KICK, PUSH, SCREAM: a journey to unconditional love
CHAPTER EXCERPTS FROM EACH JOURNEY
CHAPTER 7:
"the function of freedom is to free someone else."
- toni morrison
i had no idea i'd be in portugal, let alone on a journey so rare it would often times leave me breathless. from the miraculous waterfalls & luscious green forests-that i'd be incapable of dreaming up even if i tried-to the outrageously steep hills and beginning stages of viticulture, my perspective bungee jumped repeatedly, landing gently on blessed soil and renewed life. the juicy oranges and plump kiwi fruit i happily plucked from blooming trees along the camino portugues, revitalized my heart, mindfully producing beats parallel to natures' generous bounty. this new version of life i'd purposefully co-created with universe became filled with internal sunshine, unparalleled adventures and brand new wonder. i met & befriended amazing people-mimicking the concealed internal journey i depicted, i received 1-on-1 lessons in gratitude and discipline, i was re-introduced to the child-like joy i'd regrettably lost due to heartbreak and i had the most intense workout of my life. this manifested creation delivered a time in space where i freely welcomed all the unique surprises my body, mind & soul wanted to introduce me to. most of all, i learned to love again; to love unconditionally. i offered my heart as a form of currency, wishing money well-for the time being-on its voyage to entertain other souls.
it was around the end of september, beginning of october 2021 and i'd just finished reading 'the healers' by ayi kwei armah-a novel that transformed my thoughts with regard to healing, finding one's own path and redemption. i fell so deeply in love, i was ill-prepared to release it after happening upon a little book library-where 'rebirth' by kamal ravikant awaited my retrieval-strategically placed on my path to assist me with the message for my next adventure. before leaving brooklyn for d.c.-to ensure no recoil-i cleaned house. for days, i emptied my first-floor brownstone apartment, stacking instruments, furniture, clothing and knickknacks alike on my stoop, allowing fellow new yorkers to take as they pleased. at the time, this was the toughest of my tasks. i'd accumulated a litany of material wealth-including a hand-woven coat i swear my ancestors hand-stitched especially for me-that i knew in the depths of my heart, would follow me everywhere i traveled. to freely part with my possessions brought about a flood of high emotional stress pushing a constant stream of tears beneath smiling eyes. it was my first lesson in releasing to receive-a detachment tactic i am grateful for now-but it wouldn't be the last.
PUSH - the perseverance
CHAPTER 14
"not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced"
- james baldwin
i slept on a freezing cold, filthy cafeteria floor in los angeles and was told to thank my lucky stars for this rare gift. the present-dolled up with a shiny red bow-was rainy weather. without the unusually consistent pitter patter of normally lazy west coast sprinkles, i would've joined the routine guests who-in drier weather-slept in the emergency shelters' front courtyard on bare concrete. this government run "safe space," that receives hefty monetary donations from the government & well-to-do individuals, amongst other goods, offers no bed, no blanket, no sheets & no pillow in return for the hundreds to thousands of dollars they collect for each body they uncomfortably house. unfortunately, there's no love in these spaces either. full hearts-which should be priority when working with underserved persons-are traded in for egotistical power. but, for good measure, although we had to ask permission to sift through it, there was a bin of unwashed, urine stained, musty, used and reused clothes in case we desired cushion, warmth and/or the grand prize of bedbugs. im vividly transported back to this moment due to the second-hand embarrassment i sustained on behalf of my ignorance.
i felt responsible. i was responsible. admittedly, this was the first time on my journey-which now includes 20+ cities & 18+ states-shook in shock, i stood frozen, my eyes quivering from the weight of burdened tears, bulging in frightened amazement. my heart, which broke immediately, beat rapidly from the depths of my soul. i was hurt and heavily bothered, ready to strike first and ask questions later. i felt sick to my stomach from witnessing the harsh treatment and subtle brainwashing folks were being subjected to. the beautiful lady-who'd given me the aforementioned 411 on sleeping outdoors-tried to soothe me through this thunderbolt, but i simply couldn't handle the blatant disrespect and purposeful neglect. so, through fiery tears and hoarse tones, i screamed at the security guards and whomever else could hear. "THIS IS NOT OK!!". "YOU DON'T TREAT HUMANS THIS WAY!!" "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YA'LL!!?" my texas accent-usually hidden from instant recognition-on full blast, daring confrontation. seeking it somehow, hoping to absolve myself of the guilt, of the shame. then, having released some of my fear through this outburst of anger, i strutted to the bin, scooped two-arms full of dirty rags, sifted through them once seated and rested my lids for a few hours, inhaling piss, sweat and the days' worries, including my own. fortunately, i'd placed a call, that very night, to a nearby safe-haven that houses pregnant women & women with children begging for support. they graciously agreed to accept me for a couple nights until i was able to leave for my next trek to phoenix. this harmonious act of kindness, where i was allowed to cook my own meals-an isolated privilege-and help with the weekend food pantry, granted me rest, joyful servitude and the ability to recharge and continue on my purposed path.
SCREAM - the determination
CHAPTER 21
"hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly. hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, life is a barren field frozen with snow."
"hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly. hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, life is a barren field frozen with snow."
- langston hughes
it was the dead of winter and i was living on the train in new york city, hopping from one lonely car to the next-trying desperately to avoid the familiarity of consistent passengers and the blatant arrogance and hostility of the nypd. on the nights when my body was restless, i'd walk the brooklyn and manhattan bridges, throwing away trash left behind by other walkers and recording voice notes on my phone. one night, alone-as i exited the bridge leading to dumbo-i was followed, harassed & set up to be robbed. there was a note on the bridge, however, that told me to "keep moving." i wasn't sure of it's significance, but i took heed. and, as one young man tried to grasp my attention with a fake story of a missing wallet, i answered without missing a beat-opening all three eyes-which forced me to acknowledge the scenario and scream while questioning the other two gentlemen who were swiftly making their way into my orbit. the esoteric protection i received beneath that particular moon helped me outsmart three crooks hoping to run a game i'd been shielded from. on most nights, however, the coast was clear, allowing for the ideas i blew into the receiving end of my recorder to emerge from the nestled spaces in the deepest part of my heart and mind that craved their freedom. unbeknownst to me, the caged bird was ready to sing. i decided to try; to listen and see if the same hunger i'd voiced in prior years was able to propel me from my musical drought. i was different. i'd put the magic glasses on and dove head-first into a purpose-filled life. my experiences had bravely catapulted me into a version of self that suggested all creative pursuits be expressed in a new identity. i was beckoned to begin again. to butterfly; to start with the gift i knew existed-one i'd previously exercised in light-and gracefully test my ability to stretch while existing in the shadow. GOD was asking me to flow and to grow in successive unison as her vessel.
i began to climb the crystal stair, using the splinters and torn up boards as necessary saddle to assist me in bravely trampling over fear into courage. i bore creative twins first. #rawjazz a youtube series of acapella covers and original songs to express my vulnerability started the show, then came the unique visuals for the original pieces highlighting my daily life and exposing personal discoveries. 'be victorious butterfly,' my second born-an expressive blog dedicated to triumph and challenge-arrived with a head full of spice. the words i'd written and erased, typed and deleted over the years, had proudly found their new home. i mindfully dove off a cliff of doubt, parachuting with full force into the admissions office at columbia university, where i applied to the journalism program i've dreamt of attending since half-heartedly submitting my senior year in undergrad. i began to shamelessly expound upon the talents that've stared me in the face since my youthful days of headlining skits & plays in the garage, singing- without regret-to whitney houston movie soundtracks or sitting on the roof-knees to chest-communing with the esoteric world that sweetly engulfed me. my third baby-a new level of divine feminine energy, self-love and confidence-flew out of me like a loaded cannonball into enemy territory. the tarot readings & psychic downloads i post to my youtube channel have guided me. i've unearthed and honed the blessed gifts passed to me from ancestors before into vibrant interpretations of life after death.
