is good for climbing to the roof
For a man it is better to make love with a woman than with his male companion
For a woman it is better to sleep with a man than with his female partner
If a man sleeps with a man
The result will be swelling, boils and deviation
If a woman makes love with a female partner
The result will be darkness, noticeable odors, dirty and irritation
If a man makes love to a woman
And a woman sleeps with a man
The result will be feeling at the top of the world
The feeling of having unlimited and indescribable enjoyment
The organ of Ofun-Rete is strong and swollen
This was guessed for the chronically single chaste
When he was going to marry with Olele the descendants of Olofa
The chronic bachelor called Olele
But she replied that she did not
The problem is not greater than Ifá can solve
In this Odu, Ifá highlights three aspects
1) It is better for a man to love a woman and vice versa, which is more pleasant
2) Making love with the same sex leaves illness and frustration
3) It is the only way that the birth of a child can take place
This also means that Olodumare, whose language is Ifá, deliberately made heterosexual love pleasurable to avoid inhibitions to the act of making babies. Olodumare's plan is to multiply the human being in this world. Relationships with the same sex hinder the multiplication of the human race.
In addition, in a stanza of Iwori Wodin (Iwori-Odi), Ifá says this:
Iwori cast a capricious glance at the genital and considered it a propitious practice
Do you consider Iwori, who looks at the genitals as a good Awó?
This was the statement of Ifá to Panla-Apo
Who Failed to Assure a Husband to Get Married
But she chose to fall in love with a female partner
He was advised to do ebó
A woman who makes love to a female companion
Do not you know that she is looking for a lifeless genital, is not it productive to give life?
In this Odu Ifá says that:
1) Anyone who is seen looking at another person of the same sex can never be seen as a good Awó. For such a person, looking at the genitals of another person of the same sex is even worse.
2) Relating to having same sex sex is a useless exercise.
The implication of this is that anyone practicing homosexuality or lesbianism, being Iyanifá, Babalawo or Babalorisa is not regarded as a decent person or good practitioner. Why then does anyone who truly believes in Olodumare and the divinities commit himself to the exercise of futility?
We are all followers of the deities. We are in a privileged position that is certainly the envy of others but with that position comes a great responsibility. We follow the steps of the Divinities. If it is true, and I am quite sure that it is, then, who among the Divinities practiced love with the same gender when they were the Earth? What part of the life of your love are we emulating with simply suggesting relationships with the same sex? Any!
In another verse, Iwori Wodin, Ifá says:
If this is the way to manage the community
The community would have been very eager to live in the house
This was the message of the citizens of Iwori_Wodi
To whom Ifá advised him to send all the children of Eshu away
Therefore, the one who after first marrying
I chose to have ejaculation with a woman
They were warned to do ebó
If this is the way we manage the community
Would the community be so eager to live in the house?
In this Odu. Ifa explains the meaning of the son of Omo-Osu (Ilemosu) referring to a woman who had been married once, but who due to a reason (divorce, death of the husband, separation, etc.) returned to the house of his parents to live. When she returned, she promised never to have anything with a man again and that she would better choose a female companion to love and make love to her.
1) Many people were once heterosexual but later became homosexual / lebian due to a lack or cessation of their marriage.
2) This type of people should be sent to pack and leave their parents' home because they are practicing immoralities or breaking a taboo, which should be condemned and stopped.
1) Many people were once heterosexual but later became homosexual / lebian due to a lack or cessation of their marriage.
2) This type of people should be sent to pack and leave their parents' home because they are practicing immoralities or breaking a taboo, which should be condemned and stopped.
3) Forgiving these acts can lead only to chaos at the end.
This is why every time this Odu reveals itself during an Ifa consultation, the client is advised to ensure that he has not been practicing any immoral acts by any Osu children at home since the Situation since this would bring problems later.
Some same-sex lovers claim that both heterosexuals and bisexuals and homosexuals / lesbians adore and serve the same Olodumare. I must disagree with this statement. To serve and worship Olodumare in its truest sense, you must emulate the practice of the Divinities. Which of the Divinities are they emulating? If there are none of them homosexual or lesbian. Put simply, there is no place in the traditional Ifa religion for homosexuals and lesbians.
Some lesbians and homosexuals claim that they have told their Oluwo in Tierra Yoruba and that their Oluwo has told them that Ifá is silent about it. I really doubt there is such a Babalawo that says that anywhere. If there is one, we use this medium to warn them not to add strange considerations to Ifá to deceive people by giving them false hopes.
Lesbians and homosexuals have no place in the traditional Ifá and period!
The description that palm oil is a supplement to yams is subjective. It is literally the equivalent of saying Ketchup goes best with french fries.. I personally do not like ketchup on my fries. In fact I hate it. Some like mayonaise with theirs. This point is relatively moot to make as ones preferences vary and cannot be defined and coined based on one persons interpretation of Odu or common law of the land.
The ladder is good to climb to the roof- This in itself shows the time frame of this odu and the interpretation thereof. At one point Obara had a symbol of the rope which was given to Orisa even as ebo, as a symbol for something one climbs to ascend and descend. Later on the verses change to ladders, something newer invented for the same thing and with sturdier outcome and less effort. We also see this in verses of Ogunda when you hear rifles make their way in verses as oppose to other weaponry that predate guns and were commonly associated with war and or Orisa Ogun. This shows that Odu grows and incorporates the times of the people in order to make its point, that is why Ifa is wonderful it fits to the needs of the people and is a living and breathing entity which can always further grow and expand.
The notion that it is better for men to sleep with women and it being more enjoyable is again subjective. From personal experience as a man who has had many sexual encounters with women all of which were very pleasurable I did not fully connect to the idea of love and or sexual fulfillment until I followed my natural inclination to be with men. So this whole part of this verse is again subjective to the one that interpreted it.
Then to say that men who engage in sex with men will have boils and that women who engage in sex with women will have horrible odor and irritation can be debunked. In fact, I do not have nor have I ever had bumps and abnormal swelling in my nether regions and many women I know are engaging in sexual relations with loving female partners whose vaginal areas smell exactly as they should. This was most likely interpreted by a man who has no knowledge of vaginas and how they work let alone penises as they pertain to gay sex.
This interpretation is crawling with ignorance, while I think Ifa is grand and full of knowledge I do not believe every awo who interpreted verses like this and orally passed them on (telephone game, think about it) always got it right without inserting limited thinking and or plan bias and agenda.
Since Ifa does not lie and most, if not all of the above can be argued down and proven as not entirely true then it leads me to believe this may be a gross misinterpretation of the intended purposes of the verse.
Iwori Wodin’s opening line says it all.. “IF this is the way to manage a community, the community would have been very eager to live in the house.” If implies possibility of otherwise, alternatives.
There are many ways to manage communities with societal norms. There was once a societal norm that black people could simply be killed by whites by simply whistling or looking in their direction. This was the way the communities were managed, many were ok with it other than those who inherently wanted the freedom to live. This led to civil rights issues being fought in this country. I think you get my point.
Odi we know deals with reproduction and one of the primary ways of reproduction is sexual intercourse.
However, while at the base level that is true in many instances it is not. Therefore, the man born sterile and or the women born barren, who engage in sexual intercourse will still not produce children. This being said then are they themselves having useless sex and should therefore stop having sex?
Now to refer to another woman’s vagina as being “LIFELESS” simply because she looks upon anothers with desire, is a gross misconstruing of words which again reek of misogyny and ignorance of womens wonderful vaginas. In fact with or without men the vagina is LUSH with Life. Bacteria and flora of which is constantly producing and working.
One of the many lessons of Odi is found when Iya Loja learns the beauty and sensuality of her sexuality and then proceeds to “dip into her honey pot” and gain a slew of customers because of it.
The rest of the verse, Iwori Wodin, Ifá says:
In this Odu. Ifa explains the meaning of the son of Omo-Osu (Ilemosu) referring to a woman who had been married once, but who due to a reason (divorce, death of the husband, separation, etc.) returned to the house of his parents to live. When she returned, she promised never to have anything with a man again and that she would better choose a female companion to love and make love to her.
What I find interesting here is the desire to manipulate and dictate who one falls in love with or seeks comfort in the arms of. Many women who have been mistreated by men decide to be alone, and many with traumatic male interactions almost their whole life may or may not seek the comfort of another women and their relationship may or may not become sexual.
If Ifa is the grand keeper of knowledge of the all that is in the universe and Odu contains this very wisdom then we have to adjust our hermeneutics when examining the knowledge found within. Sexuality from the animal kingdom into the human kingdom is a fluid construct. Many male dominated fraternities and societies or spaces have developed encounters that led to sexual fluidity and same with female ones. This is all over the world, and therefore in Yourbaland as well. We cannot act like the natural notions of life are exclusive to everywhere else other than Nigeria.
Societies have always had to change to various degrees to meet the needs an demands of the people, this is how life works. This is how people work, this is how Orisa works because this is how nature works. Even now Cheetahs once lone animals, are seen hunting in packs to bring down larger prey than they would normally attempt to hunt. Lions usually depending on one male to a pride are starting to from groups of young males, something unheard of. Fish who have a dip in population of one particular gender have been known to change their sex at will in order to provide what was needed to their social group. Amphibians, like frogs have also been known to switch. Homosexuals can have children while in same sex loving relationships. It’s been done one only has to look. Many engage in adoption of youth who were abandoned by their heterosexual parents. Many use surrogates and have agreements with other male or females of their choice who help to mother or sire their child.
Many things of the Yoruba past are no longer done, human sacrifice and ebo being one of them. You can now find verses in Irete to support this. These verses are supposed to grow and change and record the notion of odu Ifa as an expansive pulsating living breathing entity.
I am well aware that men and women have their own specific Ase they bring to the table just by their gender and/or dare I say assumed gender.
The big issue I see here on a societal level is a fear that goes against the notion of Ire omo. Once you dispel the fear with facts, which has been done above we can move past the notion of fear. Knowledge battles fear quire effectively. Ire omo can still happen, grown adults can still have children and contribute to the community they exist s culturally part of.
What is not ok is to keep chanting the same verses and edicts without allowing it to grow as needed to actually help the people it needs to.
I will accept more from Abimbola, Popoola and anyone else when they can sit in a panel discussion with other leaders and figures in the Diaspora or otherwise who can have actual in depth discussion on sexuality and what it actually is and how its developed and attached to the psyche, the Spirit and the finally the body.
***Chief Oluwo Solagbade Popoola Wrote the below sentiments in his work,
“THE POSITION OF IFA IN HOMOSEXUALITY / LESBIANISM
Much has been written and said about the position of lovers of the same sex in the Religion of Ifá. Some say that Ifa is very silent about this practice, others say that Ifa is against, while others say categorically that Ifá supports this practice.
To avoid doubts, we should recite three verses from Ifá to clarify their position on this controversial subject. It should be taken first from the Odu Ofun Alaaye (Ofun Irete) where Ifá says:
Palm oil is good to supplement the consumption of yams
And the yam is good as a supplement to eat palm oil
The ladder is good for climbing to the roof
For a man it is better to make love with a woman than with his male companion
For a woman it is better to sleep with a man than with his female partner
If a man sleeps with a man
The result will be swelling, boils and deviation
If a woman makes love with a female partner
The result will be darkness, noticeable odors, dirty and irritation
If a man makes love to a woman
And a woman sleeps with a man
The result will be feeling at the top of the world
The feeling of having unlimited and indescribable enjoyment
The organ of Ofun-Rete is strong and swollen
This was guessed for the chronically single chaste
When he was going to marry with Olele the descendants of Olofa
The chronic bachelor called Olele
But she replied that she did not
The problem is not greater than Ifá can solve
In this Odu, Ifá highlights three aspects
1) It is better for a man to love a woman and vice versa, which is more pleasant
2) Making love with the same sex leaves illness and frustration
3) It is the only way that the birth of a child can take place
This also means that Olodumare, whose language is Ifá, deliberately made heterosexual love pleasurable to avoid inhibitions to the act of making babies. Olodumare's plan is to multiply the human being in this world. Relationships with the same sex hinder the multiplication of the human race.
In addition, in a stanza of Iwori Wodin (Iwori-Odi), Ifá says this:
Iwori cast a capricious glance at the genital and considered it a propitious practice
Do you consider Iwori, who looks at the genitals as a good Awó?
This was the statement of Ifá to Panla-Apo
Who Failed to Assure a Husband to Get Married
But she chose to fall in love with a female partner
He was advised to do ebó
A woman who makes love to a female companion
Do not you know that she is looking for a lifeless genital, is not it productive to give life?
In this Odu Ifá says that:
1) Anyone who is seen looking at another person of the same sex can never be seen as a good Awó. For such a person, looking at the genitals of another person of the same sex is even worse.
2) Relating to having same sex sex is a useless exercise.
The implication of this is that anyone practicing homosexuality or lesbianism, being Iyanifá, Babalawo or Babalorisa is not regarded as a decent person or good practitioner. Why then does anyone who truly believes in Olodumare and the divinities commit himself to the exercise of futility?
We are all followers of the deities. We are in a privileged position that is certainly the envy of others but with that position comes a great responsibility. We follow the steps of the Divinities. If it is true, and I am quite sure that it is, then, who among the Divinities practiced love with the same gender when they were the Earth? What part of the life of your love are we emulating with simply suggesting relationships with the same sex? Any!
In another verse, Iwori Wodin, Ifá says:
If this is the way to manage the community
The community would have been very eager to live in the house
This was the message of the citizens of Iwori_Wodi
To whom Ifá advised him to send all the children of Eshu away
Therefore, the one who after first marrying
I chose to have ejaculation with a woman
They were warned to do ebó
If this is the way we manage the community
Would the community be so eager to live in the house?
In this Odu. Ifa explains the meaning of the son of Omo-Osu (Ilemosu) referring to a woman who had been married once, but who due to a reason (divorce, death of the husband, separation, etc.) returned to the house of his parents to live. When she returned, she promised never to have anything with a man again and that she would better choose a female companion to love and make love to her.
1) Many people were once heterosexual but later became homosexual / lebian due to a lack or cessation of their marriage.
2) This type of people should be sent to pack and leave their parents' home because they are practicing immoralities or breaking a taboo, which should be condemned and stopped.
1) Many people were once heterosexual but later became homosexual / lebian due to a lack or cessation of their marriage.
2) This type of people should be sent to pack and leave their parents' home because they are practicing immoralities or breaking a taboo, which should be condemned and stopped.
3) Forgiving these acts can lead only to chaos at the end.
This is why every time this Odu reveals itself during an Ifa consultation, the client is advised to ensure that he has not been practicing any immoral acts by any Osu children at home since the Situation since this would bring problems later.
Some same-sex lovers claim that both heterosexuals and bisexuals and homosexuals / lesbians adore and serve the same Olodumare. I must disagree with this statement. To serve and worship Olodumare in its truest sense, you must emulate the practice of the Divinities. Which of the Divinities are they emulating? If there are none of them homosexual or lesbian. Put simply, there is no place in the traditional Ifa religion for homosexuals and lesbians.
Some lesbians and homosexuals claim that they have told their Oluwo in Tierra Yoruba and that their Oluwo has told them that Ifá is silent about it. I really doubt there is such a Babalawo that says that anywhere. If there is one, we use this medium to warn them not to add strange considerations to Ifá to deceive people by giving them false hopes.
Lesbians and homosexuals have no place in the traditional Ifá and period!
Spiritual Elitism or Respecting Tradition
I have come come across more online fodder and Fuckery than I care to admit to. I have seen huge groups of people from neo pagan white witches to hotepian American African descendants taking creative license and authority over well established living and breathing traditions that have survived and have been surviving and thriving with priesthoods. Take that last part in yall... LIVING AND THRIVING PRIESTHOODS!! We are not talking about the entire greek pantheon with old ruins of temples of glorious times past. We are talking about multiple lands in the diaspora by which Africans were brought and left in motion strong rooted legacy by which some of us were initiated into operating within and entrenching ourselves in the work to keep it going so that future generations can use it to benefit themselves and others.
And here come along any ol body who has access to a mouse, a keyboard, monitor and such to come scooping on in and COLUMBUSING what was already there and established.
These are some of the very “progressive” folks who can understand Christopher Columbus was not shit and gets the credit for “founding” America which was already inhabited.
They will not nor can they even try to see that they are themselves inserting them into a space as guests and possible heirs and trying to upsurp what has already been rooted.
Listen here.. You aint coming up in my house and uprooting anything, and if you are successful in your attempts you are catching these hands or this good ol juju.
On my amazing friend and Sister friend, Okantomi’s @spiritualteabath page on IG, there was a post about upheld traditions and how to navigate to and through them. Out comes vegan Susan from accounting who does yoga all her life, eats granola and dried cranberries and owns several rescue animals decides to come in and give her testimony of how Orisa has been speaking to her all her life. Once told by several initated priests that there are certain ways one is called to the priesthood or lifestyle associated with orisa worship she decides to perform her well rehearsed routine... Sparkling mayo-tinged bleached tears and indignation. Miss Susan, aka @seekyoursoul333 on IG proceeds to post the following:
“The only thing I take issue with is spiritual Elitism. Those that judge anothers path by their own ego. Their need to feel they are special or more entitled to a path than another. To me, if the spirit of any path calls you, you should listen. Develop your relationship and understand what is between you and the Orisha, God, Goddess ect, is between you and them. What relationship another of anyone’s business but them.”
@SpiritualTeaBaths responds again, kind as ever:
|” Yes, Orisha worship is now universal. The Orishas are worshipped by people of all races and national origins, but legitimacy depends upon adherence to established orthodoxy. Lukumí/Regla de Osha (AKA Santería) has a very rigorous orthodoxy. Heads are marked in very specific ways, by ritual specialists who are priests of divination. It is possible to have connections to many Orisha, but in that system only one owns your head; and it’s not something that you can just be told by a practitioner. What we view as capricious is the desire of outsiders to interact with these deities while disregarding the systems of worship the Orisha established for us thousands of years ago. I don’t suggest that you have no affinity with Oshún. However, if she had actually called you you’d be experiencing such terrible upheavals in your life that you would be forced to seek initiation. It’s a common thread across all traditions, people get initiated because they must. If you’re ever interested in reading about Orisha worship, I can recommend some great books. Ki Oshun agbe o. I understand your perspective, but it is antithetical to every tradition of Orisha worship. Orisha religions are systematic and hierarchical. Their “fundamento” (foundation) consists of “regla” (rules and order), “Awo” (secret, sacred knowledge), and “licencia” (ritual authority) among other things. These are intact systems of worship that are links in an unbroken chain that is thousands of years old. They are orthodox and structured. They are neither random, nor are they eclectic. Their structure and orthodoxy were established and maintained at great personal cost by “lagba-lagba” (revered elders), mandated and guided by the Orisa themselves. As a communal system, initiated have a responsibility to ensure the integrity of these traditions. So yea, it is absolutely the business of others. Just as my practice is the business of others. Orisha cannot be separated from its culture, orthodoxy, or priesthood. Orisha worship is hierarchical. It is your sense of privilege and entitlement that has created your misperception of elitism. If you ever become involved in any form of orthodox Orisha worship, your perspective will shift. P.S. I view exchanges of this nature as enlightening and beneficial. It helps me to understand your perspective, and it exposes you to the tenets and orthodoxy of Orisha religion. ”
Others now hip to Susan’s trail of entitled tears and tantrums are getting riled up and calling her out.. and here she goes again:
“And there comes the “entitlement” and “privilege” words. No, I’m sorry it is not your business. I think Im’ probably going to take an Orisha over you. If you want to talk about what matters, I’m going to follow what the Orisha has led me to and not you. I will never tell another what to do in their spirituality and you maybe should do the same. You are frankly making judgements about relationships you know nothing about. Religion is man made. I do not follow a religion. I go where I am led as everyone should. My path is mine alone. I am involved in Santeria. And yet Oshun has come to me, as a child. Showed me things I should not know was not exposed to. So yeah I’m going with Orisha here. You are free to practcie as you are led. We all are. That is not entitlement or privilege.”
Now yall... I read her response and all of my hairs stood up and I felt the heat in my ears I get just before I am about to THUMP/FIGHT/THROW HANDS. I had to breathe through it.
The nerve of this unititated ass woman talking to other priests about what she gonna do with their deities they serve and have been trained to serve and her relative free access to all that is based on a feeling of being “led.” Here is my thing, can you imagine walking into a sweat lodge or Pow Wow and through on cultural/spiritual regalia and just jump on in dancing the dances no one dances or danced, singing songs no one sings or ever sung and performed ceremonies/rituals no one ever uses in that group of people?
Would you enter a Hindu temple and offer steak to the Gods there in offering because you felt compelled and led by spirit to do so?
Would you enter a Catholic Churh throw Koolaid in their Holy Water and tell them the holy water shall now be red like the blood of Christ and its ok because spirit led you to do so?
No you wouldnt and you would do so at the cost of possibly catching a Tanya Harding to Nancy Kerrigan to the knee cap bust, or some generational curse ensured to your descendants fro years to come.
You do not get to enter spaces, that inhabited and established and simply request or demand changes. You have to be a part of said culture or group before you can even earn a right to say anything about anything and then even then you must earn your way to having a reputable name enough by your community to admonish such..
This is the nonsense I am seeing here that boggles my mind. You just gonna come in and make it what you think it needs to be and damn anyone else whose job it is to retain and ensure the survival of said traditions. You treating our tradition like you are the “Do Good” LA rich folk who want to stop the Yulin dog eating festival in a country you have nothing to do with. A people you havent yet got to know or emerse in their culture enough to see the hows and whys of anything they do. You just gonna throw your entitlement and privilege around to judge it from the outside looking in and then demand from the top of your lungs what you want to happen. GIRL BYE!!! SIR, FARETHEEWELL! Sayonora! Adios! Au Revoir! and Any other language you need to get the hint.
This was my final word on that thread and I stand by it 150% in the spirit of, “WHAT YOU AINT FITTIN TUH DO IS!”
“My biggest issue will be entitlement. If you are truly being "led" you will have been led to a community, an ile, and more than likely ocha if not the first preliminary steps leading into initiation. You don't just meditate and orisa come visit or just dream and these deities just come around. I'm convinced 99.9% of what's appearing to people are spirits who work with or in alignment with said deity or their energy. Or are appearing in a fashion in which is comfortable or significant for the person to accept and/or visualize. Some spirits may appear Oshun-esque but many spirits exist in the unseen realm or in the bodies of water. There are ways we as priest confirm if orisa is calling someone. There are ways as priests we call to orisa to incite, to calm... we even have ways to let them know what we doing..as far as lifting them up off the ground or taking off the lid to the sacred vessels that hold them.. yet these folks think they can just meditate and light a yellow candle and poof first image of femininity you see is an orisa simply because you called their Name and set an intention?! GTFOH! Don't google, YouTube, or Wikipedia orisa subjects and then form rituals around that or speak with authority online or otherwise. The truth of the matter is you are a child parroting grown folk business and ain't yet started sitting at the grown folk table. You still eating with the other children pontificating. I need folks to truly respect the legacy of ancestors and not cherry pick how they want to honor them. If it's ancestors you rever then rever the foundations of legacy they left by way of tradition. Follow the protocols that have been existent for over 500 years and don't feel entitled to practice or know what so many priests have busted their ass, bank, or otherwise to learn for the benefit of their community. Every practitioner of medicine must do apprenticeship, internship, tests and finally a review by their expert peers until they are deemed capable to practice.. Anyone else attempting to practice medicine without said license is considered illegal and liable to be jailed. Think about that because the same applies here.”
And here come along any ol body who has access to a mouse, a keyboard, monitor and such to come scooping on in and COLUMBUSING what was already there and established.
These are some of the very “progressive” folks who can understand Christopher Columbus was not shit and gets the credit for “founding” America which was already inhabited.
They will not nor can they even try to see that they are themselves inserting them into a space as guests and possible heirs and trying to upsurp what has already been rooted.
Listen here.. You aint coming up in my house and uprooting anything, and if you are successful in your attempts you are catching these hands or this good ol juju.
On my amazing friend and Sister friend, Okantomi’s @spiritualteabath page on IG, there was a post about upheld traditions and how to navigate to and through them. Out comes vegan Susan from accounting who does yoga all her life, eats granola and dried cranberries and owns several rescue animals decides to come in and give her testimony of how Orisa has been speaking to her all her life. Once told by several initated priests that there are certain ways one is called to the priesthood or lifestyle associated with orisa worship she decides to perform her well rehearsed routine... Sparkling mayo-tinged bleached tears and indignation. Miss Susan, aka @seekyoursoul333 on IG proceeds to post the following:
“The only thing I take issue with is spiritual Elitism. Those that judge anothers path by their own ego. Their need to feel they are special or more entitled to a path than another. To me, if the spirit of any path calls you, you should listen. Develop your relationship and understand what is between you and the Orisha, God, Goddess ect, is between you and them. What relationship another of anyone’s business but them.”
@SpiritualTeaBaths responds again, kind as ever:
|” Yes, Orisha worship is now universal. The Orishas are worshipped by people of all races and national origins, but legitimacy depends upon adherence to established orthodoxy. Lukumí/Regla de Osha (AKA Santería) has a very rigorous orthodoxy. Heads are marked in very specific ways, by ritual specialists who are priests of divination. It is possible to have connections to many Orisha, but in that system only one owns your head; and it’s not something that you can just be told by a practitioner. What we view as capricious is the desire of outsiders to interact with these deities while disregarding the systems of worship the Orisha established for us thousands of years ago. I don’t suggest that you have no affinity with Oshún. However, if she had actually called you you’d be experiencing such terrible upheavals in your life that you would be forced to seek initiation. It’s a common thread across all traditions, people get initiated because they must. If you’re ever interested in reading about Orisha worship, I can recommend some great books. Ki Oshun agbe o. I understand your perspective, but it is antithetical to every tradition of Orisha worship. Orisha religions are systematic and hierarchical. Their “fundamento” (foundation) consists of “regla” (rules and order), “Awo” (secret, sacred knowledge), and “licencia” (ritual authority) among other things. These are intact systems of worship that are links in an unbroken chain that is thousands of years old. They are orthodox and structured. They are neither random, nor are they eclectic. Their structure and orthodoxy were established and maintained at great personal cost by “lagba-lagba” (revered elders), mandated and guided by the Orisa themselves. As a communal system, initiated have a responsibility to ensure the integrity of these traditions. So yea, it is absolutely the business of others. Just as my practice is the business of others. Orisha cannot be separated from its culture, orthodoxy, or priesthood. Orisha worship is hierarchical. It is your sense of privilege and entitlement that has created your misperception of elitism. If you ever become involved in any form of orthodox Orisha worship, your perspective will shift. P.S. I view exchanges of this nature as enlightening and beneficial. It helps me to understand your perspective, and it exposes you to the tenets and orthodoxy of Orisha religion. ”
Others now hip to Susan’s trail of entitled tears and tantrums are getting riled up and calling her out.. and here she goes again:
“And there comes the “entitlement” and “privilege” words. No, I’m sorry it is not your business. I think Im’ probably going to take an Orisha over you. If you want to talk about what matters, I’m going to follow what the Orisha has led me to and not you. I will never tell another what to do in their spirituality and you maybe should do the same. You are frankly making judgements about relationships you know nothing about. Religion is man made. I do not follow a religion. I go where I am led as everyone should. My path is mine alone. I am involved in Santeria. And yet Oshun has come to me, as a child. Showed me things I should not know was not exposed to. So yeah I’m going with Orisha here. You are free to practcie as you are led. We all are. That is not entitlement or privilege.”
Now yall... I read her response and all of my hairs stood up and I felt the heat in my ears I get just before I am about to THUMP/FIGHT/THROW HANDS. I had to breathe through it.
The nerve of this unititated ass woman talking to other priests about what she gonna do with their deities they serve and have been trained to serve and her relative free access to all that is based on a feeling of being “led.” Here is my thing, can you imagine walking into a sweat lodge or Pow Wow and through on cultural/spiritual regalia and just jump on in dancing the dances no one dances or danced, singing songs no one sings or ever sung and performed ceremonies/rituals no one ever uses in that group of people?
Would you enter a Hindu temple and offer steak to the Gods there in offering because you felt compelled and led by spirit to do so?
Would you enter a Catholic Churh throw Koolaid in their Holy Water and tell them the holy water shall now be red like the blood of Christ and its ok because spirit led you to do so?
No you wouldnt and you would do so at the cost of possibly catching a Tanya Harding to Nancy Kerrigan to the knee cap bust, or some generational curse ensured to your descendants fro years to come.
You do not get to enter spaces, that inhabited and established and simply request or demand changes. You have to be a part of said culture or group before you can even earn a right to say anything about anything and then even then you must earn your way to having a reputable name enough by your community to admonish such..
This is the nonsense I am seeing here that boggles my mind. You just gonna come in and make it what you think it needs to be and damn anyone else whose job it is to retain and ensure the survival of said traditions. You treating our tradition like you are the “Do Good” LA rich folk who want to stop the Yulin dog eating festival in a country you have nothing to do with. A people you havent yet got to know or emerse in their culture enough to see the hows and whys of anything they do. You just gonna throw your entitlement and privilege around to judge it from the outside looking in and then demand from the top of your lungs what you want to happen. GIRL BYE!!! SIR, FARETHEEWELL! Sayonora! Adios! Au Revoir! and Any other language you need to get the hint.
This was my final word on that thread and I stand by it 150% in the spirit of, “WHAT YOU AINT FITTIN TUH DO IS!”
“My biggest issue will be entitlement. If you are truly being "led" you will have been led to a community, an ile, and more than likely ocha if not the first preliminary steps leading into initiation. You don't just meditate and orisa come visit or just dream and these deities just come around. I'm convinced 99.9% of what's appearing to people are spirits who work with or in alignment with said deity or their energy. Or are appearing in a fashion in which is comfortable or significant for the person to accept and/or visualize. Some spirits may appear Oshun-esque but many spirits exist in the unseen realm or in the bodies of water. There are ways we as priest confirm if orisa is calling someone. There are ways as priests we call to orisa to incite, to calm... we even have ways to let them know what we doing..as far as lifting them up off the ground or taking off the lid to the sacred vessels that hold them.. yet these folks think they can just meditate and light a yellow candle and poof first image of femininity you see is an orisa simply because you called their Name and set an intention?! GTFOH! Don't google, YouTube, or Wikipedia orisa subjects and then form rituals around that or speak with authority online or otherwise. The truth of the matter is you are a child parroting grown folk business and ain't yet started sitting at the grown folk table. You still eating with the other children pontificating. I need folks to truly respect the legacy of ancestors and not cherry pick how they want to honor them. If it's ancestors you rever then rever the foundations of legacy they left by way of tradition. Follow the protocols that have been existent for over 500 years and don't feel entitled to practice or know what so many priests have busted their ass, bank, or otherwise to learn for the benefit of their community. Every practitioner of medicine must do apprenticeship, internship, tests and finally a review by their expert peers until they are deemed capable to practice.. Anyone else attempting to practice medicine without said license is considered illegal and liable to be jailed. Think about that because the same applies here.”
Owo/Money as it applies to Diasporic ATR (Mainly Lucumi perspective)
There are many who due to society and structural issues as well as institutionalized circumstances, are out here SKRUGGLING in these Skreets. It happens. We live in a space where commercialism and capitalism is rampant and ever present in some form of fashion. Many not yet initiated into Orisa are wary when they are told of pricing for certain initiations or rituals. It raises eyebrows and so many things come up for someone emotionally.
One of the things is a feeling of otherness or outsideness experienced most usual from POC, who are taught from early on to embrace a poverty mind or the notion that they cannot accomplish anything because (insert a myriad of reasons).. Then only to embrace a route of connectivity and spirituality that connects them to some ancestral source, and they feel yet again they can’t achieve it.
Get ready for the CLICHE!.... Faith.
Oh poverty is real, but its most real and tangible in the mindset. The belief that you are limited by circumstances and cannot attain anything more. This may be another facebook note all together.
While we know there are charlatans galore hidden in the community with dark and light skin alike offering Cheshire cat smiles, colorful beads and bracelets, and warm embraces galore and a manner in which they appear warm and knowledgeable, but there is a rhyme and reason for charging for initiations and ritual ceremonies.
It unnerves me to see people being charged $45000 for Orisa initiations in the Bronx or anywhere else for that matter (I am warning you now, if you have received this number from an individual from the Bronx.. RUN!) but it unnerves me just as much when I hear things like, “Why should I pay for something that is in my blood? My heritage.” or “Why do things have to cost so much? Surely one cant buy spirituality!” While that very last line is truer than true, there are so many factors you are not aware of as a non initiate and although we as priests tend to be secretive (and you would know why if you have access to google, wikipedia, or youtube) I would like to shed some transparency on my particular tradition in hopes to increase and foster some understanding.
The unspoken is that there are many variations of traditional lineages all with variations on how to initiate into orisa.
That being said there is an issue of resources.. For instance many herbs used are not suually from your back yard (unless you live in a place that actually grows the tropical flora) they have to be ordered by someone who picks them out by hand, reaps them, possibly even grows them, and then has to 1-2 day deliver them.
Then there is a matter of access to geographical locations. Bringing someone to the river, ocean, forest, mountain... all may take a drive or some travel depending on where one lives and if they have access to any of these points. There is rituals that may happen there at that location as well, sometimes requiring other priests assistance in the dead of night or early morning.
Then there is the matter of other priest called to lend their ashe/energy and expertise to the ceremony at hand. This means time away from their family and/or loved ones and time away from their general life and daily business and affairs all who are being gathered to work your ceremony which can take 5-8 hours on average... that is a whole work day.
There is also someone hired to feed the people through out the day who are laboring spiritually and physically during the course of the ceremony. They also are responsible to cook breakfast every day for the Iyawo (new initiate) for the first 72 hours of that persons initiation. That being said they are also paid for their culinary services and that does not including the food items that must be purchased for not only parts of the ceremony as offerings but for the iyawo, Mentors/Spiritual Godparents, and the priests who come to work said ceremony but also on the the next day when the community comes to witness the new initiate by way of a drumming celebration. The guests are fed and libated that day as well.
There is a sacred space built for the iyawo which included cloths/fabrics that design the space as well as two outfits made for the iyawo to wear. One post initiation early morning after, and one for the presentation to the community as a new initiate. That means a seamstress is also paid for their services.
There is also the matter of supplies and vessels for the ceremony, the labor to retreive certain items and implements that will be ceremonially prepared usually carried out by the spiritual mentor/Godparent.
There is also the matter of 7 day seclusion to the space the ceremony is held at. If a person does not have a house to do this in many people will rent a space for the week. This also costs money.
There is also the two godparents/spiritual mentors who are expected to stay with the iyawo for those first 7 days.. which often means taking off of work and using vacation time and such or unpaid time.
The above are some of the factors that effect pricing, and we are ancestorally tied to the idea of community yet none of us often live together in the same community or neighborhood. Some of us do not own but rent and so are limited with access to space. Some of us have cars others require transportation to do some of these things... Many factors range regarding pricing. However, all must be compensated for their time and ase.
Now, lets be clear... your spirituality is not being bought. Your spirituality is your own, the Godparent or better yet spiritual mentor is there to help guide you on the path to orisa. To help you the best way they know how to utilize orisa to better yourself and the life of others. For the changes that have happened in my life and in the life of many others I can tell you that there is no price tag amount you can place on the initiation nor the allowance of Orisa to do the work in your life that is required. Simply put, because it is priceless. The key word in the previous statement is... allowance.
When one allows Orisa to work through them... that you cant necessarily teach it must be learned as one figures out what changes they want to make in their life even the really hard ones that leave you exposed and vulnerable and humbled as you face the parts of your self you thought you already shifted or changed or things you never really looked at that have existed in you and must be examined if not altered.
Again what you are paying for is a tradition passed on by the hands of ancestors who paid with their sweat, tears, lives and meager means to set into motion a set of rituals that have been in existence for over a millenia. A methodology that has been proven to work, and countless testimonys exist to the power of Orisa in some peoples lives.
May Oshun reach those with questions and attract you to the right teachers who are accountable, responsible, honest and competent.
May you invest in your betterment and in your progression be it through actual initiation or ritual receipt of addimu orisa or their implements.
Love and Light,
David Sosa- Eni Osun
One of the things is a feeling of otherness or outsideness experienced most usual from POC, who are taught from early on to embrace a poverty mind or the notion that they cannot accomplish anything because (insert a myriad of reasons).. Then only to embrace a route of connectivity and spirituality that connects them to some ancestral source, and they feel yet again they can’t achieve it.
Get ready for the CLICHE!.... Faith.
Oh poverty is real, but its most real and tangible in the mindset. The belief that you are limited by circumstances and cannot attain anything more. This may be another facebook note all together.
While we know there are charlatans galore hidden in the community with dark and light skin alike offering Cheshire cat smiles, colorful beads and bracelets, and warm embraces galore and a manner in which they appear warm and knowledgeable, but there is a rhyme and reason for charging for initiations and ritual ceremonies.
It unnerves me to see people being charged $45000 for Orisa initiations in the Bronx or anywhere else for that matter (I am warning you now, if you have received this number from an individual from the Bronx.. RUN!) but it unnerves me just as much when I hear things like, “Why should I pay for something that is in my blood? My heritage.” or “Why do things have to cost so much? Surely one cant buy spirituality!” While that very last line is truer than true, there are so many factors you are not aware of as a non initiate and although we as priests tend to be secretive (and you would know why if you have access to google, wikipedia, or youtube) I would like to shed some transparency on my particular tradition in hopes to increase and foster some understanding.
The unspoken is that there are many variations of traditional lineages all with variations on how to initiate into orisa.
That being said there is an issue of resources.. For instance many herbs used are not suually from your back yard (unless you live in a place that actually grows the tropical flora) they have to be ordered by someone who picks them out by hand, reaps them, possibly even grows them, and then has to 1-2 day deliver them.
Then there is a matter of access to geographical locations. Bringing someone to the river, ocean, forest, mountain... all may take a drive or some travel depending on where one lives and if they have access to any of these points. There is rituals that may happen there at that location as well, sometimes requiring other priests assistance in the dead of night or early morning.
Then there is the matter of other priest called to lend their ashe/energy and expertise to the ceremony at hand. This means time away from their family and/or loved ones and time away from their general life and daily business and affairs all who are being gathered to work your ceremony which can take 5-8 hours on average... that is a whole work day.
There is also someone hired to feed the people through out the day who are laboring spiritually and physically during the course of the ceremony. They also are responsible to cook breakfast every day for the Iyawo (new initiate) for the first 72 hours of that persons initiation. That being said they are also paid for their culinary services and that does not including the food items that must be purchased for not only parts of the ceremony as offerings but for the iyawo, Mentors/Spiritual Godparents, and the priests who come to work said ceremony but also on the the next day when the community comes to witness the new initiate by way of a drumming celebration. The guests are fed and libated that day as well.
There is a sacred space built for the iyawo which included cloths/fabrics that design the space as well as two outfits made for the iyawo to wear. One post initiation early morning after, and one for the presentation to the community as a new initiate. That means a seamstress is also paid for their services.
There is also the matter of supplies and vessels for the ceremony, the labor to retreive certain items and implements that will be ceremonially prepared usually carried out by the spiritual mentor/Godparent.
There is also the matter of 7 day seclusion to the space the ceremony is held at. If a person does not have a house to do this in many people will rent a space for the week. This also costs money.
There is also the two godparents/spiritual mentors who are expected to stay with the iyawo for those first 7 days.. which often means taking off of work and using vacation time and such or unpaid time.
The above are some of the factors that effect pricing, and we are ancestorally tied to the idea of community yet none of us often live together in the same community or neighborhood. Some of us do not own but rent and so are limited with access to space. Some of us have cars others require transportation to do some of these things... Many factors range regarding pricing. However, all must be compensated for their time and ase.
Now, lets be clear... your spirituality is not being bought. Your spirituality is your own, the Godparent or better yet spiritual mentor is there to help guide you on the path to orisa. To help you the best way they know how to utilize orisa to better yourself and the life of others. For the changes that have happened in my life and in the life of many others I can tell you that there is no price tag amount you can place on the initiation nor the allowance of Orisa to do the work in your life that is required. Simply put, because it is priceless. The key word in the previous statement is... allowance.
When one allows Orisa to work through them... that you cant necessarily teach it must be learned as one figures out what changes they want to make in their life even the really hard ones that leave you exposed and vulnerable and humbled as you face the parts of your self you thought you already shifted or changed or things you never really looked at that have existed in you and must be examined if not altered.
Again what you are paying for is a tradition passed on by the hands of ancestors who paid with their sweat, tears, lives and meager means to set into motion a set of rituals that have been in existence for over a millenia. A methodology that has been proven to work, and countless testimonys exist to the power of Orisa in some peoples lives.
May Oshun reach those with questions and attract you to the right teachers who are accountable, responsible, honest and competent.
May you invest in your betterment and in your progression be it through actual initiation or ritual receipt of addimu orisa or their implements.
Love and Light,
David Sosa- Eni Osun
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Lost love Part I #52essays2017 week 23
I was 16, I had come back from Florida where I spent the 10th grade year living with my uncle and my cousins. I found myself returning back home to NY and I was excited to be back HOME where my friends I've known all my life but had not seen in the year I was away. A lot can change in a year especially on a social level when in high school.
This was the year I met someone who would shape and influence a very particular part of my life. His name will not be mentioned but the story must be told.
He was a senior and I was entering my junior year. We both sang and admired each others voices. We began to spend so much time together laughing, completing each others sentences in perfect synchronicity. We got each other on a level I never had with other heterosexual males and I was refreshed to have someone so close that I could have this with.
He, in the beginning of our friendship was dating this church girl who was a fiery Puerto Rican. She quick became annoyed at our close proximity and eventually started giving him ultimatums of spending more time and attention with her as I was taking too much of his time and energy for her liking. That didn't work as he relatively ignored her. She then decided to approach me and inform me of how much I needed to "know my place" and understand she was his girlfriend. I told her the only truth I knew, "I know him better than you. I know what he likes, how he thinks, what he feels. THe stuff you should know but probably never will. So while you are his girl, girls can come and go. A best friend will most likely outlast you."
I was from then on not her favorite person. I was however, quite right.
I had another close girl friend at the time, this was the friend in other essays I described being intimate with. She was the girl who held a safe space for me to explore my sexuality through and with her and in essence taught me the beauty of being with a woman in such a manner. I having brought my good Boy friend around more often, things opened up to us engaging in sexual activities together. Us three intimate and together. It was the best of my two worlds coming together and I was so elated to be part of the threesome with two people I genuinely and deeply cared for. TO look over and see my best friend aiding me in pleasing my other best friend and us being able to lock eyes while we engaged in this and to see her obvious pleasure, it was magic.
Nothing about this became weird for us, we maintained that platonic bond and would mention it with out any fear of it being a funky issue. There was never discomfort between us we always held space for each other. That was the beauty of our friendship.
This was until he started dating the Troglodyte. She was a friend of a friends friend. A college girl who was the awkward frumpy yet funny girl. I took to her immediately and naturally by extension so did he. Me being of a certain age and mindset would never have guessed the two would or even could become an item of any kind. People like him didn't date girls that look like him, and vise versa. I've seen the pretty girls he made swoon, she was not on the list of candidates. Sad thing in retrospect is I boxed her in this same box I feared and resented people placed me in. Pot kettle anyone?!
Well imagine me and other peers of mine surprise when the two started getting touchy touchy and eventually closer. Close enough to maybe even be an item... we were all in shock. No one more than me who denied such allegations until I laid eyes upon it. Naturally I was flabbergasted.
I quickly understood the dynamic of someone with feelings for someone else and the depths of such. None of which I was prepared for as I realized I was now a third wheel in the mix of things. I never had to fear such a thing, others were the third wheel not I. That had all changed. I was watching as I had less and less time with him and I would hear third hand of him traveling and hanging out with other mutual friends we had and I got zero of an invite. Being invited was not a party either as anytime I hung out with them it was them cuddled on a couch kissing and touching while I sat across the way trying not to notice. I then realized how possessive I had become of him and paranoid of our friendship of which now seemed to have been changing drastically. To watch him hold an actual space for this person and be so close... to kiss them and look in their eyes. It infuriated me, I was seething. I was surface of the sun heated and eyes squinted to high heaven. I even tried dating other dudes to distract myself and it did nothing to feel the want to have my friend in the mix.
I had to confront him.
"Whats with her? How does this even work? She came in and took over you and I'm out here left in the cold. I don't appreciate it. You know how much I love you, like you are my dude. I got to share you with her of all people. Leaving me out of things? And when you do invite me I have to watch you all locked up with her on that couch?! I cant do this, this is too much."
He responded in kind, "You know I love you. This just happened and I actually like her and we are just seeing where this is going. Just don't be so mean with her and so distant."
Call it self preservation based on fear and paranoia. I could not be in too present with them it brought out such an ugly in me. I could not deal with the sight of them together and so close, not while I was no where in that mix. No place for me anymore.
This new dynamic wound up pushing me out into the world where I met new friends. Gay friends. I have never had gay friends, I feared having them and acted hostile to a degree. There was only room for on gay and that was me, and no I didn't want to be identified as a gay. I expected my sexuality not be mentioned or discussed with anyone or for any ones entertainment. I, however did not want to openly associate with gay friends who would bring more attention to me and what I thought was my in place façade of assumed heterosexuality. Well here I was with a new set of friends who took me in and began showing me the lifestyle of gay males. I got hipped to the cruising in the seedy and public spots, I got hipped to wardrobe and clubs. People like me were out and about having great sex and great times in safe environments with people who identified with my sexual orientation. This space allowed me some time to get to know other males in ways I never would. This was a "sisterhood" of men... or so I thought.
Guess who came back into the mix once the troglodyte love interest suddenly didn't work? That's right, my bestie, my boy, my boo... And what did I do? I opened up these arms and I let him back into the space I carved out for him by my side and in my heart. Come home boo come on through and welcome back into my fold.
This was until I realized what bringing in a straight an open minded hetero into the mix can be or would be... Like chum in shark filled waters. I had no idea.
This was the year I met someone who would shape and influence a very particular part of my life. His name will not be mentioned but the story must be told.
He was a senior and I was entering my junior year. We both sang and admired each others voices. We began to spend so much time together laughing, completing each others sentences in perfect synchronicity. We got each other on a level I never had with other heterosexual males and I was refreshed to have someone so close that I could have this with.
He, in the beginning of our friendship was dating this church girl who was a fiery Puerto Rican. She quick became annoyed at our close proximity and eventually started giving him ultimatums of spending more time and attention with her as I was taking too much of his time and energy for her liking. That didn't work as he relatively ignored her. She then decided to approach me and inform me of how much I needed to "know my place" and understand she was his girlfriend. I told her the only truth I knew, "I know him better than you. I know what he likes, how he thinks, what he feels. THe stuff you should know but probably never will. So while you are his girl, girls can come and go. A best friend will most likely outlast you."
I was from then on not her favorite person. I was however, quite right.
I had another close girl friend at the time, this was the friend in other essays I described being intimate with. She was the girl who held a safe space for me to explore my sexuality through and with her and in essence taught me the beauty of being with a woman in such a manner. I having brought my good Boy friend around more often, things opened up to us engaging in sexual activities together. Us three intimate and together. It was the best of my two worlds coming together and I was so elated to be part of the threesome with two people I genuinely and deeply cared for. TO look over and see my best friend aiding me in pleasing my other best friend and us being able to lock eyes while we engaged in this and to see her obvious pleasure, it was magic.
Nothing about this became weird for us, we maintained that platonic bond and would mention it with out any fear of it being a funky issue. There was never discomfort between us we always held space for each other. That was the beauty of our friendship.
This was until he started dating the Troglodyte. She was a friend of a friends friend. A college girl who was the awkward frumpy yet funny girl. I took to her immediately and naturally by extension so did he. Me being of a certain age and mindset would never have guessed the two would or even could become an item of any kind. People like him didn't date girls that look like him, and vise versa. I've seen the pretty girls he made swoon, she was not on the list of candidates. Sad thing in retrospect is I boxed her in this same box I feared and resented people placed me in. Pot kettle anyone?!
Well imagine me and other peers of mine surprise when the two started getting touchy touchy and eventually closer. Close enough to maybe even be an item... we were all in shock. No one more than me who denied such allegations until I laid eyes upon it. Naturally I was flabbergasted.
I quickly understood the dynamic of someone with feelings for someone else and the depths of such. None of which I was prepared for as I realized I was now a third wheel in the mix of things. I never had to fear such a thing, others were the third wheel not I. That had all changed. I was watching as I had less and less time with him and I would hear third hand of him traveling and hanging out with other mutual friends we had and I got zero of an invite. Being invited was not a party either as anytime I hung out with them it was them cuddled on a couch kissing and touching while I sat across the way trying not to notice. I then realized how possessive I had become of him and paranoid of our friendship of which now seemed to have been changing drastically. To watch him hold an actual space for this person and be so close... to kiss them and look in their eyes. It infuriated me, I was seething. I was surface of the sun heated and eyes squinted to high heaven. I even tried dating other dudes to distract myself and it did nothing to feel the want to have my friend in the mix.
I had to confront him.
"Whats with her? How does this even work? She came in and took over you and I'm out here left in the cold. I don't appreciate it. You know how much I love you, like you are my dude. I got to share you with her of all people. Leaving me out of things? And when you do invite me I have to watch you all locked up with her on that couch?! I cant do this, this is too much."
He responded in kind, "You know I love you. This just happened and I actually like her and we are just seeing where this is going. Just don't be so mean with her and so distant."
Call it self preservation based on fear and paranoia. I could not be in too present with them it brought out such an ugly in me. I could not deal with the sight of them together and so close, not while I was no where in that mix. No place for me anymore.
This new dynamic wound up pushing me out into the world where I met new friends. Gay friends. I have never had gay friends, I feared having them and acted hostile to a degree. There was only room for on gay and that was me, and no I didn't want to be identified as a gay. I expected my sexuality not be mentioned or discussed with anyone or for any ones entertainment. I, however did not want to openly associate with gay friends who would bring more attention to me and what I thought was my in place façade of assumed heterosexuality. Well here I was with a new set of friends who took me in and began showing me the lifestyle of gay males. I got hipped to the cruising in the seedy and public spots, I got hipped to wardrobe and clubs. People like me were out and about having great sex and great times in safe environments with people who identified with my sexual orientation. This space allowed me some time to get to know other males in ways I never would. This was a "sisterhood" of men... or so I thought.
Guess who came back into the mix once the troglodyte love interest suddenly didn't work? That's right, my bestie, my boy, my boo... And what did I do? I opened up these arms and I let him back into the space I carved out for him by my side and in my heart. Come home boo come on through and welcome back into my fold.
This was until I realized what bringing in a straight an open minded hetero into the mix can be or would be... Like chum in shark filled waters. I had no idea.
Sunday, June 25, 2017
Confidence #52essays2017 week 22
We were out together as friends. The drinks were flowing the music was cute but disappointing. That was until one in our bunch decided to ask the bartender to change the music.
This was a group of mixed folks. Myself, a Cuban man, A Puerto Rican man, a Guyanese man and woman. The music requested that was played shortly after, was Salsa. Here is my thing with Salsa, I could dance well on my own. I could dance like the only salsero when it was just me, myself, and I. Once I had to be paired with someone and do something like a turn I immediately became self conscious and scared. Would I be the one that stepped on their toes? Accidently kicked their shin? Perhaps fall off step and beat embarrassing myself and my dance partner?
This was the position I was in when that music began to play in the bar. I was grabbed by my friends and ushered to the dance floor. I hesitated and I protested that I did not dance well with others despite my desire to do so. They got me anyways and in good patience and sincerity started dancing with me and showing me how to be turned and how to follow the lead. I shied away so bad I felt the whole room shrink and what felt like an audience of people watching how horrible of a paired dancer I was. I shied away and several times tried to leave my dance partner and friend on dance floor, he strengthened his grip on my waist and hand and said, "Come on. Like you have confidence. Wheres your confidence?"
It was a comfortable moment, I felt safe and vulnerable all at once. I felt inadequate and eager to learn. Most of all I felt lost and shy. I was that awkward child and awkward man I've always been when it came to interaction with others that resulted in me and other men in a close setting.
Where was my confidence?! Why was that not the fucking question of the year, or of my life?
I don't even know what the word means when it pertains to me. I mean, sure I know I do some things well in life that I am confident about by which I can execute well. However, the feeling of confidence overall was not something found in my character or persona. I walked around meek and what I thought was humble most times. This meant saying thank you when complimented but not really believing you were the greatness or the goodness of the compliment. More that the person giving the compliment was just being kind. This meant knowing you are good at something and just not ever thinking you were great, knowledge allowed you to understand you just were not bad at it. This meant that while I knew I was not ugly, I knew I was not beautiful/attractive.
Was the partnering of Salsa too intimate? Was this why I actually could not excel at it or wouldn't allow myself to? Did this spring from my insecurities in which I could not allow myself to be intimate or close to men in a non sexual setting? Was this from my inability to connect to my Puerto Rican identity due to my inability to speak Spanish or knowledge of what appears to be Latin music and or popular culture? WHat made me shy away from this man dancing with me? What made me feel so small? This was nothing he did, this was definitely all me.
I recalled all the times I was rejected and ignored by men I showed interest in. I remembered the times I was told I was friend material and not much else. I remembered the time I was told how lucky I was that I was even touched let alone seen in public with an individual. I was then called fat and ugly. Icing on the cake. I remembered countless times I fell for someone who would be my friend because there was at least a level of closeness there an investment of feelings in each other. Yet I was still friend zoned.
I do not have an answer just yet or a solution other than I know I am in the midst of change in how I see myself and how I think about myself. I hope to one day be able to be embraced in dance and be able to allow myself the comfort of being in the moment instead of the all the past flooding into my mind and causing paralyzing fear.
This was a group of mixed folks. Myself, a Cuban man, A Puerto Rican man, a Guyanese man and woman. The music requested that was played shortly after, was Salsa. Here is my thing with Salsa, I could dance well on my own. I could dance like the only salsero when it was just me, myself, and I. Once I had to be paired with someone and do something like a turn I immediately became self conscious and scared. Would I be the one that stepped on their toes? Accidently kicked their shin? Perhaps fall off step and beat embarrassing myself and my dance partner?
This was the position I was in when that music began to play in the bar. I was grabbed by my friends and ushered to the dance floor. I hesitated and I protested that I did not dance well with others despite my desire to do so. They got me anyways and in good patience and sincerity started dancing with me and showing me how to be turned and how to follow the lead. I shied away so bad I felt the whole room shrink and what felt like an audience of people watching how horrible of a paired dancer I was. I shied away and several times tried to leave my dance partner and friend on dance floor, he strengthened his grip on my waist and hand and said, "Come on. Like you have confidence. Wheres your confidence?"
It was a comfortable moment, I felt safe and vulnerable all at once. I felt inadequate and eager to learn. Most of all I felt lost and shy. I was that awkward child and awkward man I've always been when it came to interaction with others that resulted in me and other men in a close setting.
Where was my confidence?! Why was that not the fucking question of the year, or of my life?
I don't even know what the word means when it pertains to me. I mean, sure I know I do some things well in life that I am confident about by which I can execute well. However, the feeling of confidence overall was not something found in my character or persona. I walked around meek and what I thought was humble most times. This meant saying thank you when complimented but not really believing you were the greatness or the goodness of the compliment. More that the person giving the compliment was just being kind. This meant knowing you are good at something and just not ever thinking you were great, knowledge allowed you to understand you just were not bad at it. This meant that while I knew I was not ugly, I knew I was not beautiful/attractive.
Was the partnering of Salsa too intimate? Was this why I actually could not excel at it or wouldn't allow myself to? Did this spring from my insecurities in which I could not allow myself to be intimate or close to men in a non sexual setting? Was this from my inability to connect to my Puerto Rican identity due to my inability to speak Spanish or knowledge of what appears to be Latin music and or popular culture? WHat made me shy away from this man dancing with me? What made me feel so small? This was nothing he did, this was definitely all me.
I recalled all the times I was rejected and ignored by men I showed interest in. I remembered the times I was told I was friend material and not much else. I remembered the time I was told how lucky I was that I was even touched let alone seen in public with an individual. I was then called fat and ugly. Icing on the cake. I remembered countless times I fell for someone who would be my friend because there was at least a level of closeness there an investment of feelings in each other. Yet I was still friend zoned.
I do not have an answer just yet or a solution other than I know I am in the midst of change in how I see myself and how I think about myself. I hope to one day be able to be embraced in dance and be able to allow myself the comfort of being in the moment instead of the all the past flooding into my mind and causing paralyzing fear.
Friday, June 23, 2017
Spirit verses ego #52essays2017 week 21
One of the things I have noticed in my lifes journey is the very fine line between intuition and insecurity. In simpler terms, spirit verse ego.
There are distinct times where me an over intuitive Cancerian had listened to what I swore was the voice of my gut and wound up being the voice of a wounded soul. Every time I listened to that voice there was a damn problem.
I have encountered many people who do the same. The insecure partner who muses, "I feel it in my bones that he/she is cheating on me."
This could very well be true in fact one who is intuitive and observant can surely feel when one becomes distant or withdraws to a significant degree from them. I mean if you have been in any toxic relationships like I have been in you would know how horrible it feels to be alone in the same room as someone you are in a relationship with.
However, spirit and intuition is solution oriented and does not dwell in the same space as fear. You will notice, as I did, that there is a resignation or action influenced mindset that follows the gut tug feelings. For instance when I felt like my significant other was cheating I also was presented with the feeling of, "So what you want to do about it?" Intuition forced me to delve into questions like, "If you really feel this thing are you going to confront it? Are you going to wait for some proof or trust the gut tug? Are you going to stay or are you going to go?"
See, insecurity/ego will whisper the problems to you hardly ever offering you the insight or opportunity to delve into self reflection or a problem solving mindset.
There were times when I had convinced myself I could not nor would not do something and then related back to myself in a negative manner. This was fear, the ego mind telling me I cannot dress in good fashionable clothes because I am not the right size. Or I would shoot down the idea of being able to find something I liked or that fit me already "knowing" that nothing would be there for me that I actually liked or could where. This turned some of my retail purchasing moments horrifying and extremely agitating. Which voice was that? EGO/Insecurity.
Times when I knew my then partner had no interest in me but much interest in other men, no conversation could utter from my lips because I just knew I would be alone and the fear of such kept me from any solution at all to how I was feeling.
I find my intuition is conversational with me in how I process. That voice which comes out and asks, "Bitch really?! What you doing about your feelings? Whats the plan of action?"
Verses that other voice that says, "So you are not worthy of that good thing/opportunity/place." That voice of aint shitness.
Part of spiritual development is learning discernment and when to tell the difference between two opposing things. What better way to start than with yourself and the difference of opinions within your consciousness?
So I'm putting this out there when you think your intuition is talking just STOP and Breathe... ask yourself the good questions and do your best to determine what is really speaking in that moment.
There are distinct times where me an over intuitive Cancerian had listened to what I swore was the voice of my gut and wound up being the voice of a wounded soul. Every time I listened to that voice there was a damn problem.
I have encountered many people who do the same. The insecure partner who muses, "I feel it in my bones that he/she is cheating on me."
This could very well be true in fact one who is intuitive and observant can surely feel when one becomes distant or withdraws to a significant degree from them. I mean if you have been in any toxic relationships like I have been in you would know how horrible it feels to be alone in the same room as someone you are in a relationship with.
However, spirit and intuition is solution oriented and does not dwell in the same space as fear. You will notice, as I did, that there is a resignation or action influenced mindset that follows the gut tug feelings. For instance when I felt like my significant other was cheating I also was presented with the feeling of, "So what you want to do about it?" Intuition forced me to delve into questions like, "If you really feel this thing are you going to confront it? Are you going to wait for some proof or trust the gut tug? Are you going to stay or are you going to go?"
See, insecurity/ego will whisper the problems to you hardly ever offering you the insight or opportunity to delve into self reflection or a problem solving mindset.
There were times when I had convinced myself I could not nor would not do something and then related back to myself in a negative manner. This was fear, the ego mind telling me I cannot dress in good fashionable clothes because I am not the right size. Or I would shoot down the idea of being able to find something I liked or that fit me already "knowing" that nothing would be there for me that I actually liked or could where. This turned some of my retail purchasing moments horrifying and extremely agitating. Which voice was that? EGO/Insecurity.
Times when I knew my then partner had no interest in me but much interest in other men, no conversation could utter from my lips because I just knew I would be alone and the fear of such kept me from any solution at all to how I was feeling.
I find my intuition is conversational with me in how I process. That voice which comes out and asks, "Bitch really?! What you doing about your feelings? Whats the plan of action?"
Verses that other voice that says, "So you are not worthy of that good thing/opportunity/place." That voice of aint shitness.
Part of spiritual development is learning discernment and when to tell the difference between two opposing things. What better way to start than with yourself and the difference of opinions within your consciousness?
So I'm putting this out there when you think your intuition is talking just STOP and Breathe... ask yourself the good questions and do your best to determine what is really speaking in that moment.
Saturday, June 10, 2017
Pride month train-scapades #52essays2017 week 20
Every year Pride comes around and every year I relatively ignore it. I ignore it because I can honestly admit I have taken for granted the liberties of me being able to be myself without any real thought or regard to who came before me that made that very thing possible. The thousands of Men and Women who suffered and bravely stood up sacrificing so much to be heard and to be seen, which set into motion many things. Mainly brevity and daring, resetting of once closed or narrow minds, and much needed conversation and acknowledgement of who amongst the general population was actually gay and the value they held in ones life prior to the knowledge of their sexuality.
This year, with age and maybe even with this writing commitment I noticed I was examining many portions of my being that I may have glanced over and or just generally accepted. Part of that was the use of the word Faggot and the weight it held in my own life. My last memoir/essay talked about this very thing, and in the fashion of the universe responding to us in kind... I was faced with this very thing. Where there is a resistance in your life to something there is a lesson to be learned there and Life, God/Goddess, Universe is ready to teach you.
So I was on the 4 train heading to work and it was not your typical morning. There were some train issues and minor delays. This caused this particular 4 train to be rather full in the early hours of the morning where it normally would not be. In typical NY fashion people pile themselves in to the train car like a modern game of jenga and twister all in one. You ever see some of the angles one would put their back, arms, legs, and but just to fit into the cart and be on their merry way to their intended destination. This one black man, slight of height perhaps 5'7" with a lean yet muscular build and medium length dreds just barely touching his shoulder enters the car. He really didn't fit in but he made sure to squeeze his way in to the already tight and filled space by the door. I observe all this as I usually do when I am in any public setting. I need to see who is on this train with me, I take note of any characters I find interesting or not. Plus you never know if you on the train with "The Killer"... just saying. I go back to reading my kindle, I'm steeped into my sci-fi series I have been reading over the last 3 months. That's when I hear the mess 3 people down from me. By whom you ask? Why, none other than Dred man.
"Excuse me and I apologize. I aint into that gay shit. Thank you very much. No faggot shit for me thank you." My head snaps up in pure NYC nosey-ness he was not talking to anyone in particular just outloud and I figured the car train must have jostled as it normally and often does causing another man near him to perhaps bump into him or touch a place of him he considered his "privates". Look this is NYC, congested as NYC in a train car filled with people anxious to get to work or home you sometimes have to take the L, bite the bullet and put up with the close confines and movement of those crammed into the same car as you. There is no time nor need to get in your feelings unless someone is willfully and inconsiderately doing something to upset you and encumber upon your person.
This dude was being DAILY News... as in EXTRA EXTRA read all about it! He went on a tirade, a small 'I need attention' party.
"No faggot shit here. I aint no pussy boy. I'm a real man. I love the ladies. Faggots will not get into heaven. They are sick, and disgusting."
I promise yall, I was just trying to read my book and mind my business. My head started shaking in disbelief, I could not believe in pride month this Ass Hat was giving all of this. Before I knew what was happening I heard a familiar voice say, "Man shut the fuck up! Nobody wants to hear all that shit. Just shut the fuck up." I realized the voice was mine. I couldn't even hold that in, it was absurd to witness that early and unwarranted.
His first typical hood and macho reaction was, "Make me pussy boy. Faggot"
In that moment I laughed. I couldn't control it and I couldn't tell you from where it came exactly but it erupted out similar to my previous outburst. I was given images of this person, run ins with a man who would visit the family who molested this young man. A self hatred due to a desire to be close to other men and not understanding why and or how far. This was an individual ravished by a predator and his own confusion about what happened to him and possibly the whys. I have seen it a million times before. This was nothing to do with homosexuals but much more to do about his struggle.
Somewhere along my laughter I realized I wanted to be sad for him but the laughter at the toxic masculinity that permeates the earth that doesn't allow men to talk about their abuse and or be seen as weak and the need to puff up their chest and be loud and vocal about themselves to mask their fears and pain... its laughable to a degree. I paid this character all I could, in joy. He would not take that away from me, I responded in joy to his mess and other joined in with me laughing. We drowned out his spewing hatred with laughter.
Happy pride yall.
This year, with age and maybe even with this writing commitment I noticed I was examining many portions of my being that I may have glanced over and or just generally accepted. Part of that was the use of the word Faggot and the weight it held in my own life. My last memoir/essay talked about this very thing, and in the fashion of the universe responding to us in kind... I was faced with this very thing. Where there is a resistance in your life to something there is a lesson to be learned there and Life, God/Goddess, Universe is ready to teach you.
So I was on the 4 train heading to work and it was not your typical morning. There were some train issues and minor delays. This caused this particular 4 train to be rather full in the early hours of the morning where it normally would not be. In typical NY fashion people pile themselves in to the train car like a modern game of jenga and twister all in one. You ever see some of the angles one would put their back, arms, legs, and but just to fit into the cart and be on their merry way to their intended destination. This one black man, slight of height perhaps 5'7" with a lean yet muscular build and medium length dreds just barely touching his shoulder enters the car. He really didn't fit in but he made sure to squeeze his way in to the already tight and filled space by the door. I observe all this as I usually do when I am in any public setting. I need to see who is on this train with me, I take note of any characters I find interesting or not. Plus you never know if you on the train with "The Killer"... just saying. I go back to reading my kindle, I'm steeped into my sci-fi series I have been reading over the last 3 months. That's when I hear the mess 3 people down from me. By whom you ask? Why, none other than Dred man.
"Excuse me and I apologize. I aint into that gay shit. Thank you very much. No faggot shit for me thank you." My head snaps up in pure NYC nosey-ness he was not talking to anyone in particular just outloud and I figured the car train must have jostled as it normally and often does causing another man near him to perhaps bump into him or touch a place of him he considered his "privates". Look this is NYC, congested as NYC in a train car filled with people anxious to get to work or home you sometimes have to take the L, bite the bullet and put up with the close confines and movement of those crammed into the same car as you. There is no time nor need to get in your feelings unless someone is willfully and inconsiderately doing something to upset you and encumber upon your person.
This dude was being DAILY News... as in EXTRA EXTRA read all about it! He went on a tirade, a small 'I need attention' party.
"No faggot shit here. I aint no pussy boy. I'm a real man. I love the ladies. Faggots will not get into heaven. They are sick, and disgusting."
I promise yall, I was just trying to read my book and mind my business. My head started shaking in disbelief, I could not believe in pride month this Ass Hat was giving all of this. Before I knew what was happening I heard a familiar voice say, "Man shut the fuck up! Nobody wants to hear all that shit. Just shut the fuck up." I realized the voice was mine. I couldn't even hold that in, it was absurd to witness that early and unwarranted.
His first typical hood and macho reaction was, "Make me pussy boy. Faggot"
In that moment I laughed. I couldn't control it and I couldn't tell you from where it came exactly but it erupted out similar to my previous outburst. I was given images of this person, run ins with a man who would visit the family who molested this young man. A self hatred due to a desire to be close to other men and not understanding why and or how far. This was an individual ravished by a predator and his own confusion about what happened to him and possibly the whys. I have seen it a million times before. This was nothing to do with homosexuals but much more to do about his struggle.
Somewhere along my laughter I realized I wanted to be sad for him but the laughter at the toxic masculinity that permeates the earth that doesn't allow men to talk about their abuse and or be seen as weak and the need to puff up their chest and be loud and vocal about themselves to mask their fears and pain... its laughable to a degree. I paid this character all I could, in joy. He would not take that away from me, I responded in joy to his mess and other joined in with me laughing. We drowned out his spewing hatred with laughter.
Happy pride yall.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
That F word #52essays2017 week 19
There is one F word that someone like me always hated and feared. Faggot. This word incited such an anger and such a fear in me as the heavy connotations associated with the word was so detrimental to ones reputation. Once called this vile word many men I grew up with felt they had to prove themselves the very opposite, if they were at all to be sociably accepted in some manner and or have a modicum of respect. I was no different.
I trembled whenever I heard the word. First time I heard the word it was my gym teacher of East Middle School in Brentwood, Ms. Brown. She saw something in me and despised it, I could only assume it was my homosexuality or what she perceived as such. I mean there was no way to assess such a thing, I was not sexually active nor was I one of those kids who had a date to anything or a steady someone. Socially I was a chubby kid with a smart mouth and a joke at the ready. I was known for my singing and ability to impress people with my large vocal range, being able to sing Jodeci, Tevin Campbell, and Mariah Carey with little effort. Even with this talent, I never felt I had anything worth noticing enough to make me popular or wanted by my peer group. The other boys around me all were athletic. They loved B Ball or Football or baseball. I most certainly did not. For one I'm not running unless a wild animal is in pursuit, or a deranged monster from one of these movies. I also never wanted to draw attention to my frumpy and plump body. I wanted to meld into the mix and be ignored. This dreaded fear to draw any attention to myself while changing in the locker room or how my little extra poundage jiggled when I ran. NO SIR! I would not willingly subject myself to that. This woman must have saw this insecurity, this awkward avoidance of anything physical within a group setting. She latched on to this and made it her personal mission to what I assume was to "toughen" me up.
In one particular class she was showing us how to dribble the ball. I had big feet and was not a coordinated young man by any means. I often could not get the hang of dribbling the ball in place without it hitting the tip of my sneaker and go sailing off and away from me. She looked at me, eyes squinting with disapproval and loudly blared, "Stop dribbling the ball like a faggot." She proceeded to grab the basket ball and throw it at my face. It hit me in my right eye and I felt so assaulted. Having always been one to finish what anyone started with me, I bum rushed her and snatched her heavy gym keys from her neck and proceeded to wail on her with them. That led to more than a few weeks in what the school called, In School Suspension. This allowed the unruly problematic kids to sit in a room the whole day and only eat one thing off the lunch menu... PB&J. And not just any PB&J... this Peanut Butter came in a loaf... that's right like a bread. It was dense and in a plastic tube-like binding. It was sliced from its cylindrical shape into a circle... think about that for a minute. So thick you couldn't even spread it. It just sat on your dry hamburger bun like a hockey puck. Every period a teacher, teachers assistant or elect student would drop off your classwork to you so you can be in the loop of what was going on in the class you should have been attending. I spent more time in the In School Suspension that in any actual classrooms.
WHy you ask?
My mouth and my temper. I was quick to tell adult and child alike that when it came to me, don't ask me shit. Mind your business was my tag line and mantra. I repeated that often, freely, and with much gusto. So far what I could ascertain from my social status was that I was a troubled child with no noteworthy physical features or aptitude.
My father was the next person to call me Faggot. In an attempt to teach me basketball and show me a "mans sport" the way I attempted dribbling the ball... again... and the way I ran after it after it got away from me incited an annoyance in my father who told me to be firm with the ball I was on control and to NOT go "running around with it like NO Faggot."
This was exactly why I hated sports. Why did I have to play games that consisted of hitting balls with sticks, or running with a ball through a field as people chased you to take it away? Bitch, have the ball it aint that serious. Each time I was forced to play touch football, wiffle ball, basket ball a piece of me became fearful. Why must I be subjected to being compared with my older siblings and other boys I could never measure up to? This was torture. I longed to throw on my cassettes and lip synch to my favorite artists while drawing illustrations of comic book characters that I conjured from the creative chamber of my imagination.
This word followed me through school. Each year some brave and silly soul would call me out my name or allude to my sexuality being anything other than heterosexual and in essence questioning this mantle I called manhood. I fought a lot. I body slammed, and punched and insulted my way through the ranks of offenders and all to be left alone. I assumed this being left alone, this second guessing by my would be adversaries was respect for my maleness, for this notion of this one identifying factor that I gave so much power to.. and yet I still felt alone. I still felt apart from the other boys and men.
As I came into myself more and into my sexuality and lived life I let go a lot of the pain and toxic mentality that centered around this idea of maleness. This effected my choices in intimate partners in that I didn't want anyone like me who was perhaps deemed "feminine" and less than, I wanted the regular boys I always wanted to be and would never. I wanted this fantasy of hyper-masculinity that I thought existed based on the narrative of life around me. I was the asshole with the " NO fems" ready to tell another man who may be interested in me and whose love and affection I probably could have benefited from, that they were not wanted simply because we were on the same side of not masculine enough. Can you imagine that? There are dating profiles all over the place that exclude the fats, the fems, and the like and yet the fats and fems don't want the fats and fems either. They want the abusers, the ones who hold power by embodying some fantasy of masculinity that in reality does not exist.
Mind blown as I look at how toxic this is.
I think about any oppressed marginalized people and groups and you will often see this reversal, in their seeking for freedom and the shift in privilege and power you see the desire to want to be the holder of the same power, wielding it similarly. I cannot determine if this is simply human nature or not but its scary to see the effects it has in our community.
I see it with lesbian couples too. The idea and notion of "masculinity" equates with power and aggression and therefore any woman who exemplifies something deemed "masculine" may be found more attractive to those who are not.
Things are never black and white, there are the gray areas and that must be acknowledged. There are the colorful and that too has to be acknowledged. One of my hardest things to come in contact with in my relationships was when to be aggressive both sexually and in general and when to be passive while not feeling like someone was questioning my manhood or diminishing it.
"So what I bottomed for you aint your bitch!"
Messy aint it?
This is the topic I would love to see amongst more men.
I recently came across those who embrace a moniker of Radical Fairies and Faggots and empower the word. I'm at a place now that I can totally take hearing that from another gay person but from s straight man I react with the anger of my youth.. This has just happened more recently. I have been public about the abuse by some in our spiritual community and some of the offenders have resorted to name calling. Namely the many slurs associated with my sexuality which held this underlying slight at my manhood.. I realized as I stewed in anger that I had not fully dealt with my thoughts regarding the illusion of masculinity and manhood from a perspective of male misogyny. I did not realize how much IM ready to still have to prove myself to people I can give less than two shits about and that are actual offenders and supporters of Domestic Violence. And I'm allowing my manhood to feel questioned and examined? LAUGH MY WHOLE ENTIRE ASS OFF!
I'm glad I have this outlet to write it all out and think about how these words will only have power if I allow them to, that these people who really aint shit should not rile me up so else I give them way too much of my energy and worse... peace of mind. No one deserves that shit.
I trembled whenever I heard the word. First time I heard the word it was my gym teacher of East Middle School in Brentwood, Ms. Brown. She saw something in me and despised it, I could only assume it was my homosexuality or what she perceived as such. I mean there was no way to assess such a thing, I was not sexually active nor was I one of those kids who had a date to anything or a steady someone. Socially I was a chubby kid with a smart mouth and a joke at the ready. I was known for my singing and ability to impress people with my large vocal range, being able to sing Jodeci, Tevin Campbell, and Mariah Carey with little effort. Even with this talent, I never felt I had anything worth noticing enough to make me popular or wanted by my peer group. The other boys around me all were athletic. They loved B Ball or Football or baseball. I most certainly did not. For one I'm not running unless a wild animal is in pursuit, or a deranged monster from one of these movies. I also never wanted to draw attention to my frumpy and plump body. I wanted to meld into the mix and be ignored. This dreaded fear to draw any attention to myself while changing in the locker room or how my little extra poundage jiggled when I ran. NO SIR! I would not willingly subject myself to that. This woman must have saw this insecurity, this awkward avoidance of anything physical within a group setting. She latched on to this and made it her personal mission to what I assume was to "toughen" me up.
In one particular class she was showing us how to dribble the ball. I had big feet and was not a coordinated young man by any means. I often could not get the hang of dribbling the ball in place without it hitting the tip of my sneaker and go sailing off and away from me. She looked at me, eyes squinting with disapproval and loudly blared, "Stop dribbling the ball like a faggot." She proceeded to grab the basket ball and throw it at my face. It hit me in my right eye and I felt so assaulted. Having always been one to finish what anyone started with me, I bum rushed her and snatched her heavy gym keys from her neck and proceeded to wail on her with them. That led to more than a few weeks in what the school called, In School Suspension. This allowed the unruly problematic kids to sit in a room the whole day and only eat one thing off the lunch menu... PB&J. And not just any PB&J... this Peanut Butter came in a loaf... that's right like a bread. It was dense and in a plastic tube-like binding. It was sliced from its cylindrical shape into a circle... think about that for a minute. So thick you couldn't even spread it. It just sat on your dry hamburger bun like a hockey puck. Every period a teacher, teachers assistant or elect student would drop off your classwork to you so you can be in the loop of what was going on in the class you should have been attending. I spent more time in the In School Suspension that in any actual classrooms.
WHy you ask?
My mouth and my temper. I was quick to tell adult and child alike that when it came to me, don't ask me shit. Mind your business was my tag line and mantra. I repeated that often, freely, and with much gusto. So far what I could ascertain from my social status was that I was a troubled child with no noteworthy physical features or aptitude.
My father was the next person to call me Faggot. In an attempt to teach me basketball and show me a "mans sport" the way I attempted dribbling the ball... again... and the way I ran after it after it got away from me incited an annoyance in my father who told me to be firm with the ball I was on control and to NOT go "running around with it like NO Faggot."
This was exactly why I hated sports. Why did I have to play games that consisted of hitting balls with sticks, or running with a ball through a field as people chased you to take it away? Bitch, have the ball it aint that serious. Each time I was forced to play touch football, wiffle ball, basket ball a piece of me became fearful. Why must I be subjected to being compared with my older siblings and other boys I could never measure up to? This was torture. I longed to throw on my cassettes and lip synch to my favorite artists while drawing illustrations of comic book characters that I conjured from the creative chamber of my imagination.
This word followed me through school. Each year some brave and silly soul would call me out my name or allude to my sexuality being anything other than heterosexual and in essence questioning this mantle I called manhood. I fought a lot. I body slammed, and punched and insulted my way through the ranks of offenders and all to be left alone. I assumed this being left alone, this second guessing by my would be adversaries was respect for my maleness, for this notion of this one identifying factor that I gave so much power to.. and yet I still felt alone. I still felt apart from the other boys and men.
As I came into myself more and into my sexuality and lived life I let go a lot of the pain and toxic mentality that centered around this idea of maleness. This effected my choices in intimate partners in that I didn't want anyone like me who was perhaps deemed "feminine" and less than, I wanted the regular boys I always wanted to be and would never. I wanted this fantasy of hyper-masculinity that I thought existed based on the narrative of life around me. I was the asshole with the " NO fems" ready to tell another man who may be interested in me and whose love and affection I probably could have benefited from, that they were not wanted simply because we were on the same side of not masculine enough. Can you imagine that? There are dating profiles all over the place that exclude the fats, the fems, and the like and yet the fats and fems don't want the fats and fems either. They want the abusers, the ones who hold power by embodying some fantasy of masculinity that in reality does not exist.
Mind blown as I look at how toxic this is.
I think about any oppressed marginalized people and groups and you will often see this reversal, in their seeking for freedom and the shift in privilege and power you see the desire to want to be the holder of the same power, wielding it similarly. I cannot determine if this is simply human nature or not but its scary to see the effects it has in our community.
I see it with lesbian couples too. The idea and notion of "masculinity" equates with power and aggression and therefore any woman who exemplifies something deemed "masculine" may be found more attractive to those who are not.
Things are never black and white, there are the gray areas and that must be acknowledged. There are the colorful and that too has to be acknowledged. One of my hardest things to come in contact with in my relationships was when to be aggressive both sexually and in general and when to be passive while not feeling like someone was questioning my manhood or diminishing it.
"So what I bottomed for you aint your bitch!"
Messy aint it?
This is the topic I would love to see amongst more men.
I recently came across those who embrace a moniker of Radical Fairies and Faggots and empower the word. I'm at a place now that I can totally take hearing that from another gay person but from s straight man I react with the anger of my youth.. This has just happened more recently. I have been public about the abuse by some in our spiritual community and some of the offenders have resorted to name calling. Namely the many slurs associated with my sexuality which held this underlying slight at my manhood.. I realized as I stewed in anger that I had not fully dealt with my thoughts regarding the illusion of masculinity and manhood from a perspective of male misogyny. I did not realize how much IM ready to still have to prove myself to people I can give less than two shits about and that are actual offenders and supporters of Domestic Violence. And I'm allowing my manhood to feel questioned and examined? LAUGH MY WHOLE ENTIRE ASS OFF!
I'm glad I have this outlet to write it all out and think about how these words will only have power if I allow them to, that these people who really aint shit should not rile me up so else I give them way too much of my energy and worse... peace of mind. No one deserves that shit.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Temper on the subways #52essays2017 Week 18
Living in NYC you get to people watch during your travel and get to have so much insight into many peoples behaviors and mindsets. I have been observant and witness to some of the most amazing and consistent displays of human compassion and kindness as well as the most base obnoxious and willfully ignorant outburst and behavior by people. This here is going to be one of those times I have witnessed something that disturbed me.
It all starts with me walking on the Fulton platform waiting for my A train to arrive and walking up the platform where I can get to a spot that will allow me access to the first 3 cars of the train. I observed this Indian boy of no older than 15 yrs old, sitting on one the railings underneath the stairs minding his own business and on his phone. This was a place many people sat and or leaned back upon as they wait for their train as seats are limited on the platform if at all present. This day was already rainy and damnp leaving people in somewhat of a mood that can only verge on tense or annoyed. This older white women walks by and her plastic bag pancho gets snagged on the knee of this youth. The pancho catches and causes a tear along its side between her arms and flank. She jerks a bit from the snag, looks at the youth trying to decide if he did it on purpose. He obviusly did not as he softly apologized. She walks away shaking her head, headed back down the platform on her unmerry way. By this point I'm just passing the young guy in my swift NYC stride. This is when I hear a ruckus erupt behind me. Would you know this woman walked back to this kid and started screaming and cussing at him.
"You shouldn't be fucking sitting up there. Get the fuck down from there you fucking idiot!"
The boy, eyes wide and very intimidated started to gather his book bag and move..
Enter me, Captain save a ho got up right in his face without looking at her and said, "you stay right the fuck there. You don't let no bully get in your face and tell you to move. She had plenty of room for her plump ass to meander and navigate where she was going. You stay right where you at and ignore her stankin ass!" At this point i shot her a glare and she shut the hell on up and walked away from him.
I want to know what warranted such an outburst from her towards the youth. Granted the kid could have been more aware himself of where he sat and perhaps the length of his legs as he was quite tall but there is no need to talk like that to that young man who already apologized. I could not help but wonder would she have talked to him this way if he was a white child? Did she realize she was just as unaware as he was in where they were at the time of their collision and interaction? She could have easily watched her surroundings instead of assuming he was ware and would move.
I often mind my business but I see it more and more as people tend to lose their good sense or consideration for train and or subway they share with other people. I see people who think nothing of your space and comfort as their need to get home or wherever they are going overrides all things including others.
Today a black man screamed at a Latina woman because every time the train moved her bag or arm grazed him and he was not one to be touched in a crowded train in the over populated NYC. She was standing with her reasonably sized pocketbook clutched to her side and he wanted to tell her how she should be standing so that he would not get "bumped". Wrong Latina though. While not the best display of wit or intelligence, she went into pure survival mode and decided to scream louder than him and tell him about himself and how miserable he is and where he needs to keep that misery.. namely not directed at her.
They went at it for a short while and then it died down. I stepped closer to her because I was not confident if this man would hit her and while I loathed the notion of having to put down my kindle and scrap on the train I was ready to defend this young lady if he tried anything. Thank God it never happened and I got to read some more.
Oh new York transportation perhaps one day will clean you up and get some order... or maybe a psychiatrist present on the MTA.
It all starts with me walking on the Fulton platform waiting for my A train to arrive and walking up the platform where I can get to a spot that will allow me access to the first 3 cars of the train. I observed this Indian boy of no older than 15 yrs old, sitting on one the railings underneath the stairs minding his own business and on his phone. This was a place many people sat and or leaned back upon as they wait for their train as seats are limited on the platform if at all present. This day was already rainy and damnp leaving people in somewhat of a mood that can only verge on tense or annoyed. This older white women walks by and her plastic bag pancho gets snagged on the knee of this youth. The pancho catches and causes a tear along its side between her arms and flank. She jerks a bit from the snag, looks at the youth trying to decide if he did it on purpose. He obviusly did not as he softly apologized. She walks away shaking her head, headed back down the platform on her unmerry way. By this point I'm just passing the young guy in my swift NYC stride. This is when I hear a ruckus erupt behind me. Would you know this woman walked back to this kid and started screaming and cussing at him.
"You shouldn't be fucking sitting up there. Get the fuck down from there you fucking idiot!"
The boy, eyes wide and very intimidated started to gather his book bag and move..
Enter me, Captain save a ho got up right in his face without looking at her and said, "you stay right the fuck there. You don't let no bully get in your face and tell you to move. She had plenty of room for her plump ass to meander and navigate where she was going. You stay right where you at and ignore her stankin ass!" At this point i shot her a glare and she shut the hell on up and walked away from him.
I want to know what warranted such an outburst from her towards the youth. Granted the kid could have been more aware himself of where he sat and perhaps the length of his legs as he was quite tall but there is no need to talk like that to that young man who already apologized. I could not help but wonder would she have talked to him this way if he was a white child? Did she realize she was just as unaware as he was in where they were at the time of their collision and interaction? She could have easily watched her surroundings instead of assuming he was ware and would move.
I often mind my business but I see it more and more as people tend to lose their good sense or consideration for train and or subway they share with other people. I see people who think nothing of your space and comfort as their need to get home or wherever they are going overrides all things including others.
Today a black man screamed at a Latina woman because every time the train moved her bag or arm grazed him and he was not one to be touched in a crowded train in the over populated NYC. She was standing with her reasonably sized pocketbook clutched to her side and he wanted to tell her how she should be standing so that he would not get "bumped". Wrong Latina though. While not the best display of wit or intelligence, she went into pure survival mode and decided to scream louder than him and tell him about himself and how miserable he is and where he needs to keep that misery.. namely not directed at her.
They went at it for a short while and then it died down. I stepped closer to her because I was not confident if this man would hit her and while I loathed the notion of having to put down my kindle and scrap on the train I was ready to defend this young lady if he tried anything. Thank God it never happened and I got to read some more.
Oh new York transportation perhaps one day will clean you up and get some order... or maybe a psychiatrist present on the MTA.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Clothes #52essays2017 Week 17
Today was great. I bought new clothes that were smaller than I'm used to buying. I tried on shirts I couldn't close before and can now close comfortably, and fitted jeans I could or would never wear. See, people my size didn't wear fitted anything.
Going shopping has always been a depressing thing for me to do. To look for cute clothes they never made in your size. Feeling taunted by racks and racks of clothes that were all the stylish rage but you could never fit into. The myriads of clothing marked your size but definitely run smaller than average not only wasting your time in trying them on but dealing a back handed sinister stab to your emotions. Marked XXL but really a medium large.
There were moments in a dressing room I stared in horror as the shirt i just tried on did not lay on my thick built body but instead clung to mounds and dimples I tried hard to ignore. It willingly punted me to every problem area I avoided. If i stood still enough and listened i could feel the clothes laughing at me. They carried the mirth of the manufactures who must have owned this moment. My own private humiliation. Tears have often streamed down my face as I looked at myself in these intimate private moments. I would never be stylish, I would never be cute..i couldn't get the clothes I want I instead had to settle on whatever could close and button around my rotund frame.
Frustrated,defeated and annoyed as I would leave clothing stores.. wanting nothing more than to head to the food court for a will placed taco bell meal or Auntie Anne pretzel.. fuck it I can't fit these clothes anyway. Might as will eat the goddamn carb laden food available and accept my date as the frumpy fat die with the cute face.
This day though, this day was different.. I got jeans i liked and they fit. Clothes I was going to throw away that didn't fit me last summer I was able to keep. This is new, this feels good. While I don't feel remarkably attractive by any means it felt nice for once in my 34 years of shopping to actually feel positive about clothes shopping.. feeling stylish or dare I say Cute.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Brothers mine #52essays2017 week 16
I can tell you that me and my brothers rarely had a relationship when we lived together or when we lived on our own. The interaction was arms length at best. I do not know if it was the age difference, or the emotional baggage that comes from being half siblings, or the sibling rivalry and growing pains of normal family structure. All I knew is that I felt estranged from them my whole life. It is odd I got older one day having not interacted with them in such a long while and here comes my mother with an altered reality of life and how our whole childhood supposedly happened, reminding me that I should call my brothers and see how they are doing. UURRRR!!!!!!! :Record scratch: what was that mother? Why would I call and speak to family that never really acted as such. My earliest memories were of being picked on almost every moment. The smile spread across the face of a sibling as I got my ass beat for something I did or something I was blamed for by the smiling sibling. Or the teasing and constant reminder of how fat I was or how Girly I was, or how different I was. It is odd I would somehow be asked to forget this to hold on to a notion of brotherhood that existed only in the fantasy of one mothers mind. Do not get me wrong, I do not hate or never not loved my brothers. There was an obligatory love that one learns growing up as one is reminded of the importance of blood relatives and family. However, I could not have talked to my brothers and be just fine.
When we did speak it was always the same awkward conversation of them asking me the same questions, "How are you? Still work in the hospital? Still work for radiology? Still singing?" This is it, the only questions they could ask because this is all they knew of me in all of my life on this earth. I worked in medical and I sang. Remind me again why I needed to get involved in this so called relationship?
It is then I started thinking of mortality and my mother aging and feeling if her and my father leave this earth they would really like to leave behind an actual functioning family. A legacy of family members that can stick together and carry on some semblance of normalcy. But what if our normal was this? Divided and individual aware of each other and there in theory?
I recently connected with one of my brothers as he got a new girlfriend and his first child, my niece and its beautiful to see him being a father to not only her but to his girl friends son. It strikes a familiar cord as my father raised my brothers who had their own father from my mothers first marriage. Maybe this was the legacy that was supposed to be left behind. The responsibility, the good morals to step up to the plate as you take on a new family.
This got me thinking what was my legacy? This set me down a whole new slew of thoughts.
Legacy and me? Hmmmm
When we did speak it was always the same awkward conversation of them asking me the same questions, "How are you? Still work in the hospital? Still work for radiology? Still singing?" This is it, the only questions they could ask because this is all they knew of me in all of my life on this earth. I worked in medical and I sang. Remind me again why I needed to get involved in this so called relationship?
It is then I started thinking of mortality and my mother aging and feeling if her and my father leave this earth they would really like to leave behind an actual functioning family. A legacy of family members that can stick together and carry on some semblance of normalcy. But what if our normal was this? Divided and individual aware of each other and there in theory?
I recently connected with one of my brothers as he got a new girlfriend and his first child, my niece and its beautiful to see him being a father to not only her but to his girl friends son. It strikes a familiar cord as my father raised my brothers who had their own father from my mothers first marriage. Maybe this was the legacy that was supposed to be left behind. The responsibility, the good morals to step up to the plate as you take on a new family.
This got me thinking what was my legacy? This set me down a whole new slew of thoughts.
Legacy and me? Hmmmm
Monday, April 24, 2017
Stockholm is a summabitch #52essays2017 week 15
Stockholm Syndrome is a mother fucker. I will not even understand how it happened and why it is even an actual thing.
My recent run in within my spiritual community has been a known domestic violence abuser and offender who many have ignored and or turned a willing blind eye too. One of his wives was a woman I spoke to over the years and a friend of friends and I just found out now since she could not speak of certain things until the divorce was finalized. Having viewed this mans pleas to guilt and her first hand accounts of some of the things she had to endure as his wife and mother of his children.
Me and a few others decided to put this ass on blast all over facebook and bombard his page and groups he uses to target women. We posted and tagged everyone we cold and can and have continued to.
This awareness has allowed other victims to speak up and tell their stories and thank us for our voice and the safe platform for them to tell their truth and perhaps relieve some of their burden they have not been able to share.
Low and behold my friend called me to thank me as someone who was molested and in physically abusive relationships. She called to tell me, that while I may get some push back from men for questioning and exposing toxic masculinity and male misogyny and all the privilege therein it would be women that would defend this behavior the most and be our greatest obstacle. I could not and would not believe such a thing. Why would women do that? Are they not tired and sickened by what "maleness" has done to them?
Then someone mentioned Stockholm syndrome and I had to look up the exacts of the term. Stockholm is considered a complex reaction to a frightening situation, and experts do not agree completely on all of its characteristic features or on the factors that make some people more susceptible than others to developing it. Many researchers believe that Stockholm syndrome helps to explain certain behaviors of survivors of World War II concentration camps; members of religious cults; battered wives; incest survivors; and physically or emotionally abused children as well as persons taken hostage by criminals or terrorists. In addition, people who often feel helpless in other stressful life situations or are willing to do anything in order to survive seem to be more susceptible to developing Stockholm syndrome if they are taken hostage.
Is this what happened? Have women felt terrorized and held hostage by maleness? Has their experiences been so traumatic they convince themselves they love these individuals and or need to defend them? I had women blatantly ask "How long ago was the abuse, because if not recent its a moot point. A thing of the past." Because trauma can simply be forgotten with some time, and no one really suffers from traumatic events of their past that still haunt them and or shape various aspects of their life. (All of that was sarcasm)
Another asked, "Maybe he has changed and we should give him the benefit of the doubt." I have never been one for giving someone more than one chance to hurt me the same way again, and while I do believe people change most often there are steps one must take in that process. For instance naming their victims and apologizing to them. In this instance a public apologizing would be even greater since so many people did not know this man who was teaching classes to the community and empowering so many was also a predator and offender.
It was women who came to the forefront and called us "Petty haters" and "Shit stirrers who are getting in peoples business." I was under the impression as a community we govern and watch out own and therefore the well being of one another was a shared responsibility.
I am appalled at this point and have no words on something that plagues so many. I only know that I can only encourage my sisters that they can and must proceed to speak up and out and being complacent and silent is not the option. As it is women have bared the pain us males could and would never and we owe them all we have. We all came from a mother or benefited from a maternal figure. I am ashamed at the eye rolling and huffing and puffing I did in my youth at girls and women who tried to tell their story. I was already conditioned to familiarize myself with the term 'drama queen'.
I apologize now by being vocal and standing along side my sisters and it has been eye opening to the reason I was called to serve under a female deity in my priestly role.
My recent run in within my spiritual community has been a known domestic violence abuser and offender who many have ignored and or turned a willing blind eye too. One of his wives was a woman I spoke to over the years and a friend of friends and I just found out now since she could not speak of certain things until the divorce was finalized. Having viewed this mans pleas to guilt and her first hand accounts of some of the things she had to endure as his wife and mother of his children.
Me and a few others decided to put this ass on blast all over facebook and bombard his page and groups he uses to target women. We posted and tagged everyone we cold and can and have continued to.
This awareness has allowed other victims to speak up and tell their stories and thank us for our voice and the safe platform for them to tell their truth and perhaps relieve some of their burden they have not been able to share.
Low and behold my friend called me to thank me as someone who was molested and in physically abusive relationships. She called to tell me, that while I may get some push back from men for questioning and exposing toxic masculinity and male misogyny and all the privilege therein it would be women that would defend this behavior the most and be our greatest obstacle. I could not and would not believe such a thing. Why would women do that? Are they not tired and sickened by what "maleness" has done to them?
Then someone mentioned Stockholm syndrome and I had to look up the exacts of the term. Stockholm is considered a complex reaction to a frightening situation, and experts do not agree completely on all of its characteristic features or on the factors that make some people more susceptible than others to developing it. Many researchers believe that Stockholm syndrome helps to explain certain behaviors of survivors of World War II concentration camps; members of religious cults; battered wives; incest survivors; and physically or emotionally abused children as well as persons taken hostage by criminals or terrorists. In addition, people who often feel helpless in other stressful life situations or are willing to do anything in order to survive seem to be more susceptible to developing Stockholm syndrome if they are taken hostage.
Is this what happened? Have women felt terrorized and held hostage by maleness? Has their experiences been so traumatic they convince themselves they love these individuals and or need to defend them? I had women blatantly ask "How long ago was the abuse, because if not recent its a moot point. A thing of the past." Because trauma can simply be forgotten with some time, and no one really suffers from traumatic events of their past that still haunt them and or shape various aspects of their life. (All of that was sarcasm)
Another asked, "Maybe he has changed and we should give him the benefit of the doubt." I have never been one for giving someone more than one chance to hurt me the same way again, and while I do believe people change most often there are steps one must take in that process. For instance naming their victims and apologizing to them. In this instance a public apologizing would be even greater since so many people did not know this man who was teaching classes to the community and empowering so many was also a predator and offender.
It was women who came to the forefront and called us "Petty haters" and "Shit stirrers who are getting in peoples business." I was under the impression as a community we govern and watch out own and therefore the well being of one another was a shared responsibility.
I am appalled at this point and have no words on something that plagues so many. I only know that I can only encourage my sisters that they can and must proceed to speak up and out and being complacent and silent is not the option. As it is women have bared the pain us males could and would never and we owe them all we have. We all came from a mother or benefited from a maternal figure. I am ashamed at the eye rolling and huffing and puffing I did in my youth at girls and women who tried to tell their story. I was already conditioned to familiarize myself with the term 'drama queen'.
I apologize now by being vocal and standing along side my sisters and it has been eye opening to the reason I was called to serve under a female deity in my priestly role.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Music #52essays2017 week 14
I do not recall a point in my life when music didn't do the most for me. Music was my therapist, my friend when I felt alone, my solace in any time of crisis. I am still amazed at how much music plays a part in every part of my story.
I was maybe 2 years old when I would sing Fragile Rock theme song (correctly) and supposedly, as my mother tells it, singing to the top of my lungs "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf.
Between 5 & 6 years old I would listen to my father singing Under The Broadwalk, by the Drifters. This was a cassette tape he had made at Coney Island I believe in one of those karaoke record your own cover booths. I was enamored with the sweet Bari/tenor tone of my fathers voice.
I was about 8 years old when Mariah Carey first came out. Living in Long Island myself, and seeing this biracial long island girl rail thin with frizzy curls hitting highs and lows with such grace. I knew the moment I heard her voice I would be a singer. I knew that I wants to make sounds that were pleasing to the ear.
Along with Mariah's music I was avidly listening to EnVogues first Album, Born to Sing. I can still tell you the many nuances of that album but most notable the songs Lies, Part of Me, Boogie woogy Bugle Boy of Company B remake of the Andrew Sisters Classic, Just cant Stay Away a remake of Natalie Coles original, Don't Go and of course Hold On To Your Love. I was amazed at the harmonies and how perfect they blended with the hip hop beats that were hitting the air ways with more and more R&B melodies. These were the two albums that influenced my love of singing.
This was the late 80's into the 90's. This was the time of boy groups Shai- If I ever Fall In love, H Town -Knocking the boots, Silk- Freak Me, Boys II men- Motown Philly & Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday, Mint Condition- Pretty Brown Eyes. Or the other girl groups SWV- Weak and I'm so Into you, Salt & Pepa- Push it & None of your business TLC- Aint to proud to beg, Jade- Don't walk away boy & If The Mood is Right, Zhane- Groove thing & Hey Mr. DJ, Brownstone- If You Love Me. It was am influx of sound that became the soundtrack to the life and happenings around me. These songs informed me more than any news broadcast could. I was learning the various feelings of the times through the innocent ears and eyes of a child. I was learning about love, life, empowerment, fun, sex and various other things I had yet to understand and experience but wanted to.
My father saw my love for music and made sure to always play the good music there was to be heard. Good music were the Milk Crates which held countless vinyls of groups I never heard and artist I would only know because he made sure to point them all out to me when he played them. He made sure the Vinyls played well every weekend as me and/or my siblings did any household chores. This was Stylistics- Stop Look Listen & Betcha By Golly Wow & Break Up to make up & You Make Me Feel brand New, Delphonics- Ready or Not & La La Means I Love You & Didn't I Blow Your Mind, The Moments- Love on a Two Way Street, Dells- Oh What A Night & Stay, Manhattans- Kiss and Say Goodbye & Theres No me Without You, Main Ingredient- Rolling down the mountainside & I'm so Proud & Everybody Plays the Fool & Just Don't Want TO Be Lonely, Ojays- Stairway to Heaven & Forever Mine & Used to Be My Girl, The Originals- Baby I'm For Real & The Bells, The Spinners- Love Don't Love No Body, Summer Madness- Kool and the Gang, Earth Wind and Fire- Mighty Mighty & Reasons & Fantasy.
He took me down many avenues of female singers too Like Patti Labelle & the Blue Bells- Down the Aisle & Oh Danny Boy & Somewhere Over The Rainbow, The Three Degrees- Maybe, Emotions- Don't Ask My Neighbor & Best of My love, Rose Royce- I'm going Down & Love Don't Live Here Any More, Mary Jane Girls- All night Long, Rufus feat Chaka Khan- Tell me Something Good & Stop on By (and countless others).
This was my soul reaching music this was music that reached into me and pulled feelings out that I could not express but reveled in. I This was the music I would compare all other music and singers to. I wanted to always feel something stir in me instead of just enjoying the good sounds made by singers.
It was in my journey I began to listen to Patti Labelle as a solo artist, Luther Vandross after Change, Angela and Renee, Lisa Fischer, Rachelle Ferrell, Phil Perry, David Peaston, Phoebe Snow and countless other artists who pleased my ear and soul. It was in this time I began to be vocally trained by the late great Lilian Coran of Smithtown, and the formal training by classical vocalist who taught me music. Cynthia Lee and Anne Kollar of the Brentwood School District. I took my gift seriously and I competed in state and county competitions singing anything from Opera, to Jazz Standars to Broadway belt to the back of the house numbers. Music colored everything I did.
I am one of those music nerds (and I am so glad other singers and musicians do this very same thing so I know I'm not alone) who will find some small part in a song and become obsessed with it. Which means I will listen to that one part 5000 x's until IM tired of it because it was so overtly great and or Subtlely amazing and I needed to cackle my joyous cackle which only occurs when I'm estatic, or shaking my head and slapping at the air because anything this good encourages me to act some what violently in the most playful of manners.
It was a culmination of things that made me feel music in relation to my gift was much, much more.
Rachelle Ferrell first said two very important things that made me re think everything about music and ones individual gift. First thing she said in a live concert at the BLue Note I attended was, "Do not compare yourself to me or any other singer. Understand that what you do and how you do it is amazingly you. I cannot duplicate what you do nor create what you do, it is solely your sound and your expression. You are creating a thing in the moment only you can." This coming from a woman who could sing at opposite ends of the piano and who could give you such textures of her voice you are never quite sure is actually happening in the moment or transmuting through this reality from another world. However, what an amazing thing to say.
As someone who struggled with self worth and or talent this was something I needed to hear, the world needed to hear. I often compared myself to other singers and thought, "I cant sing like that. All that range they have and the ability to do incredible things with their voice, I sure as hell can do that. Why even bother trying to sing?" This I didn't realize was foolish simply because what I do was what I do and it was not mean to be compared against what anyone else does. I was competing with no one. I was simply creating and expressing.
The second thing she said was in a youtube interview, she said, "The Bible states that in the beginning there was the word.,, and the word was God. God spoke life and life was... this is vibration in sound. There is energy in what we do when we create sound and we therefore are creating energy and vibration.." This blew my mind. Linking the sound ministry we create with instruments and voice to creation of energy and the movement therein. Is this not the very truth by which music arrested me from the beginning? It stirred something in me, the sound of it made me tap into emotions of various kinds and I was able to empathetically connect to artist and what they were singing about despite my inability to fully relate.
Then I joined Celebration Spiritual center in Brooklyn, where I have received some of the most valuable lessons in stepping into my artistry and music ministry. I have the pleasure of vibing with a choir of wonderful singers but led by the amazingly talented Greg Stamper and Yolanda Batts who execute every song they sing with poise and power. I was pushed into this wonderful space of allowance, surrendering a part of myself to the music and letting spirit do the rest in guiding me through the song I sang or we sing. I have had the absolute pleasure of people approaching me after services and using a specific word in relation to my singing. "Healing. Honey. Warm." These three words have been repeated to me by almost everyone that ever approached me and it humbles me that I am allowing my gift to be what it is and that those who need it are getting from it what they need.
This is why music will always be my saving grace no matter what I do. It will be my muse, my lover, my friend, and my soulmate.
I was maybe 2 years old when I would sing Fragile Rock theme song (correctly) and supposedly, as my mother tells it, singing to the top of my lungs "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf.
Between 5 & 6 years old I would listen to my father singing Under The Broadwalk, by the Drifters. This was a cassette tape he had made at Coney Island I believe in one of those karaoke record your own cover booths. I was enamored with the sweet Bari/tenor tone of my fathers voice.
I was about 8 years old when Mariah Carey first came out. Living in Long Island myself, and seeing this biracial long island girl rail thin with frizzy curls hitting highs and lows with such grace. I knew the moment I heard her voice I would be a singer. I knew that I wants to make sounds that were pleasing to the ear.
Along with Mariah's music I was avidly listening to EnVogues first Album, Born to Sing. I can still tell you the many nuances of that album but most notable the songs Lies, Part of Me, Boogie woogy Bugle Boy of Company B remake of the Andrew Sisters Classic, Just cant Stay Away a remake of Natalie Coles original, Don't Go and of course Hold On To Your Love. I was amazed at the harmonies and how perfect they blended with the hip hop beats that were hitting the air ways with more and more R&B melodies. These were the two albums that influenced my love of singing.
This was the late 80's into the 90's. This was the time of boy groups Shai- If I ever Fall In love, H Town -Knocking the boots, Silk- Freak Me, Boys II men- Motown Philly & Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday, Mint Condition- Pretty Brown Eyes. Or the other girl groups SWV- Weak and I'm so Into you, Salt & Pepa- Push it & None of your business TLC- Aint to proud to beg, Jade- Don't walk away boy & If The Mood is Right, Zhane- Groove thing & Hey Mr. DJ, Brownstone- If You Love Me. It was am influx of sound that became the soundtrack to the life and happenings around me. These songs informed me more than any news broadcast could. I was learning the various feelings of the times through the innocent ears and eyes of a child. I was learning about love, life, empowerment, fun, sex and various other things I had yet to understand and experience but wanted to.
My father saw my love for music and made sure to always play the good music there was to be heard. Good music were the Milk Crates which held countless vinyls of groups I never heard and artist I would only know because he made sure to point them all out to me when he played them. He made sure the Vinyls played well every weekend as me and/or my siblings did any household chores. This was Stylistics- Stop Look Listen & Betcha By Golly Wow & Break Up to make up & You Make Me Feel brand New, Delphonics- Ready or Not & La La Means I Love You & Didn't I Blow Your Mind, The Moments- Love on a Two Way Street, Dells- Oh What A Night & Stay, Manhattans- Kiss and Say Goodbye & Theres No me Without You, Main Ingredient- Rolling down the mountainside & I'm so Proud & Everybody Plays the Fool & Just Don't Want TO Be Lonely, Ojays- Stairway to Heaven & Forever Mine & Used to Be My Girl, The Originals- Baby I'm For Real & The Bells, The Spinners- Love Don't Love No Body, Summer Madness- Kool and the Gang, Earth Wind and Fire- Mighty Mighty & Reasons & Fantasy.
He took me down many avenues of female singers too Like Patti Labelle & the Blue Bells- Down the Aisle & Oh Danny Boy & Somewhere Over The Rainbow, The Three Degrees- Maybe, Emotions- Don't Ask My Neighbor & Best of My love, Rose Royce- I'm going Down & Love Don't Live Here Any More, Mary Jane Girls- All night Long, Rufus feat Chaka Khan- Tell me Something Good & Stop on By (and countless others).
This was my soul reaching music this was music that reached into me and pulled feelings out that I could not express but reveled in. I This was the music I would compare all other music and singers to. I wanted to always feel something stir in me instead of just enjoying the good sounds made by singers.
It was in my journey I began to listen to Patti Labelle as a solo artist, Luther Vandross after Change, Angela and Renee, Lisa Fischer, Rachelle Ferrell, Phil Perry, David Peaston, Phoebe Snow and countless other artists who pleased my ear and soul. It was in this time I began to be vocally trained by the late great Lilian Coran of Smithtown, and the formal training by classical vocalist who taught me music. Cynthia Lee and Anne Kollar of the Brentwood School District. I took my gift seriously and I competed in state and county competitions singing anything from Opera, to Jazz Standars to Broadway belt to the back of the house numbers. Music colored everything I did.
I am one of those music nerds (and I am so glad other singers and musicians do this very same thing so I know I'm not alone) who will find some small part in a song and become obsessed with it. Which means I will listen to that one part 5000 x's until IM tired of it because it was so overtly great and or Subtlely amazing and I needed to cackle my joyous cackle which only occurs when I'm estatic, or shaking my head and slapping at the air because anything this good encourages me to act some what violently in the most playful of manners.
It was a culmination of things that made me feel music in relation to my gift was much, much more.
Rachelle Ferrell first said two very important things that made me re think everything about music and ones individual gift. First thing she said in a live concert at the BLue Note I attended was, "Do not compare yourself to me or any other singer. Understand that what you do and how you do it is amazingly you. I cannot duplicate what you do nor create what you do, it is solely your sound and your expression. You are creating a thing in the moment only you can." This coming from a woman who could sing at opposite ends of the piano and who could give you such textures of her voice you are never quite sure is actually happening in the moment or transmuting through this reality from another world. However, what an amazing thing to say.
As someone who struggled with self worth and or talent this was something I needed to hear, the world needed to hear. I often compared myself to other singers and thought, "I cant sing like that. All that range they have and the ability to do incredible things with their voice, I sure as hell can do that. Why even bother trying to sing?" This I didn't realize was foolish simply because what I do was what I do and it was not mean to be compared against what anyone else does. I was competing with no one. I was simply creating and expressing.
The second thing she said was in a youtube interview, she said, "The Bible states that in the beginning there was the word.,, and the word was God. God spoke life and life was... this is vibration in sound. There is energy in what we do when we create sound and we therefore are creating energy and vibration.." This blew my mind. Linking the sound ministry we create with instruments and voice to creation of energy and the movement therein. Is this not the very truth by which music arrested me from the beginning? It stirred something in me, the sound of it made me tap into emotions of various kinds and I was able to empathetically connect to artist and what they were singing about despite my inability to fully relate.
Then I joined Celebration Spiritual center in Brooklyn, where I have received some of the most valuable lessons in stepping into my artistry and music ministry. I have the pleasure of vibing with a choir of wonderful singers but led by the amazingly talented Greg Stamper and Yolanda Batts who execute every song they sing with poise and power. I was pushed into this wonderful space of allowance, surrendering a part of myself to the music and letting spirit do the rest in guiding me through the song I sang or we sing. I have had the absolute pleasure of people approaching me after services and using a specific word in relation to my singing. "Healing. Honey. Warm." These three words have been repeated to me by almost everyone that ever approached me and it humbles me that I am allowing my gift to be what it is and that those who need it are getting from it what they need.
This is why music will always be my saving grace no matter what I do. It will be my muse, my lover, my friend, and my soulmate.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Lost my voice #52essays2017 week 13
Sometimes we go through changes that are both physical, emotional, and spiritual. One, you would think has nothing to do with the other. If there is anything I have learned with in the last 4 years was that there is a law of correspondence. The law states, "As above so below. As within so without."
I hope to share with you a moment of transformation for me that was traumatic and detrimental and yet led me to such revelations that there was no place else to go but in the state of repair.
It was odd when my voice changed. It was gradual. It was a process learning to be quiet, growing in exhaustion in which to speak above a whisper felt arduous. This started after two years with a man I had fallen in love with. At that time I felt that self sacrifice and compromise was the qualities and traits in which to probably keep someone. That if he saw how much I would give up for him or see how much of his needs and likes I would place before my own that this would somehow make me more loveable.
I had lived through the awful experiences of not being loved or desired by those I seemed to be attracted to. I still wonder if I attracted those individuals in a subconscious sabotage because on some level I felt I would not attain such a person or relationship in my life or did I just have the worst fucking luck when it came to picking potential mates. I remember going to the clubs with the cuter and even the not so cute friends who still got hit on or were desired by others. I stood in the side lines sipping my drink while watching their drinks or watched their coats from the table. I would see them lost in revelry dancing with the guy who vied for their attention. I remember feeling so invisible.
The loudest voice of all would always be the creep voice. The creep voice is the voice that tells you all the things you aren't and may never be. The creep voice never had laryngitis, and probably would never get it. This voice asked all the unanswerable questions. Questions that had no real answer just left you there willing to fill in the blank with what you think the answer may or must be. The voice never speaks certainty to you, just suggest slyly what may be and then abandons you to your thoughts. In the above examples brought the questions to mind rolled though my mind like thunder through the sky just before the storm hits.
Here they came
"Always the bridesmaid never the bride. When will someone notice you? Are you desirable at all? Maybe you do not look interesting enough to even notice. Is it possible you are much uglier than you can realize? Will you have someone? Will you ever be happy with someone? Will someone you like ever like you back?"
Left with the assumptions of NO and Yes as I felt they applied.
Just riding these feelings and these thoughts I had just started a new spiritual practice. I had started to learn about the Orisa and my spirit guides and started to really delve into feeling something other than my brooding thoughts. MY mentor at the time had told me to get to know Oshun who in most respects had been the Yoruba Deity of Love and attraction. She never knew how I felt inside as many did not, I never mentioned or hardly ever mentioned what was wrong with me. Sure I acted out at times when I could not carry it anymore, but I think people just chalked it up to my quirkiness or acceptable crazy. My mentor had told me to do a trabajo or spiritual ritual to help bring things I want in life. I made 5 small yellow cakes by hand and decorated them with 5 different toppings. I was to place this in the Name of El Caridad Del Cobre but dedicated to Oshun.
I of course poured out my heart to Oshun asking for a man, I needed someone to love me and better yet show me they wanted me. Notice me and want to be with me for something long term.
My shock when a week or two later a man hits up my online dating profile, a profile many did not hit up unless they wanted sex or wanted to see more pics before ultimately deciding I was the six packed blonde thin guy they actually wanted. This man was black, mature, employed and had a love for music and the arts. This was a far contrast from the people I met and/or tried to get to know.
We started seeing each other exclusively with in the first month of dating, or so we said. We started having great sex and when I refer to great sex I am referring to the sex that makes you forget of your size. Fellas and Ladies if you have ever had a size issue or body shaming issue and you were able to have sexual relations that made you totally not focus on your insecurities or focus on what position you can or cannot get into you find yourself in a position of opening yourself up and allowing your usual guard to be taken down. This was such an important thing for me... someone who encouraged me to take off my shirt during sex and demanded I be fully exposed and fully me and who knew the weight I carried on me physically and emotionally. I think this was one of the factors that made me fall all the way in.
This man loved music so much and would introduce me to new artists I never heard of and would buy impromptu tickets for us to go see them live. This was someone who wanted to shower me with gifts and not the other way around.
This man loved to cook and my fat ass will never complain about that. I wasn't the one cooking for a man I liked and trying to entice his affections with a well cooked meal, just the opposite. I was receiving a plate of food.
This man met my parents and got along great with my father, in fact we went on vacation with them. Something I thought I would never do in my life.
Within the first two years this man proposed to me. Funny story I sent him a picture of the ring I would want if he ever thought about such a thing as proposal. He received that pic the very day he was going to actually get the ring to surprise me with. The funny thing is he went to a jewelry store and happened to find that exact , ring and the person who sold it to him was named David. He was willing to propose to me and declare this to all his family and mine.
These first two years were bliss. My notion of love was all of the above.
It was the next 5 years that I questioned what had led me to that exact place with this man? What was I asking for when I did that ritual? What had I released into the universe not just in my words but in the undercurrent of my energy? It was the desire to be seen and be on someone's arm for pride sake. Yes I had thrown the word Love in the mix but based on an idea of what love looked like instead of what love is. How could I have known? I had up until this point not experienced any love, but Oshun/God brought me what I ultimately asked for.
It started with invalidating everything I had. Let me buy you a new CD player because yours is old. It was a disguised gift wrapped in satin ribbons and bows of judgement.
Having moved into my apartment after a subletting "incident" with his place, I noticed all my things I had needed to be changed or his accepted and used. I tried to cling to the things that felt familiar and were fully operational but I was told I was being immature and sensitive.
When disagreements arose and I would voice my annoyance or my feelings, he would storm out slam doors and shut off emotionally and communicatively. I was left abandoned in a room unsure if I can or should follow, in fear that at any moment I could be alone and unpartnered.
The intimate interaction ceased as he one day told me he would no longer play a versatile role in our exchanges leaving me to be the sole one to be on the receiving mode of his affections. There was no regard for what I felt about it or how it related to us, but the decision was made. I took back what power I could by telling him he would only get sex when I wanted then because I was not going through all the preparation required for gay sex. He was therefore on Booty rations. Yup that's right, Booty rations.
I noticed I began to grow tired very quickly and in turn in fear of not fighting or seeing his upset I would rather stay silent and avoid all of it.
This led to me being put in a position of almost no opposition. I had not strength or will to fight. I had no voice. The once strong, "I wish a mother fucker would silence me and try to control me!" was grossly silent and bound in the fear of loneliness.
My singing voice had totally changed. My once high and clear voice had become raspy and much lower as I lost the range I once had. None of the things I could do on a good vocal day were available to me. I was betrayed by my own damn voice. I took no notice or realization that my singing voice was only mirroring my figurative voice which was no longer being used to express itself...myself.
This was the start of some very heavy feelings, guess which voice reared its ugly head in full volume? Just guess which voice reeked of Creep and was back to remind me of those same kind of questions which had no definitive answers but left me feeling just as hollow and empty when I had to answer them or attempt to?
My voice at this time was lost, it hurt to try.
I hope to share with you a moment of transformation for me that was traumatic and detrimental and yet led me to such revelations that there was no place else to go but in the state of repair.
It was odd when my voice changed. It was gradual. It was a process learning to be quiet, growing in exhaustion in which to speak above a whisper felt arduous. This started after two years with a man I had fallen in love with. At that time I felt that self sacrifice and compromise was the qualities and traits in which to probably keep someone. That if he saw how much I would give up for him or see how much of his needs and likes I would place before my own that this would somehow make me more loveable.
I had lived through the awful experiences of not being loved or desired by those I seemed to be attracted to. I still wonder if I attracted those individuals in a subconscious sabotage because on some level I felt I would not attain such a person or relationship in my life or did I just have the worst fucking luck when it came to picking potential mates. I remember going to the clubs with the cuter and even the not so cute friends who still got hit on or were desired by others. I stood in the side lines sipping my drink while watching their drinks or watched their coats from the table. I would see them lost in revelry dancing with the guy who vied for their attention. I remember feeling so invisible.
The loudest voice of all would always be the creep voice. The creep voice is the voice that tells you all the things you aren't and may never be. The creep voice never had laryngitis, and probably would never get it. This voice asked all the unanswerable questions. Questions that had no real answer just left you there willing to fill in the blank with what you think the answer may or must be. The voice never speaks certainty to you, just suggest slyly what may be and then abandons you to your thoughts. In the above examples brought the questions to mind rolled though my mind like thunder through the sky just before the storm hits.
Here they came
"Always the bridesmaid never the bride. When will someone notice you? Are you desirable at all? Maybe you do not look interesting enough to even notice. Is it possible you are much uglier than you can realize? Will you have someone? Will you ever be happy with someone? Will someone you like ever like you back?"
Left with the assumptions of NO and Yes as I felt they applied.
Just riding these feelings and these thoughts I had just started a new spiritual practice. I had started to learn about the Orisa and my spirit guides and started to really delve into feeling something other than my brooding thoughts. MY mentor at the time had told me to get to know Oshun who in most respects had been the Yoruba Deity of Love and attraction. She never knew how I felt inside as many did not, I never mentioned or hardly ever mentioned what was wrong with me. Sure I acted out at times when I could not carry it anymore, but I think people just chalked it up to my quirkiness or acceptable crazy. My mentor had told me to do a trabajo or spiritual ritual to help bring things I want in life. I made 5 small yellow cakes by hand and decorated them with 5 different toppings. I was to place this in the Name of El Caridad Del Cobre but dedicated to Oshun.
I of course poured out my heart to Oshun asking for a man, I needed someone to love me and better yet show me they wanted me. Notice me and want to be with me for something long term.
My shock when a week or two later a man hits up my online dating profile, a profile many did not hit up unless they wanted sex or wanted to see more pics before ultimately deciding I was the six packed blonde thin guy they actually wanted. This man was black, mature, employed and had a love for music and the arts. This was a far contrast from the people I met and/or tried to get to know.
We started seeing each other exclusively with in the first month of dating, or so we said. We started having great sex and when I refer to great sex I am referring to the sex that makes you forget of your size. Fellas and Ladies if you have ever had a size issue or body shaming issue and you were able to have sexual relations that made you totally not focus on your insecurities or focus on what position you can or cannot get into you find yourself in a position of opening yourself up and allowing your usual guard to be taken down. This was such an important thing for me... someone who encouraged me to take off my shirt during sex and demanded I be fully exposed and fully me and who knew the weight I carried on me physically and emotionally. I think this was one of the factors that made me fall all the way in.
This man loved music so much and would introduce me to new artists I never heard of and would buy impromptu tickets for us to go see them live. This was someone who wanted to shower me with gifts and not the other way around.
This man loved to cook and my fat ass will never complain about that. I wasn't the one cooking for a man I liked and trying to entice his affections with a well cooked meal, just the opposite. I was receiving a plate of food.
This man met my parents and got along great with my father, in fact we went on vacation with them. Something I thought I would never do in my life.
Within the first two years this man proposed to me. Funny story I sent him a picture of the ring I would want if he ever thought about such a thing as proposal. He received that pic the very day he was going to actually get the ring to surprise me with. The funny thing is he went to a jewelry store and happened to find that exact , ring and the person who sold it to him was named David. He was willing to propose to me and declare this to all his family and mine.
These first two years were bliss. My notion of love was all of the above.
It was the next 5 years that I questioned what had led me to that exact place with this man? What was I asking for when I did that ritual? What had I released into the universe not just in my words but in the undercurrent of my energy? It was the desire to be seen and be on someone's arm for pride sake. Yes I had thrown the word Love in the mix but based on an idea of what love looked like instead of what love is. How could I have known? I had up until this point not experienced any love, but Oshun/God brought me what I ultimately asked for.
It started with invalidating everything I had. Let me buy you a new CD player because yours is old. It was a disguised gift wrapped in satin ribbons and bows of judgement.
Having moved into my apartment after a subletting "incident" with his place, I noticed all my things I had needed to be changed or his accepted and used. I tried to cling to the things that felt familiar and were fully operational but I was told I was being immature and sensitive.
When disagreements arose and I would voice my annoyance or my feelings, he would storm out slam doors and shut off emotionally and communicatively. I was left abandoned in a room unsure if I can or should follow, in fear that at any moment I could be alone and unpartnered.
The intimate interaction ceased as he one day told me he would no longer play a versatile role in our exchanges leaving me to be the sole one to be on the receiving mode of his affections. There was no regard for what I felt about it or how it related to us, but the decision was made. I took back what power I could by telling him he would only get sex when I wanted then because I was not going through all the preparation required for gay sex. He was therefore on Booty rations. Yup that's right, Booty rations.
I noticed I began to grow tired very quickly and in turn in fear of not fighting or seeing his upset I would rather stay silent and avoid all of it.
This led to me being put in a position of almost no opposition. I had not strength or will to fight. I had no voice. The once strong, "I wish a mother fucker would silence me and try to control me!" was grossly silent and bound in the fear of loneliness.
My singing voice had totally changed. My once high and clear voice had become raspy and much lower as I lost the range I once had. None of the things I could do on a good vocal day were available to me. I was betrayed by my own damn voice. I took no notice or realization that my singing voice was only mirroring my figurative voice which was no longer being used to express itself...myself.
This was the start of some very heavy feelings, guess which voice reared its ugly head in full volume? Just guess which voice reeked of Creep and was back to remind me of those same kind of questions which had no definitive answers but left me feeling just as hollow and empty when I had to answer them or attempt to?
My voice at this time was lost, it hurt to try.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Unconditional Love #52essays2017 week 12
It was 15,000 years ago when Man domesticated dogs. The dogs have since then been bred and modified to best serve mans aesthetic pleasure or desire to have an unconditional companion. I think most experts say that most people fall into two categories, cat people vs dog people. I grew up with dogs through every single moment of my childhood. They were the fist loving interaction I had that encapsulated affection and the expression thereof. Despite my love for the canines there was always some trauma that left me bereft.
When I was a child we had Pebbles she was our Chihuahua that my uncle bought from a crack had for I believe $20 bucks. We also had a Doberman mix named Olly. I believe Olly found his way into something poisonous and died somewhere in my 4 years of age. Pebbles, however was the little ball of affection. Her small rounded head her large ears and her fearlessness of anything and anyone. She moved with us from Astoria, Queens as into our Brentwood, Long Island home.
In this time we had acquired an Alaskan Malamute we called "Lobo" on the account that he looked like a wolf. He was a crazy dog who hated being contained by fences and would often attempt scaling the fence and was successful a few times. He also tried to hump any living female dog he encountered whether they were in heat or not. We all loved Lobo, but one day upon coming home he was just gone. We couldn't tell if someone came in the yard while we were away and took him or if he successfully scaled the fence and ran away to some dog "haven" where he spent the rest of his days happy. (Once can still dream)
In the interim we had found a Doberman on our door step one day. She was affectionate and hungry. We just had lost Lobo and we still had left over dog food. We fed her and watered her and when no one claimed her we took her in and named her, "Dutchess." She became our new love and quickly fell into the family fold. She was very protective and intimidating and was a natural alarm system when visitors approached the house. She would lay down and place her head down when we had stopped to pray, which was often in a house of Jehovahs Witnesses. The only issue, we had to keep her away from Pebbles. Pebbles the first fierce Queen of the Sosa household was not to be usurped by a dog 5 times her size. No one ever told Pebbles she was a small little thing, she was grander and tougher than any Doberman that could ever enter her space.
One day I was super tired and I had went into my parents room to lay down for an afternoon nap. The room had been empty because usually we would place pebbles in there when we let Dutchess have roam of the house. After waking I got up and hazy from sleep I walked out my parents room and into the kitchen where my parents and some of my siblings were sitting chatting. Everything happened so fast, Dutchess hopped up form her bed in the kitchen ran towards me and it was too late before I looked down and saw pebbles was just stepping forward from between my legs. it was all to fast Pebbles let out a growl but Dutchess grabbed her with those Doberman jaws. The next few seconds I could only stare and hold my breath as I saw Pebbles play the part of a ragdoll in the throws of a death shake that large dogs and wolves only do to kill smaller pray and or render flesh from a fresh hunt. I don't remember how they got Pebbles out of Dutchess's mouth but I watched in further horror as pebbled tried to gain balance and walk but could not as it appeared Dutchess's front canines had impaled our precious Pebbles head and caused some major brain damage. We all were in tears and Pebbles took her last breaths in front of us and Dutchess went to lay back down as if her territory was now claimed. The raw survival and brutality of the animal world is always existent no matter how much we may intend to domesticate.
Dutchess had mated with another male Doberman and gave us a litter of 18 puppies. Who knew Dobermans came in so many colors. We had Black Dobermans, Red rust colored Dobermans, Blue silver Dobermans, and the rare Fawn Sandy colored Doberman. We sold all of these rare dogs and somewhere in the mix my mother and brother decided we should breed the dogs. Pick the best sire of the litter and find other Dobermans of various colors and create contracts with the owner of the Bitch and or Sires of the other Dobermans. From this point on we were used to having puppies in the home, seeing mothers through their pregnancies late at night or the resuscitation of puppies who may have been birthed in distress or who seemed unable to draw their first breath with ease. We learned to bottle up formula and bottle feed the runts of the litters or the puppies the mother rejected. We even had to aid a whole litter who suffered from respiratory problems due to a condition of the blood the mother Ruby, a red Doby from one of our litters had developed. It was the night we failed to save 6 remaining puppies and had to bury them in our back yard in the wee hours of the morning. I remember feeling so powerless at not being able to help these puppies after having successfully helping other litters into their new lives.
The Doberman breeding soon became too much. My mother was not in the spirit of continuing on this mission and my brother picked it up instead. He wound up finding a way to breed White Dobermans the rarest of them all. He also took up dog training and would train the dogs to react upon command. Often I would dress up in a padded suit and he would sick the dogs on me and would call them off in german commands. He extended his training to Rottweilers and German Shepherds which he would sell back to the Suffolk county police.
IN this time I was getting older and like most young teens I wanted something of my own. I wanted my own space, my own room, my own clothes, my own style, and my own pooch. It was at this time a woman we knew had found a mid size Staffordshire Terrier who was wandering the streets of Brentwood. The story was she may have escaped form some local resident who may or may not have fought dogs. The evidence was that her ears were chopped to the smallest nubs. This was explained to me a way for other dogs to not get to bite at those sensitive ear flaps if the dog fought. When I first laid eyes on this pitbull, she stole my heart. Its like we saw only each other in that small span of time we were introduced. She ran to me like she had always known me and I quickly through myself to her level and let her nuzzle close into me. Reassuring her that I was not dangerous and very much friendly. MY parents watched with smiles, but I saw that look on my mothers face that held suspicion about the breed of dog. At this point in the 90's Pits were only known for dog fighting and mauling people. I convinced my mother my responsibility factor and how much I would walk and feed this dog and they agreed as long as she got along with the dog we had at home, Apollo.
Oh Apollo.. Apollo was a fawn Doberman from the first litter Dutchess ever gave us. He became my fathers pride and joy, and my brothers as well. My brother had trained the dog exceptionally well. When we bought "pepper" my new pit bull baby home we introduced her to Apollo through a fence. They did not take to each other. Apollo puffed himself up, the ridge of his neck and back raised in threat and growls from somewhere deep in his throat. Pepper stayed put and remained alert her stance solid her stare firm. She did not back down at all but just stood her ground unafraid and willing to take what he was going to give. My brother having observed dogs in such close proximity having trained them he viewed himself as somewhat of an expert. He decided the fence allowed too much of a barrier and would not give them the actual opportunity to smell each other and interact. I thought it a horrible Idea and I was so scared to have lost this dog I already imagined spending so much time with. THe gate was opened leashes were placed on both dogs there circled each other and mock played and then the interaction of sizing one each other up because tails wagging and the two began to play fight. We all breathed out in relief.
Pepper became my best friend she cuddled me and would gentle take my hand into her mouth and place my hand in between both her paws and lick at my hand as if that was her way of holding me like perhaps she would with one of her puppies, if she were to ever have one. This dog was the sweetest dog I had ever encountered or had within our home she was docile and loving. She slept in the kitchen on her large dog pillow a few feet away from Apollo.
It all came to a head. My brother had bred Apollo with another Doberman bitch and the litter produced some beautiful fawn Dobermans. Two were left a runt we named Kojak and his brother I named Caramon. They sat I our kitchen in a large crate away from Apollo who was threatened by the two small but male pups. One day Apollo really feeling himself decided to urinate all over the cage and small puppies, a display of his dominance over his territory. Apollo was an asshole, it was plain and simple. He was like the Grumpy old man you knew lived with you but you put up with because the whole family accepted him. In my younger years Apollo once growled and cornered me to try an intimidate me. He was a 120 lbs Doberman, I decided my crazy out matched his and so I took the broom from the corner and lit that ass up. That was the first and last time Apollo tried it with me ever again. The air was off that day, there was tension in the air but I could not tell what it was or where it came from. One of the dogs had started to bark and it set Apollo off he ran towards the cage baring his teeth, to meet him was Pepper whose maternal instinct for the two puppies was in full effect. Apollo did not take kindly to her challenge and decided to attack her. This was my worst nightmare happening right in front of me. A large 120 lb Doberman and Pepper, a 75lb mid sized Pitbull fighting with all their gusto I had no other choice but to jumped in the middle trying to break this up. I grabbed them both by their collar trying to hold them apart, I paid for it with a thigh that was bit up in the confusion. I will not go into detail as even writing this causes me to tear up, but that day I was traumatized at the state of both dogs as they were finally successfully separated. They were torn and tattered, I was not given the time to really process what happened because I had a appointment that day to get my braces removed. It should have been a happy day for me. After the orthodontist office I got home only to find that Pepper was gone. I asked my parents where my dog was and they broke the news to me that they had dropped Pepper to the nearest pound. I remember time stopped and my heart just beat dully in my ears. I was in shock, my baby, my friend whom I spent nights and days cuddled with and shared in long talks as I walked her around the neighborhood.. she was gone and worse I had no say in it. I had no chance to say good bye. My last memory of her was her face bleeding and ripped open from a fight with a Doberman my parents decided to keep due to how long we already had him. The only expendable pooch was the newest one, mine. I cried and wailed and asked, "WHY??!!" in my best Nettie from color purple impression. I demanded answers I never got and I just eventually lost the will to ask any more questions.
Caramon was sold and Kojak, the runt of the litter was still around. Unfortunately he was about the dumbest dog I ever seen. He was the dog that you threw food too and he sniffed around like he just barely smelled it and couldn't find it, he would run into the wall unable to stop his momentum. I couldn't do him.. I opted to research Doberman rescue and get him in their care because I couldn't love him fresh off of losing my Pepper.
In a small window, another dog had made its presence in my life. Her name was Crystal, she was a brown and white spotted pit bull. I cannot remember where this dog even came from, and on a swift mission to come off of my loss of another pitbull I convinced my parents to allow me to keep her. Guilt, I played on their guilt. I told them about the hurt and loss I experienced with Pepper. Me and Crystal clicked like to long lost friends this was instant love. Crystal was way more energetic of a terrier than Pepper was. She was the runner and the chaser. She was my energetic baby. Here came the drama... New neighbors moved in. This was a black family who were cool but had the worst BEBE ass kids to grace this world. Those little bad ass children would torment my Crystal when she was left in the yard to run. They would throw water balloons at her or push sticks and toys through the fence taunting the poor pit until she chewed up all they placed through the fences holes. This caused her to develop a mistrust and negative disposition towards children and anyone black. When my parents decided to sell their house they suggested I find the dog a home. I cannot get into the specifics of this either but the dog wound up in my sisters care in an apartment in Manhattan.. from yard to confined elevator spaces... to this day my sister claims a woman took Crystal to a "farm" where there was plenty of room to run...
"the farm" yall, the "farm"..
Last but not least my last dog was a rust colored Dachshund named Teesa. She was a result of my Ex surprising me with a puppy. She was my little baby girl and I was gonna be the best parent to her... this resulted in me breaking up with my boyfriend of that time and having to find a place to live. Having a Dog was not making that process any easier and I made a tough decision to find her a home with someone else. I got her a home with a pet Psychic and Astrologer in Long Island, named Jane. She was mourning the loss of her Teacup Yorkie who dies after a ripe old age of 20 years. After two years she was looking for companionship and Teesa found a home with her. I visited the first 3 times as was prompted by Jane who encouraged me Teesa would always be my baby and a new home and owner did not change that. Teesa was renamed Lucy. This hurt me too much to see her and have to leave her, I think I felt how perhaps some parents feel when seeing their kids with a step parent. I couldn't handle the sadness and so I left Teesa in her new mothers hands and moved on with life. There is not a moment I do not see a Dachshund and get a little sad.
I am thankful to all the dogs I was able to have in my lifetime and the joy and affection they allowed me to experience but I cannot at this point think dogs and I just will not mix. I can have interaction with them by visiting friends with dogs. I can catch a brief glimpse of old nostalgia with mans best friend.
When I was a child we had Pebbles she was our Chihuahua that my uncle bought from a crack had for I believe $20 bucks. We also had a Doberman mix named Olly. I believe Olly found his way into something poisonous and died somewhere in my 4 years of age. Pebbles, however was the little ball of affection. Her small rounded head her large ears and her fearlessness of anything and anyone. She moved with us from Astoria, Queens as into our Brentwood, Long Island home.
In this time we had acquired an Alaskan Malamute we called "Lobo" on the account that he looked like a wolf. He was a crazy dog who hated being contained by fences and would often attempt scaling the fence and was successful a few times. He also tried to hump any living female dog he encountered whether they were in heat or not. We all loved Lobo, but one day upon coming home he was just gone. We couldn't tell if someone came in the yard while we were away and took him or if he successfully scaled the fence and ran away to some dog "haven" where he spent the rest of his days happy. (Once can still dream)
In the interim we had found a Doberman on our door step one day. She was affectionate and hungry. We just had lost Lobo and we still had left over dog food. We fed her and watered her and when no one claimed her we took her in and named her, "Dutchess." She became our new love and quickly fell into the family fold. She was very protective and intimidating and was a natural alarm system when visitors approached the house. She would lay down and place her head down when we had stopped to pray, which was often in a house of Jehovahs Witnesses. The only issue, we had to keep her away from Pebbles. Pebbles the first fierce Queen of the Sosa household was not to be usurped by a dog 5 times her size. No one ever told Pebbles she was a small little thing, she was grander and tougher than any Doberman that could ever enter her space.
One day I was super tired and I had went into my parents room to lay down for an afternoon nap. The room had been empty because usually we would place pebbles in there when we let Dutchess have roam of the house. After waking I got up and hazy from sleep I walked out my parents room and into the kitchen where my parents and some of my siblings were sitting chatting. Everything happened so fast, Dutchess hopped up form her bed in the kitchen ran towards me and it was too late before I looked down and saw pebbles was just stepping forward from between my legs. it was all to fast Pebbles let out a growl but Dutchess grabbed her with those Doberman jaws. The next few seconds I could only stare and hold my breath as I saw Pebbles play the part of a ragdoll in the throws of a death shake that large dogs and wolves only do to kill smaller pray and or render flesh from a fresh hunt. I don't remember how they got Pebbles out of Dutchess's mouth but I watched in further horror as pebbled tried to gain balance and walk but could not as it appeared Dutchess's front canines had impaled our precious Pebbles head and caused some major brain damage. We all were in tears and Pebbles took her last breaths in front of us and Dutchess went to lay back down as if her territory was now claimed. The raw survival and brutality of the animal world is always existent no matter how much we may intend to domesticate.
Dutchess had mated with another male Doberman and gave us a litter of 18 puppies. Who knew Dobermans came in so many colors. We had Black Dobermans, Red rust colored Dobermans, Blue silver Dobermans, and the rare Fawn Sandy colored Doberman. We sold all of these rare dogs and somewhere in the mix my mother and brother decided we should breed the dogs. Pick the best sire of the litter and find other Dobermans of various colors and create contracts with the owner of the Bitch and or Sires of the other Dobermans. From this point on we were used to having puppies in the home, seeing mothers through their pregnancies late at night or the resuscitation of puppies who may have been birthed in distress or who seemed unable to draw their first breath with ease. We learned to bottle up formula and bottle feed the runts of the litters or the puppies the mother rejected. We even had to aid a whole litter who suffered from respiratory problems due to a condition of the blood the mother Ruby, a red Doby from one of our litters had developed. It was the night we failed to save 6 remaining puppies and had to bury them in our back yard in the wee hours of the morning. I remember feeling so powerless at not being able to help these puppies after having successfully helping other litters into their new lives.
The Doberman breeding soon became too much. My mother was not in the spirit of continuing on this mission and my brother picked it up instead. He wound up finding a way to breed White Dobermans the rarest of them all. He also took up dog training and would train the dogs to react upon command. Often I would dress up in a padded suit and he would sick the dogs on me and would call them off in german commands. He extended his training to Rottweilers and German Shepherds which he would sell back to the Suffolk county police.
IN this time I was getting older and like most young teens I wanted something of my own. I wanted my own space, my own room, my own clothes, my own style, and my own pooch. It was at this time a woman we knew had found a mid size Staffordshire Terrier who was wandering the streets of Brentwood. The story was she may have escaped form some local resident who may or may not have fought dogs. The evidence was that her ears were chopped to the smallest nubs. This was explained to me a way for other dogs to not get to bite at those sensitive ear flaps if the dog fought. When I first laid eyes on this pitbull, she stole my heart. Its like we saw only each other in that small span of time we were introduced. She ran to me like she had always known me and I quickly through myself to her level and let her nuzzle close into me. Reassuring her that I was not dangerous and very much friendly. MY parents watched with smiles, but I saw that look on my mothers face that held suspicion about the breed of dog. At this point in the 90's Pits were only known for dog fighting and mauling people. I convinced my mother my responsibility factor and how much I would walk and feed this dog and they agreed as long as she got along with the dog we had at home, Apollo.
Oh Apollo.. Apollo was a fawn Doberman from the first litter Dutchess ever gave us. He became my fathers pride and joy, and my brothers as well. My brother had trained the dog exceptionally well. When we bought "pepper" my new pit bull baby home we introduced her to Apollo through a fence. They did not take to each other. Apollo puffed himself up, the ridge of his neck and back raised in threat and growls from somewhere deep in his throat. Pepper stayed put and remained alert her stance solid her stare firm. She did not back down at all but just stood her ground unafraid and willing to take what he was going to give. My brother having observed dogs in such close proximity having trained them he viewed himself as somewhat of an expert. He decided the fence allowed too much of a barrier and would not give them the actual opportunity to smell each other and interact. I thought it a horrible Idea and I was so scared to have lost this dog I already imagined spending so much time with. THe gate was opened leashes were placed on both dogs there circled each other and mock played and then the interaction of sizing one each other up because tails wagging and the two began to play fight. We all breathed out in relief.
Pepper became my best friend she cuddled me and would gentle take my hand into her mouth and place my hand in between both her paws and lick at my hand as if that was her way of holding me like perhaps she would with one of her puppies, if she were to ever have one. This dog was the sweetest dog I had ever encountered or had within our home she was docile and loving. She slept in the kitchen on her large dog pillow a few feet away from Apollo.
It all came to a head. My brother had bred Apollo with another Doberman bitch and the litter produced some beautiful fawn Dobermans. Two were left a runt we named Kojak and his brother I named Caramon. They sat I our kitchen in a large crate away from Apollo who was threatened by the two small but male pups. One day Apollo really feeling himself decided to urinate all over the cage and small puppies, a display of his dominance over his territory. Apollo was an asshole, it was plain and simple. He was like the Grumpy old man you knew lived with you but you put up with because the whole family accepted him. In my younger years Apollo once growled and cornered me to try an intimidate me. He was a 120 lbs Doberman, I decided my crazy out matched his and so I took the broom from the corner and lit that ass up. That was the first and last time Apollo tried it with me ever again. The air was off that day, there was tension in the air but I could not tell what it was or where it came from. One of the dogs had started to bark and it set Apollo off he ran towards the cage baring his teeth, to meet him was Pepper whose maternal instinct for the two puppies was in full effect. Apollo did not take kindly to her challenge and decided to attack her. This was my worst nightmare happening right in front of me. A large 120 lb Doberman and Pepper, a 75lb mid sized Pitbull fighting with all their gusto I had no other choice but to jumped in the middle trying to break this up. I grabbed them both by their collar trying to hold them apart, I paid for it with a thigh that was bit up in the confusion. I will not go into detail as even writing this causes me to tear up, but that day I was traumatized at the state of both dogs as they were finally successfully separated. They were torn and tattered, I was not given the time to really process what happened because I had a appointment that day to get my braces removed. It should have been a happy day for me. After the orthodontist office I got home only to find that Pepper was gone. I asked my parents where my dog was and they broke the news to me that they had dropped Pepper to the nearest pound. I remember time stopped and my heart just beat dully in my ears. I was in shock, my baby, my friend whom I spent nights and days cuddled with and shared in long talks as I walked her around the neighborhood.. she was gone and worse I had no say in it. I had no chance to say good bye. My last memory of her was her face bleeding and ripped open from a fight with a Doberman my parents decided to keep due to how long we already had him. The only expendable pooch was the newest one, mine. I cried and wailed and asked, "WHY??!!" in my best Nettie from color purple impression. I demanded answers I never got and I just eventually lost the will to ask any more questions.
Caramon was sold and Kojak, the runt of the litter was still around. Unfortunately he was about the dumbest dog I ever seen. He was the dog that you threw food too and he sniffed around like he just barely smelled it and couldn't find it, he would run into the wall unable to stop his momentum. I couldn't do him.. I opted to research Doberman rescue and get him in their care because I couldn't love him fresh off of losing my Pepper.
In a small window, another dog had made its presence in my life. Her name was Crystal, she was a brown and white spotted pit bull. I cannot remember where this dog even came from, and on a swift mission to come off of my loss of another pitbull I convinced my parents to allow me to keep her. Guilt, I played on their guilt. I told them about the hurt and loss I experienced with Pepper. Me and Crystal clicked like to long lost friends this was instant love. Crystal was way more energetic of a terrier than Pepper was. She was the runner and the chaser. She was my energetic baby. Here came the drama... New neighbors moved in. This was a black family who were cool but had the worst BEBE ass kids to grace this world. Those little bad ass children would torment my Crystal when she was left in the yard to run. They would throw water balloons at her or push sticks and toys through the fence taunting the poor pit until she chewed up all they placed through the fences holes. This caused her to develop a mistrust and negative disposition towards children and anyone black. When my parents decided to sell their house they suggested I find the dog a home. I cannot get into the specifics of this either but the dog wound up in my sisters care in an apartment in Manhattan.. from yard to confined elevator spaces... to this day my sister claims a woman took Crystal to a "farm" where there was plenty of room to run...
"the farm" yall, the "farm"..
Last but not least my last dog was a rust colored Dachshund named Teesa. She was a result of my Ex surprising me with a puppy. She was my little baby girl and I was gonna be the best parent to her... this resulted in me breaking up with my boyfriend of that time and having to find a place to live. Having a Dog was not making that process any easier and I made a tough decision to find her a home with someone else. I got her a home with a pet Psychic and Astrologer in Long Island, named Jane. She was mourning the loss of her Teacup Yorkie who dies after a ripe old age of 20 years. After two years she was looking for companionship and Teesa found a home with her. I visited the first 3 times as was prompted by Jane who encouraged me Teesa would always be my baby and a new home and owner did not change that. Teesa was renamed Lucy. This hurt me too much to see her and have to leave her, I think I felt how perhaps some parents feel when seeing their kids with a step parent. I couldn't handle the sadness and so I left Teesa in her new mothers hands and moved on with life. There is not a moment I do not see a Dachshund and get a little sad.
I am thankful to all the dogs I was able to have in my lifetime and the joy and affection they allowed me to experience but I cannot at this point think dogs and I just will not mix. I can have interaction with them by visiting friends with dogs. I can catch a brief glimpse of old nostalgia with mans best friend.
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