tonight

my belly dancing teacher says i'm very focused when i'm working. she said,

"whoa, you're like this magnet behind me, your eyes!" and i'm so honored because it's my second class, on my first class she said, "wow, you're really good, you're picking it all up. we're doing hard moves." but it made perfect sense to me and my body was so happy and my eyes are daggering at the mirror--how could they stop stinging? They were talking to my body, and they could once be as definitive as my body was returning to my primal nature. nd everything takes off and i got to be this tiger. Everything is circles in belly dancing. The hips lifting, then packing down, figure 8s. pushing one part of body this way, other part that way. and my body likes it and knows it. i feel like i'm stamping myself, like i'm fully allowed to be in my body and confirming myself.
what a place it's a place where the women soar, where the women's gifts, our gold, can come pouring out, and it really intimidates men, a good bellydancer, i've seen them in restaurants, and men don't know quite what to do.
yes but it's these calming and intricate, slow and subtle or beating moves that only a woman can do and its incredibly mystifying--these big swipes with our hips. how severe. what a deadly power what a complete power that we women have to have these rounds to our body that can utter such undulations, how we can reach with our suppleness. what a place, a form of dance, where we can retain, retain our power, where though they may watch, they cannot even touch the essence, cannot take us like objects in their voyeristic vandilism. This belly dancing how stinging and raw, and elegant and untouchable. how breathtaking in my body that my arms and legs and belly and back knew (in dim ways) the motions: the places to press, to wave, to dig.

a post in mind

I have a wonderful post in mind, but I find myself nauseated all day and weak. i'm such a baby. but hey, i really can't deal when i get sick, am feeling a little more together. am working on a poem that makes me happy. and i've almost read completely a book, "Why not women?" about the misconceptions and conceptions of women's role in the bible. I am relieved. I'm not mad at Paul anymore. Details next up.

how dare that

Let me just say I am mad. I am writing this poem where I take bits of the bible and piece them together, so I'm breezing through just a couple verses of every chapter, i'm getting this cross-section. I was just reading 1 Cor., the letter from Paul, was finding it interesting Paul's discussion, encouragement of Prophecy along with interpretation, talking in tongues, etc. He says to belike an infant in regard to evil, so innocent in our reaction away from and recognition of evil, ok, ok, I read on, and then he busts out with "women should rermain silent in the churches. They are NOT allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the Law says. If they want to inquire about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it si disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church." and then he drops this discussion and moves on. Great just Great. This is infuriating. Let me be like an infant. This is an evil statement that really hurts me. What a disgraceful thing to say about women. what a confused thing.

This is why I don't think it makes sense to say that every word in here is the pure instructions of God, hello, there are personalities, and views, there is a civilization here. Paul is a person, and his views and ideas are coming out along with God's lets say. Paul is speaking from his times. i can forgive him for his naiiveness. but i couldn't forgive God if this was a direct statement from God, but I don't think it is. Paul is not the direct representation of God, only God is the complete representation of God. So Paul missing target is expected for me. so what do you say out there? What do you make of this, men? my whoamens?
But the big bummer, and the big question now, after he says a thing like that is
How am I to trust Paul now?

The Fifth Cast

My Godma gave me this amazing story she heard on the radio.
A man was fishing with his grown son in a river, and they were trying to bond themselves, and have some praising-God kind of day. But the day went on and they were getting no bites, they were catching no fish, so I imagine it was a somewhat irritating day. Finally the son says "let's go" and the father says, "OK, but let's just throw 5 more casts." So they do, and on the fifth cast they catch a big fish. And the father says this, that This is the God of the Fifth Cast.
Yes, I love this, because this God is all about timing, and He will give you things when he wants, He will make you wait, but He will deliver to you. He will bring you the fifth cast.

If it is glowing

I really like how my Godma put it, how to decipher if something is right or wrong for you, of how to know what is "good" to do for yrself. (I still am reluctant to get so obsessed with this "sin" thing, it is not how I like to view things anyway and it feels icky to me. I'm really not concentrating on these kinds of statements. I think that God does pay attention, but I think that God is smarter than having a simple set of evils for humankind, like I believe he will stir-up a life for you that really is made to teach you and well, i believe He knows your language, so he will give you stuff, people, relationships that you are akin to. I'm not down with people trying to Script for God some set of rules. like Christians who do not touch alcohol, if you don't want to drink anything that would poision you than I suggest giving up coffee also, Coffee if drunk to much will shut down your little adrenals. If you write off one thing, alcohol, than you must write off coffee too). so there.

But I do believe in listening to what God wants you be doing. And to tell what is good or not good for You, I think one can sense by if it is glowing, how you can just sense that somethings glow and somethings don't. More and more I'm sensing that, I'll be in a place, and its just not glowing. Objects literally seem to just sit there, as objects. The first time I went under, the first time on March 13th, when the light poured into me, when the spring came up in me and before I knew it it was all through me, and it was this amazing total condition, well when I opened my eyes at the end of the service, I was stunned because everything was glowing, there was Camille and the Contessa in front of me, and their bodies, their beings just jumped out, were so crisp, lined with this stunning definition. and everything had this light. and when i go under, still, these days, with some sincere and long prayer, and i open my eyes, everything gets that glow on.

with spurs on

All I can say is that something about having Christ means that I have spurs on,
I have spurs on.
I am not coming to town. This is not about my mosey or my words to you, if you put your hands up at my draw. Nope. But if you would look below, you would see that I have spurs on.

Tokens of God

I am inspired by my Godma's nearly finished story she has written, the letter of her coming to Christ as a Jew, as an artist. I am enthralled by her project. I must trace my history with God, here starts the story of how I once followed God's magnificence. Here is blog 1.

I have always been an admirer for the cleverness of God. I used to find God in tokens, and I’d smile at how these tokens were so cleverly handed to me—-
these little presents made especially for me to unwrap and cleave to: a saying, words uttered by a stranger that resonated some truth for me, even favorite numbers, or the surprising familiarity of my Pisces bit in the horoscopes of the Metro paper, or in an elaborate picture with a small spot that encapsulated me, even the winds at times—-the way trees swayed in June when Amma came to town, like God was just saying Hello. God knew how to throw me a rope to tug on, God knew how to inspire me. I was a witness to the beauty of God. I could see God ringing.

Part of the fun I had with God was translating how some small event was a message from God. I took these symbols and I mounted on them. I wondered what mischief God would send me next.

They came like flashes. They were nifty at most, but deep to Miss Me. The metaphors in my Poet head kept rolling and I still have piles of symbols that God scribbled my way. I did my best and collected these moments like charms, I'd wear them like a bracelet and I'd take God with me making all kinds of clangs as I tromped around on my Molly adventures.

I guess my overall sense of God was episodal. God was saying "I see you" in small and lovely ways. But on one hand, it was pretty voyeristic. I'd smile, I'd drift on, or maybe God would drift on. Because that was it: I'd feel a little special, a little seen. God was watching me but not doing anything to really be with me. And I'd collapse as always in hard times.

God was showing up but then saying "Later dude."

And then on the other hand, I had this uncontainable "Oh My God!" to be in the magnificent surroundings of God, like something grand and special was constantly happening, and I got to be the star of this grand opera.

To be Continued. . . .

Just there.

Something about Jesus, fits in an empty room, with nothing on the walls or decor, nothing fancy. it is so simple and there. Jesus in the room with you. there's a window, there's this blank room, and jesus is just there.

I have a basket

I have a basket filled with packages for patients, it's the Sally basket today. Three packages for three different Sally's, including my mom. i love my patients. i am their receptionist, their nurse. i'm going to go to the post box today by six to get them their meds.

My loved ones.

My loved ones are getting hurt.
My mother fell and broke her rib. She didn't call me, only wrote me 4 days later afraid to bother me. I pray for my mama. the FR is in the hospital, not doing well. maybe his diabeties. I pray for the dear man. And his holy book I'm writing. A person in my class is fighting breast cancer, doing her own natural treatments, it may have masticized. She got the news in class and was holding back her tears. she is so strong, like a horse. i know she got more news today. I pray.
i pray for all my loved ones. i love you all so much. I pray for you. I pray for Camille in Cambodia.

The J.ist

I got the J-ist package yesterday. My J-ing sent me a package, and this is just the precursor the birthday present she announced. she is amazing like that. she sent me the Garden STate which we both adore. I'm not sure if she rmembered our conversation about it, how it is really the best movie for people exactly at our stage, at our age, this midtwenty thing. I love how the ending doesn't make sense, how he's bout to go, and he should, and thats the thing to do, but he storms back and then he says he just needs her, he needs her along. how it's a good thing and he can't deny that. it's her.
*sigh* i wish i had that.
I was really taken and touched by my J-ing telling me she reads my blog. I had no idear. I just want to say that I just warshed my sheets.
I can just imagine her bustling, right now. she is so good at this ceaseless working, and she had such a good attitude. I go back and forth from holding that sense, sometimes i just feel faint. she writes of her husband, and the choices she makes, and the importance of importance. it's incredible to imagine how real she is in her life. how true. i say true dat. It is like she is weaving this incredibly dense blanket with her own hands.
here I am all unraveled. I wish I could witness more of her life and testify of her noble things, I wish I could have myself a rum and coke with her. I guess its that I know how good she's doing, and I believe in her and her man but i I wish i could get closer to the batch of unimportant times. indeed.

yeah to Shoes and much more

Yeah to my mama who gave me so many nice tings the last time I saw her. she lavishes me with all these little or old or useful things. like Talcom Powder (per my request to remove some troubled oil spots from my pants) and the leather briefcase, which makes me feel as though all is taken care of as I walk my work around on my hip, yeah for the pink/redish table she gave me, yeah for the gatorade she gave me.
Yeah for the four pairs of shoes I bought and inherited this weekend. Some black strappy-ones, and white tall ones, this Receptionist is steppin. Then yeah to the very tall wooden platforms that the sweet Lesbian couple gave me in berkeley, Greene gave it to me. There is a store under the heel. They make me very tall and allow me for some very serious tromping. Now they are creeking when I walk which is somewhat distracting.
I had a very Berkeley experience on July 4th morning, I ate gourmet granola, I played horseshoes in the backyard, and got pretty good, preffering the bronze horseshoes to the silver. I had the yummiest shower with foot scrubs and other organic conditioners and highlight lifter bottles and then there was scrubby stuff. I played in the backyard which was sweetly sunny in a way that only Berkeley could produce.
I had fresh basil, I ate very little and was full. i dashed away to the city, to the haight to exchange my shoes since they were apparantly too tight as I stood about on them. I got parking within 3 minutes one block from Haight and Ashburry, i had a smoothe little trip right there.

I need some Joy

I need some joy. i'm just feeling it, i'm just going into an anxious space, a depressed space. i went back and forth today, like a battle, but i decided to leave berkeley, and my friend, to come back and work. but this is justified. of course i need to work. yet i'm so lonely right now. i always have the worse 4th of July and being alone working on the book is not helping. how do i stoop myself from turning over into this hard space in myself? well, the coffee and dried mango pieces are helping.