The woman dear to herself lives in the heart,
alive to the everywhere presence of divinity
The woman dear to herself does not lose herself
in the presence of man,
woman, or child
May 2, 2012
Trying Not To Be Pulled Into Others Version Of Truth
Several years ago my sister told me that I was sinning and putting myself ahead of God by acknowledging my birthday. She stopped celebrating her birthday when she became a Jehovah Witness and so she thought that other people should live their lives the way she believed. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do that. Of course she wouldn’t and couldn’t live her life in a way that was against her conscious.
Online I have met all kinds of people. Once a woman was offended because she didn’t think vaseline should be used by everyone. I had to gently explain to her that I meant me. What threw me was that the post was clearly about what worked for me. In no way did I say or think she or anyone should follow what worked for me.
Then I had someone blame me for what they were feeling because I gave my individual opinion. The person doesn’t know me and obviously never understood my intentions. He or she jumped to their own conclusion and acted as if it had something to do with me.
It’s important that everyone thinks for themselves. It’s okay to come to different conclusions. There’s nothing wrong with having contrasting opinions. We can agree to disagree. That’s the way I think we should be, but of course you may not see things that way.
In the future, starting right now, I am not going to let any adults blame Radicalhope for what they feel or think. Let’s face it; I need all my mental energy to try and keep myself straight.
September 14, 2011
Music and Poetry For Radical’s Kidparts.
My kidparts have always been cool, tough, and strong. They saved me and our mind. Those images of Des’ree side by side and in black and white remind me of my different parts of myself. Thank you girls. I am so proud to be a part of you.
sorrows
By Lucille Clifton
who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be
beautiful who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals
that they would attach themselves
as scars attach and ride the skin
sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls clicking their bony fingers
envying our crackling hair
our spice filled flesh
they have heard me beseeching
as I whispered into my own
cupped hands enough not me again
enough but who can distinguish
one human voice
amid such choruses of desire
Source: Poetry (September 2007).
September 1, 2011
Another Excellent Article From Crunk: On Disappearing.
http://crunkfeministcollective.wordpress.com/2011/09/01/feminist-musings-on-showing-up/
People already think I am inferior to them because I am a large, black, natural haired woman, but this article really made me think of how I hide my selves from other people because they will think I am unintelligent or crazy.
March 7, 2011
Poetry by Mohja Kahf from E-Mails From Scheherazad
“The Woman Dear to Herself” (Azizatu Nafsiha)
The woman dear to herself loves
for another what she loves for herself,
and loves for herself,
neither in conquest nor in surrender
In love she remains whole
She doesn’t chop herself like an onion
She doesn’t peel herself and sweep away the dry peelings
The woman dear to herself, when she has her period
says “I have my period,”
understanding that her powers are not a curse
She knows the geography of her body
and how to give good directions home
to those whom she selects for company
The woman dear to herself gives herself breast exams and running shoes
and eats well and washes her face in the river
and cherishes the beauty in other women as in her self
She wears dignity like a mantle
It swings lightly from her shoulders when she moves
The woman dear to herself, when come the spring rains
-O meeting with the beloved!-
knows where to find the first stalks of green
So that when the rivulets stream and stream
over brown muds, crocuses will open oval buds and hyacinths
will triumph flush and pink tiny flower after tiny flower and
jonquils
everywhere
delight
the woman dear to herself,
she who lives
in the heart
of every man,
woman, and child
1996
Mohja Kahf
February 3, 2011
A WAR OF GIFTS BY ORSON SCOTT CARD
A War Of Gifts: An Ender Story. Orson Scott Card, 2007. Tom Doherty Associates, LLC New York. 126 pages.
Reading has always had a positive and comforting effect over me because the stories of other people’s’ lives help me get some understanding of some of the painful and senseless things that have happened during my life. My abusive parents were obviously deranged and I still feel angry, disgusted, and scared when I think of them, but Card’s story gave me some insight into their violent and destructive minds.
Six year old Zeck’s father Brother Morgan is a physically abusive religious zealot. As the head minister of The Church of Pure Christ, Brother Morgan feels it is his sacred duty as a father to chasten and “purify” his son. So he regularly beats Zeck until he bleeds-all in the name of God.
Brother Morgan’s violence reminds me of my father. As a child it felt as if I were being stalked and hunted by him when he was not giving me a fun horsie back ride. I wanted his love and attention, yet I knew a part of him was evil, full of hate and rage.
Both of my parents actually tried to destroy me and it has always been confusing to remember the the good things about them along with the bad. I am constantly learning (and probably always will be) how to see the world differently from the dark scary place they deliberately convinced me it was.
A War Of Gifts is set somewhere far in the future when the earth is being attacked by the alien ant-like Formics. If you read Ender’s Game, you know what I’m talking about. If not, I know it’s kind of out there but bear with me for a bit.
The U.S. goverment recognized Zeck as having superior intelligence and a innate sense of decency. Man-made modifications to DNA had been put into place to hopefully create someone who could figure out how to stop the Formics and thus save the earth. Anyway, Zeck is removed from his parents’ custody by conscription and sent to the Battle School where he meets Ender Wiggin.
At the Battle School he refuses to participate in war training because of his pacifist religion, and further alienates himself from his schoolmates by reporting their prohibited practice of Santa Claus traditions. No one wants to associate with Zeck and he is all alone. Even the instructors don’t like him.
Wiggin, another extremely bright and insightful child, attempts to help Zeck by making him face what he already knows but is afraid to think about-his father’s inability to control his own rage. Zeck reacts to truth of his mixture of fear of love and love for his father by physically attacking Ender with rage: “It was what Father must have felt, purifying him. The smaller body, helpless, complete subject to his will. It filled a certain kind of man with rage that had to tear into its prey. That had to inflict pain, break the skin, draw blood and tears and screaming from the victim” (112).
As for me, my parents told me they were abusing me because I was born for just that; as if I were some kind of receptacle to empty their negative emotions into.
Blaming the victim has always been a very effective and simple strategy. It is difficult for children to understand because they need parents to be loving and trustworthy. My mother fed and clothed me, sent me to school and sexually abused me.
The truth was Zeck and his mother hid Zeck’s ability to remember everything he read because they were afraid his father would say that his talent came from the devil (13-14). It is probable if Brother Morgan had known about his son’s extraordinary abilities, he would have beat Zeck even more because this father was full of fear.
Zeck felt that his father loved him and he tried to believe and follow his father’s teachings, but he also knew he could not completely trust his father (19). Zeck is confused because what he intellectually knew and what he felt did not match.
I don’t know what all my parents’ issues were. They were probably both sexually abused. I sensed a tremendous amount of misery and hopelessness in them. There was also some mental health and alcohol issues. This book spoke to all of my parts by helping me to understand that what happened had nothing to do with me and like me my parents were human.
In this book Zeck was only eight years old when he began to figure out his father’s lies. Brother Morgan acted like a monster, but was a man.
November 29, 2010
Body Memories?
Ten years ago before I started taking anti-depressant drugs I weighted 110 lbs less that I do now. Yeah, that’s what I said, 110 lbs. I think the weight came from the drugs and from overeating and not exercising due to depression.
A few weeks ago I told my doctor how desperately I wanted to lose weight but that I didn’t think I could do it on my own. I cannot afford Nutrasystem or anything like that, so the doctor said she would help me! She gave me some challenging instructions: Eliminate white sugar, white flour, processed foods and lower my sodium and dairy intake. I looked at her as if she were crazy. What the hell was there left to eat? Well, there are beans, brown rice, pretty much every vegetable and fruit that exists, soymilk, oatmeal, lean meats, whole wheat products, and lots of extra virgin olive oil. I’m sure there is much much more out there, but I’m new at this.
I have started losing weight, but as I am losing weight I keep remembering things about abuse I had forgotten. I’m wondering if memories are stored in my fat. I have read about somatic memory in which trauma energy is stored in different organs of the body and cause pain or illness, so could it also be stored in flesh? I need to do some more research on this subject. If anyone knows anything about this subject please let me know.
By the way, I feel better eating this way. I have more energy, less asthma flareups, and I sleep a little better.
Radicalhope
