I Love That Shit

It was on my heart to send, spread, cultivate and generate some love. For no other reason than to remind us that love does exists despite all the evidence to the contrary.  

Despite my orientation toward silence, solidarity and the safety of hiding under the yellow duvet that covers my bed, I love the gift of life. I love the complexities of the human spirit and the brazen magic of the will to live.

You are a miracle. Because of (not despite) your broken, wretched flaws and your tattered conscience. 

Your miraculous life reminds me that I too can make miracles. Because you move mountains with broken arms, I know that my heart can bear another break. The twisted humor we share gives me the love I need to remain foolish and brave.

Love y’all. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for staying in the struggle. For getting up again and again despite the failures and invitations to live quiet and paralyzed.

Love is a verb. It gives life to you just as you are, without condition or pretense. I just want you to know that your existence, no matter how many regrets you have, enriches mine. 

Keep living and doing and trying and giving yourself to this world. Despite the outcome.

I love that shit.

It was on my heart to send, spread, cultivate and generate some love. For no other reason than to remind us that love does exists despite all the evidence to the contrary.  

Despite my orientation toward silence, solidarity and the safety of hiding under the yellow duvet that covers my bed, I love the gift of life. I love the complexities of the human spirit and the brazen magic of the will to live.

You are a miracle. Because of (not despite) your broken, wretched flaws and your tattered conscience. 

Your miraculous life reminds me that I too can make miracles. Because you move mountains with broken arms, I know that my heart can bear another break. The twisted humor we share gives me the love I need to remain foolish and brave.

Love y’all. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for staying in the struggle. For getting up again and again despite the failures and invitations to live quiet and paralyzed.

Love is a verb. It gives life to you just as you are, without condition or pretense. I just want you to know that your existence, no matter how many regrets you have, enriches mine. 

Keep living and doing and trying and giving yourself to this world. Despite the outcome.

I love that shit.

Don’t Hoard Your Hope

What if you could get back all of the minutes you spent afraid?  

What if you were gifted all of the hours you spent hesitating because you believed that the unknown was somehow scarier than the torment of regret? 

Close your eyes and imagine that first time your soul retreated in fear; that your mind eclipsed your gut in the name of safety. 

Remember when you fed yourself poison and called it security? 

Can you recall when you caught yourself showing your children or loved ones, with impressive detail and hysteric confidence, that quiet, calculated, static movements are the better choice; that the shit we swallow is somewhow worth the stomache ache that follows?

When you feel the weight of your weakness (as I often do), consider that the sheer gift of your presence is proof that your stonger than any regret you have, or any mistake that you made.  You are still here and very simply put that means you ain’t through. Look inward and do not forget to marvel at your endurance.

Cornel West says, “I cannot be an optimist, but I am a prisoner of hope.” Isn’t that great?  It’s an acknowledgement of the overwhelming evidence that there’s no reason to look forward, but the accptance of a persistent faith that good, right, love, joy will prevail. 

  
Hope, my lovelies, is my jam.

Hope is how we help each other reboot aftere we disappoint ourselves, or tear ourselves to shreds chasing lies. Hope is the salve that overpowers the deepest pain of past and present. But we must be willing to offer it, share it, manifest it for each other.  Sometimes we want to hoard hope for our own personal goals, dreams, and agendas; as if there isn’t enough to go around. We worry that if we deposit our hope into others there’s nothing left for us. But I believe with everything in me that hope loves, thrives and multiplies when it is passed from one bruised soul to another. It grows wings, arms, eyes, and hands when it is exchanged. If we exchanged words and demonstrations of hope as much as we traded lamentations, we just might make a few inroads out of the nagging, gnawing scars that keep us from taking the risks that would bring us true happiness. To be surrounded by a solidarity of hope? Now that could move mountains.

I am woefully aware that this is no simple request.  Transforming thought and behavior requires a focus that I myself don’t always possess.  But how about we try it anyway?  Try it once today, twice tomorrow, three time on Monday and so forth. A word or action that breeds hope just might help heal us from the inside out.

And healing brings the peace we need to offer up bigger, better, truer love. Yep, I’m on one today.  This is me choosing hope and offering it to you. Pass it on, hear?

BB

How We Fall into Free


No doubt you was born free,
that your spirit came
to the universe free.
Cuz you recognize and crave
the promise of freedom
in the universe,
but quickly recognize
the constant flurry of indicators
that you are not free.

Your living is conditional,
a contract you never signed
to shave yourself small,
vet your life through
a sieve that protects
the ugly nature of things.

The feared don’t get to be free.

And they are so scared of you
because they know
they have it coming.

So you are told
your life is theirs
for display and dissection
and one day you forget
it was a fairy tale
held dear by twisted scripture
and rotten hearts.

And then one day
you decide to call bullshit
on the whole blasted racket
after spending
a long, wistful afternoon
in the mirror.

A Rant: The Weight of Hate Ain’t Mine to Bear

Although I know that white people’s ignorance ain’t my problem, it invariably grows heavy on me. And I am beyond sick of it. I’m angry today. Just outdone.

Stop hating on folks from marginalized, colonized and oppressed populations who choose to express self love by simply being. By simply being who they are. By gathering without you to heal and revitalize, to be safe from observation, evaluation and fetishization. By standing out and not holding back.

How the fuck do you think we have survived this long?

image

Big hair, big hearts, language coded cool, souls so stunning we always remain connected to the Creator. Always.

When you resent virtual strangers for loving who they are, the problem lies with you, not them. You are literally put off by someone not diminishing themselves so you can remain comfortable. Really?

Fuck right off.