trust

There it was
Glowing before me
A bulbous, blue-grey-white
Floating, resting
Unknowable gift.

I could only nod in recognition.

My spirit knew and said
“wow, wow
wow,
wow.”

I didn’t want to lose it
But didn’t want to force it
I also didn’t want to spin off
Like I usually do

But beyond all that
I knew it didn’t matter
And that I was okay —
It saw me
And I saw it
And we were one.

The more I said “wow”
The larger the feeling was
The closer I came
To explosion of my core –
My mind
Body
Soul
Spirit
All
Into fragments

What would it mean?
And it didn’t matter
Nothing mattered
Because we connected
And that was all I needed to know

~

Spinning
Shaking
A slight touch
A slight breeze
Your shoulder
Where I rest

Your gentle patient way
Calm resilient way
Joy-full praise
Your loving hands

I don’t know where you came from
And we’re far from perfect
But I have never felt so safe
And cared for
And drawn
And at peace
With anyone else

The way you move
From here to there
I don’t know anything
But I’m drawn to you.
And if anyone in the world deserves my trust,
You do.

performance of race

I am sensitive to dynamics of performance via my racial ambiguity, my apparent lack of a performative script for being, and my constant moving around to different neighborhoods and between countries, which made me keenly aware of the different “social codes” each space demanded and how these had to be learned. In a sense, I was always performing as I had no “assumed natural state.” The assumption was always that I was the one who had to learn their social codes since I was the stranger in their town and I didn’t have a script of my own anyway. Yet while an awareness of performance can be exhausting, it also lends to a consciousness of the constructedness of social code, and of how norms can and must be questioned to create liminal spaces[1] of possibility for change.

[1] Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. New York: Cornell University Press, 1969, pg. 94.

“stations” by audre lorde

Audre Lorde – Stations

Some women love
to wait
for life for a ring
in the June light for a touch
of the sun to heal them for another
woman’s voice to make them whole
to untie their hands
put words in their mouths
form to their passages sound
to their screams for some other sleeper
to remember their future their past.

Some women wait for their right
train in the wrong station
in the alleys of morning
for the noon to holler
the night come down.

Some women wait for love
to rise up
the child of their promise
to gather from earth
what they do not plant
to claim pain for labor
to become
the tip of an arrow to aim
at the heart of now
but it never stays.

Some women wait for visions
That do not return
Where they were not welcome
Naked
For invitations to places
They always wanted
To visit
To be repeated.

Some women wait for themselves
Around the next corner
And call the empty spot peace
But the opposite of living
Is only not living
And the stars do not care.

Some women wait for something
To change and nothing
Does change
So they change
Themselves.

a list

  1. home
  2. “Our divine origins”
  3. Syncretic
  4. Dichotomous thinking
  5. Reify – making something abstract more concrete or real
  6. “fallacy of misplaced concretion”
  7. exile
  8. speculative (speculative nature of all thought)
  9. truth in poetry
  10. critiquing “foundationalism”
  11. impossibility of communicating univocally
  12. fallacy of the perfect dictionary
  13. clarity as a means of subjection
  14. naming, nameless – excitable speech

what i mean

“The moment the insider steps out from the inside, she is no longer a mere insider (and vice versa). She necessarily looks in from the outside while also looking out from the inside. Like the outsider, she steps back and records what never occurs to her the insider as being worth or in need of recording. But unlike the outsider, she also resorts to non-explicative, non-totalizing strategies that suspend meaning and resist closure. (This is often viewed by the outsiders as strategies of partial concealment and disclosure aimed at preserving secrets that should only be imparted to initiates.) She refuses to reduce herself to an Other, and her reflections to a mere outsider’s objective reasoning or insider’s subjective feeling. She knows, probably like Zora Neale Hurston the insider anthropologist knew, that she is not an outsider like the foreign outsider. She knows she is different while at the same time being Him. Not quite the Same, not quite the Other, she stands in that undetermined threshold place where she constantly drifts in and out. Undercutting the inside/outside opposition, her intervention is necessarily that of both a deceptive insider and a deceptive outsider. She is this Inappropriate Other/Same who moves about with always at least two/four gestures: that of affirming “I am like you” while persisting in her difference; and that of reminding “I am different” while unsettling every definition of otherness arrived at.”  –trinh t. minh-ha, “when the moon waxes red”