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Not for Breathe Alone August 30, 2007

Posted by journeywomanchi in Uncategorized.
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Visitations of irritation

Resurface as I

Realize that who I am

And what I’m perceived to be

Are not the same.

Without deception of imposed definition,

I reaffirm that this oppression thing is getting old.

 

As long as Scooter Libby

is a hero for taking one for the team

and Imus is still just expressing himself

I know the story is still the same.

No matter how many places I journey

Higher and higher into my power,

These visitations irritate to humble me to remember

Who I work for and

What I’m here for.

And this knowledge of Self –

Blossoming like spring is supposed to,

Glows so others can see

that the story’s still the same.

 

It hasn’t changed since chain gangs

Or when Malcolm was killed.

It hasn’t shifted from the reality

of the mentality that thought it was

right to snuff Emit Till.

Yes,

Some things have shifted in semantic

Rhetoric to delude

The prime time viewer

Who didn’t see Revolution coming

Because it was called by a different name: enterprise, new world,

Independence , democracy, commerce and a host of other pretty sounding capitalistic words

That don’t look like the televised picketing and suicide bombing

of angry black and brown people

No, this revolution (the only one we’ve seen in the past 500 years)

was not televised because

It started before there was even television.

This world order that declared war on existence

Callling up down,

right wrong,

War peace,

And peace – some phrase for the dead,

or for those in escapist meditation in places like Santa Fe

either ways to be ignored

By the consumer nation waiting for the next

Product that seals their fate in indentured

Servitude to the Empire,

Or Corporation.-

While talking heads talk about

The word Nigga and Bitch

to wag the dog eat dog of

entranced zombified citizens

that think their will is free

because they bought it on ebay.

 

This order that disorganized and disrupted all other

Orders by calling them sinful and evil, and convincing them this was true,

Replacing ceremony with lesson plans whose curriculum

Consisted of classes like “Self Inflict Nonsense 101”

And weekly Sunday workshop seminars like

“How to Seek Truth EVERYWHERE But Inside Yourself”

Drums snatched,

lips smacked when speaking mother tongues,

Sons forced to be mother fuckers –

Raping and invading the womb that brought them into

This world just for the overseers’ pleasure.

 

So when inner city homicide rise high or

when domestic violence occurs more frequently than high school graduations

They are rarely measured by the standards

Set on plantations,

Or reservations,

And are left to be judged in the federal court of injustice

With a jury filled with allies co-conspiring

To keep the tried and tested concept of slavery alive,

Except now it’s called prison.

 

So when I scream bloody murder for the assignation of

my ability to dream and understand it’s language,

it’s message.

when I rant to be understood by more than

those others who also rant

when I call, in ceremony,

Chineke!

And the ancestors that have come before and followed the way,

When I declare that I’m nappy headed and loving it!

I enter this vulnerably visible place of being

Recognized by the white house revolutionaries

That enjoy that I’m scared of the word fight

Because they taught me to equate it to violence

And they celebrate that I’m petrified of my struggle

For they helped me to believe that my silence would keep me alive

 

But I live not for breathe alone,

And I learn not for words alone,

I AM and that is my throne.

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Women Like Me August 29, 2007

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Women like me are studied

for published “scientific” research

and termed

over-sexed

over-stuffed,

volatile,

unintellectual by default of gender

yet too melanated to be considered

women

we are…women

…of color.

Women like me

are conditioned to hate

women like me.

Women like me let this hate

penetrate to levels deep

in the camouflaged psychie

so we wear make up, not cover up

processed, not colonized

relaxed.

So relaxed that women like me

have relapsed into a

comatoz amnesia that has women like me

zoned out,

shot up

and glazed over

Depressed because we’re repressing

not accepting that when
women like me

are trapped

none others can be free

Women like me

end up on TV in

new age menstral shows that

showcase our feminity as commodity

and help create new generations

of half women

disinterested in learning how to be

whole.

Women like me forget

we are also women like

Souljourner,

Frida,

Harriet,

Sonia,

Angela,

Nikki,

Assata.

FYI August 28, 2007

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FYI – keep you eyes on the rise

First our oil then our rice…

Feeding infantile minds what they like

With these phony discounts at the “lowest price”

Imagine this!

Oil prizes sky rocketing –

Greedy green slacks keep pocketing

Zombies in thoughtless body traffiking

because we got to go work.

Or just get around

in this enlarged dog pound

Instead of small towns,

We transit suburb to downtown

And back around to this place

of frustrated dissatisfaction

But still not enough to disconnect to action

Cellphones money makers

with a million ways to take us

for a ride to the bank

emptying lent-filled pockets and with not thanks

but

We bend over and just take it

If we were cake, we’d be baking

burnt out, our minds aroused

just coming out of a slumber

finally we heard the thunder

So act, but don’t react

Soldiers just take the pact!

Discuss but with no fuss

Just trust that Spirit got us.

I pass this on as a reminder,

just like the Whales in the Whale Rider

coming to the shores so we can’t ignore

So as the gas prices sore

I ask what are we waiting for?

Journey Woman 8/18/2005

Freedom is Choice August 27, 2007

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Choose your change or your change will choose you. This is the way of the world and the winds that come through it. False choice. Lack of choice. Passive indecisions…this is the only true crime that continues to de-stablise most leftist ideologies and mobilizations. Left of what? West to whom? Living on a ball of our collective ancestry choosing to identify with politics because that’s where the pulse is. True or false, right or left, crime it is. The confused lingo that’s left us lefting and righting what is always wrong…defining “revolution” primarily to fit marketing strategies for commercial gain so choice becomes vague and blurry: easy seduction to fall prey to this true crime. “Time alone, oh time will tell,” but long before days of high lyrical content of Robert Nesta, infested investors of blurring the one thing that is truly free helps enforce the rest of the statement, “you think your in heaven but you’re living in hell.”

Aware of the living dead stories of

slavery,

colonialism,

neo-colonialism,

MacCarthy-ism,

J.Edgar Hoover-ism (i.e. CoIntelPro),

global corporate rule,

war (in Iraq and so many other places past and present),

neo-fascisim (i.e. Patriot Act I and II),

global climate change,

earth shifts,

ancient prophecies

Aware of the warnings for us to change NOW…to choose NOW. To be and live like we know how.

Taking all these into a count, I humbly affirm that it is our collective choice to not utilize life in it’s fullest glory is just that: a choice. For this we continue to suffer. This is the way of the world and the winds that come through it.

Freedom exists no other place than in choice. All other assertions of liberty are false…especially in the severe bondage of intagible conception of capitalism and it’s seeds of captivity that have led to tangible psychological warfare manifesting in the bombardment of nagging sound bites, prisons industrialized, poor health care, no health care, underfunded education programs, etc.

We’re in bad shape.

We choose each day and freely do so to support the things that are assumed to be the poison of our existence. This is the way of the world and the winds that come through it.

Journey Woman 8/27/2007

The Quest: Libations for a Cure August 24, 2007

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You see,

My life is just a question,

Questing for a mission,

Journeying in sacred spaces

asking for permission from

the Creator, the calculator –

the unfractioned denominator

not oppressive, just impressive:

the third eye curator

 

It’s BETA that I stick to topics

That are not in code

storytelling, so your hearing what’s

neither bought or sold

It is the truth that I be sharing,

My questions are a cure

For all who glide like butterflies but

Inside are insecure

 

Just take a moment and listen

to what I have to say

This is a story session –

One of the many ways I pray

I went to an acupuncturist who asked

Me if I’m cold –

he said my body’s pulsating in rhythms awfully bold,

He asked if I had thought of what this rhythm really means –

To accept that I am royalty and start to live like a queen

(and did I mention that this man was really rather small)

He’s a little man, a rabbi type, but his Spirit stood real tall

So this rabbi acupuncturist asked me if I tried

To be more than just the ordinary,

A fairy in a dream,

To look beyond the surface

And decipher what life means

He didn’t give a speech, or preach these words to me,

He only asked in parables so I could truly see

 

If I had ever leaped in air to see that I am LOVE

If ever had I noticed that I’m a reflection from above

If ever I had really cried for the inner child inside

If ever I reflected on the answers from the bumpy rides

If ever, ever, ever I took a pause

To innerstand the rhythm of my questing, fast beating, pulse

 

I cried that day. like I hadn’t done before,

Initiated to myself by this rabbi who’s real small,

But the height of his Spirit, so huge and so tall

Brought me to a liberating water fest for

Libations for a cure…

 Journey Woman 4/27/2007

Declaration of Self August 24, 2007

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I am a warrior woman. I see struggle not just for sight for my eyes alone…I see it. I see it for the collective — however worthy or unworthy, aware or unaware, engaged or dis-engaged this collective is is not for me to judge. I love all beings enough to work for balance for us all. I see it for the changes that started way before this my physical lifetime but will find it’s end in this lifetime. I am guided by dilligent ancestors that are teaching me each day to live fearlessly and communicate clearly…and it is these same ancestors that give me sight.

This connection to the etheral ancestral realm is the difference between me and most others — though I am not alone. I am a continuation of awareness that stems past my ability to calculate time or recall history, and this continuation lives in more than my heart alone but in a community and rising generation of elders-in-training. What we are charged to do with this connection is unique to each individuals genius and the struggles that lead these talents to rise to the surface. I watch for genius and will struggle with all that aim to see and share this sight to an audience of the needy to display our truths unfolding.

For now, in the bytimes of counting and calculating for when to share what is seen and stand in solidarity with others exercising virtuous patience, I see clearly that I am a souljourner. A warrior woman. Oya’s child…the battle within that spills so freely and profusely to this painful life that is drowning in its pool of pain numbed in hidden struggle. I struggle openly and fearlessly for I am not privideged with a vise of medication nor with a crutch to give me false hope — I am a warriror woman whose cushioned fortunes only illuminate struggle.

Journey Woman 8.22.07