Book of the Month - The Girl Who Drank the Moon

I LOVE BOOKS. Always have, always will.  

I also love a great narrator - so audiobooks are my jam too.  It can not replace the smell of paper and the action of turning pages but a great narrator can take a story to the next level. See previous post mentioning the audio performance of Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.

 The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill was a fantastic read.  A beautifully woven story with quite a bit of depth.  Christina Moore's narration was lovely as well. I quite appreciated the overall experience of this production.  It's ultimately a story of magic, motherhood, letting go and suffering.

Thank you for making audiobooks so accessible.  My library was slippin' selection wise. 

What are you reading this month?

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The Art of Discernment

I am learning this very fine art.  Discernment. Knowing what deserves my time, energy and effort and what does not.  Previously, I had no idea idea how I was spending it all and was constantly exhausted and overwhelmed.  

With this realization, I have been setting clearer and cleaner boundaries and am much happier because I haven't been frazzled. This, however at times has lead to conflicts, where some have a problem with this newfound esteem of sorts.  Pietersite helps with this for me with increased will and energy.  The enabler has left the building. 

The more I connect with myself, the more I understand myself.  The more I understand myself the clearer I am with where I would like to be.  And ultimately, what does not serve that end, had to and must go. 

Are you discerning?  What do you spend your time on?  Are clear with your boundaries?


A Five Year Old Empath

Riding my bike down the sidewalk on Marsh St. near my aunt Ruth's house, behind my Granny's house. A woman who lived on the street was preparing to leave her home. I was happy to be riding my bike on the smooth cement and not really paying much attention to anything but the clouds and the sun. I was 5 years old.  She was in her car and backing out of her driveway.  



She collided with me and I felt her fear.  I didn't feel anything else but her fear and I didn't want to get her into trouble, so I comforted her quickly ("It's alright. I'm fine. Don't cry. I'm ok) and went home pretending nothing was wrong.  I told no one anything. My bike was ok; just a little ding.  My leg hurt a bit but overall I was fine.  I also knew my people would not react well and I didn't want a scene that could possibly take the sidewalk away from me forever. 

I had seen my mother get angry before and I wanted no parts of that. I also knew she was the "cut off queen" capable of making people and things disappear.  So, I thought it best to stay quiet and keep enjoying my smooth solo rides.  God forbid I REALLY got blamed and they took my bike away.....NO THANK YOU.....quiet is where it's at!  Best to control the conversation by completely omitting its existence. 

Little did I know - the woman would feel so guilty that she would CALLLLLLLL my grandmother to check up on me and apologize.  I heard the phone ring.  I heard them say, "WHAT ACCIDENT????"

(Lord Jesus, you don't listen to anything I said. That was supposed to stay between us!)

Inevitably, the conversation on the phone ended and eyes were on me.  They asked me if I had been in an accident and if the woman had really  hit me.  I played it down.  I mean I won an honorary Oscar that day.  "The woman was mistaken."  "She ran over a twig." "I was no where near her bumper." "Of course, I'm careful." "Nope, she never touched me." "I'm positive she mis-remembered." Then I left the room. 

I lied not to protect myself.  I lied to protect her.  At 5 years old. 

I ended up avoiding that part of the sidewalk anyway after that day.  I didn't want to run into the lady again and make her feel bad for hitting me with her car. 


A Message to my Brothers & Sisters of the World

You are a miracle.

You are a gift. You are a jewel in the face of outstanding odds. 

You may not see it fully yet, but you will.

The simple act of your presence should pause you into a moment of personal praise. 

You need no one else's interpretation of you. You need no one else to approve of you.  You have given love even in the face of the deepest darkness. 

So, love yourself to healing. Love yourself enough to heal your trauma.  Love yourself enough to give yourself a chance. Love yourself enough to create your own brilliance and celebrate it. 

Love yourself so much that you see that self love reflected in the eyes of those around you. Love yourself enough to know you are enough. Just as you are in that quiet place of your heart. 

We are the ones we have been waiting for. We can make this better. We can. We've done it before. We can do it again. 

Heal yourself then throw the lifelines. Imagine if we all did that together. 


Book of the Month

When I finished it, I just stared and thought to myself, "What in the hell did I just read?" And then I re-read parts of it.  It is profound.  LIfe changing. Shifting. Magical, shamanic brilliance.  Not for the faint of spiritual heart but so worth the journey. 


This Was from My First Share...

In a closed Facebook Group, I felt courageous enough or maybe desperate enough to share some of my story.  2018 is about authenticity.  

Here's what I said: 

"I'm a pretty quiet person. I don't really put my head above the hedge much, so to speak, but in an effort to save my life, I need to speak up. 
I grew up in a cult-like religion where we didn't really socialize with anyone outside the organization. We were only allowed to be friends with those in the congregation and the school age kids my age who went there with me were mainly home schooled. I was enrolled in public school. In Kindergarten, I was placed in the "gifted" track and from that point until the 8th grade, I was in class with the same kids and the only student of color. The school district was very self-segregated - still is. My father would go to the school each year to speak with my teachers to let them know I was "different" and not to allow me to participate in any parties, pledge of allegiance or anything holiday related. I was to be sent to the library to read quietly. 
We went to what I like to call "programming" meetings at the cult 5 times per week and were made to congregate together, whether you liked it or not. I was molested in that space. I was molested in my home. I told my brother but he didn't believe me, so I tried to make myself as small as I possibly could. I thought - the smaller you are, the more invisible, the more safe.

At home, I was not taught how to care for myself or about important things. We were only taught that the world was in the active process of ending "the last days" and who needs dreams (edit) if the world is ending??? Who needs education? Who needs public service??? 
I learned only how to survive and only survive. If I didn't know something, I pretended I did. It was safer.

When I learned of Hollins, (had never heard of it until my senior year in high school) had I not qualified for a financial aid package, I don't think I would have left home. I don't think I would have ever gone to college. No one around me did - so why me? But somehow, someway, a girl in one of my HS classes told me about it and asked me if I'd be interested in a prospective weekend. I didn't know what that was and I didn't care. I said yes. I left, put my nose down, tried to absorb as much as I could and have been surviving ever since; making bad decisions all along the way because well, you know, I HAVE NO CLUE! I made it to Europe as an expat and without all the "noise" from the past - I am now able to unpack all that I have been through thus far and my GOD, I am cracking. 
Holding it together has gotten increasingly harder and working in anti-terrorism (not my brightest idea...but my heart is in the right place and being the only PERSON of color in leadership and the micro-aggressions that come with that), fighting for custody of my daughter (and realizing the person I thought that had my back actually didn't and never did), mourning 5 miscarried children but never really grieving them, understanding that the people I have surrounded myself with are not my tribe and just feeling desperately alone. My family back home only calls when they need something mainly. I don't blame them. They are doing and did the best that they could with what THEY had. 
Recently, I took a chance and went to a Writer's Workshop, as I feel like I need to write. Like write for my life. So, when I saw the name of the group, I just thought type out what you need to, get it off your heart and keep it moving. I'm not looking for a solver. I just needed a safe space to vent. Thank you for this group."


My Love Affair with Books

My earliest memories of joy, have to do with books.  

My aunt would read to me every night from this wonderful book called The People Could Fly. 


I loved that time and those stories transported me to places that I wished I could hang out in more often.  My auntie opened the door to a deep love of literature in my heart.  When we would go to the mall, you would find me in the back reading nook of the Waldenbooks.  I had a collection of bookmarks because - yeah, BOOKMARKS!  Christopher Pike's novels were Young Adult gold back then. Judy Blume helped me be ok with growing up.  The African American section helped me figure out who I was. The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah - COMPLETE GAME CHANGER for my teenage self of what it meant to tell a story.  Then there were the Pizza Hut Reading rewards and the book fairs and the monthly book ordering form - need I say more. 

Barnes and Noble in my adult years became the place I went.  The destination.  I am forever a seeker.  A seeker of knowledge.  (sup Harry)

Books allowed me to escape, something I would get very good at.  (Thank you coping mechanism) And they allowed me to learn of other people and how they lived and learned and messed up. And more importantly, how they got back up again. 

Today, one of my most prized possessions is my Kindle and my Audible app comes in a close second. (audiobook love is deep too - especially the performed ones **see Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides performed by Kristoffer Tabori.  It's SOOOOOOOOO good.)  I have consistently had a significant commute time to work and audiobooks were my life line to sanity in the car. 



Non-fiction, fiction, memoirs, sci-fi, fantasy.....I love all genres EXCEPT horror.  I just can't.  I see no point in raising my cortisol levels for that in these troubling times that raise it up enough. 

Do you have a love affair with books?  Tell us about it.

Music - What it Means to Me


It has been my best friend.  Sometimes my only friend.  It speaks for me when I don't have the words.  It allows be to move emotions that I previously may have believed un-moveable. It takes happiness and can make it into a joyful explosion that pales in happiness' comparison.  It can crack open the hardest heart.  It can steady the nerves of the eager competitor - making way for a performance like non other. 

Music to me is life.  I cannot go one day with it.  In each phase of my life, there has definitely been a distinct soundtrack that defined those years.  The beginning love affair that started through my parents. The school years - tumultuous and strange. The exploration that was college.  The early adulting years.  The divorce.  Motherhood. Each period has been marked with specific music.  

There are songs that spark joy.  There are songs that make tears wretch from me in the most ugly of cleansing cries you can imagine.  And then there are the songs that I write.  I write what I feel and I have always used the pen and paper as my own personal therapy.  (see one of my tunes embedded below)

Have you sat and thought of your soundtrack now?  What is the theme to the music that plays you through your life?  What mantras are you manifesting through your music?  

My soundtrack right now in this phase of me is all about transformation.  Every day, I get better and better.  I am not the same person I was before I left the US. Each day I shed more layers, more skins, more baggage.  Each day, there is someone else to forgive, more love to generate and more of MYSELF to meet.  In short, it's a love story.  A love of self story. 

What are you listening to?

Thank you for being Here

Waking up to the realities of this world can be overwhelming at times.  I have suffered a many panic attack along this journey.  (so many stories to tell)  I understand if you feel overwhelmed, anxious, angry, nervous, you name it, it's ok to feel it.  So let's begin there, it's ok.  It is ok to feel your feelings.  It's ok to be in your feelings.  The only thing that is not ok, is to WALLOW in them.  To build a home there and set up a gloomy shop.  It is not ok to give up in that hollow place.  It is just not.  Feel the feelings, ask yourself questions about why you are feeling those feelings, gather some insights and kick some dirt over that shit.  

One of my favorite books at the moment is Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now". (sidenote: when I was growing up in school, I was taught you had to site a book's title by underlining it.  In this age, there is no option for that. Hmph.  See that unlearning there. HA!)  Within those pages are pure pieces of golden wisdom about why we shouldn't LIVE in the past or the future.  I highly recommend it. The super point is, move on.  You are loved, guided and supported. We all are. It's high time we start acting like it.  

So, this site begins and I am grateful for this space to talk to the ethers, myself and whoever reads it. 

Again, WELCOME and let's do this. And to paraphrase the immortal words of the very wise Childish Gambino, Stay Woke!