Writing myself whole, was never about fixing myself . More so, it is about being myself. Nurturing without judgment. Self -acceptance at a deeper level. Not waiting for the world to accept me. In that notion, I now have the courage to accept my past as sacred, like the cocoon of the butterfly.
This is the raw material of the journey, the mere process of being carried by the light. Excuse me, let me rephrase, allowing the light to carry me. Like silk is spun in the darkness.
The light was always around me. The light was always willing. Waking me up in the morning. Glaring down on me in the afternoon. It’s just- I’m more receptive to its beams, allowing its rays to engulf the beauty of my dark circles -of Who and what I am to yet become. As the old gospel blares its horn, “walk in the light, the beautiful light shines all around us by day and by night. ”
Nurturing my own darkness is just as important as nurturing the light. One day I woke up with that epiphany that darkness and light must always walk together. Or we wouldn’t have the one without the other.
I can hear my great-Aunt Yula speaking to me in her low-husky 101 age -old- whisper “now “babie, you can’t go off and have sun without the- Good-lord’s-rain, ain’t no sense in thinking, you gonna grow up with God’s good, not the bad times too babie, so just hush-up now ” Crying on my good china. I could’ve set out the paper plates for all that”
I’d just laugh and whimper a little more….
We need the night, just as much as we need light. In the past I wanted to hide from my problems, separate myself from the issues. And when I couldn’t I’d justify why things couldn’t be more wholesome in my life. Believe me, I had a long iron-clad list.
When I say I’m better now, I’m on the journey of embracing, gaps in my teeth, my brown skin. And that’s just the surface, working on the inner parts of knowing I’m on the verge of the Great Love Spirit, of all life, all good ,all kind, all miraculous and as much as I hate to admit that means all the hell I’ve gone through, and everything in between.
This is Great-love- Spirit- revelation,
in that the pendulum swings hard in both directions.
And through- it- all, light is still there to carry us.
fire was there, to teach me how I burn,
clean and miraculous down to the bone.
and never forget its’ rage,
That same rage taught me
that love is a rage too,
love inch by inch,
down to the bone.
Poetry has become my home and my owning the darkness has shown me the light. ~kindness sister Krissy
There are times, where my mind seems to find – deepest/darkness of memories but that’s not who I am anymore. All that pain, all that misery wrapped around itself, made something,
beautiful out of me…
I’m watching the snowfall, for the first time, in a long time, sitting by myself, in a warm and comfy chair.
I’ve seen my share – where the world has got its’ shame,
where the world bends,
broken wings are changing,
we’re all feathers together,
colors of the same icy winds
gatherings’ of love,
things of little breads
feeding our longing soul
everybody needs a little,
exchanging my pain into hope
exchanging my tears into joy
exchanging my loneliness into feathers that fly in the sky
kindness sister Krissy
I wanna live with all the other poets in the world and declare that our darkness has always been meeting together. I found them outside my home, sitting idly on my front porch.
Congregating, marinating, picking the pink “flesh off the bone.” Between city halls and the Ghetto.
I’ve watched them, roll up their sleeves and get involved in the Opium crisis. I’ve watched them, build suburban bombs and tare down high rises. I’ve watched them load the homeless-dead in Coroner’s van behind Popeye’s Chicken. I’ve watch them hold meetings -something about, the bodies that don’t belong to them. How they needed to criminalized abortion. I’ve watched them transform darkness into sheep’s clothing.
lead a prayer at a Prayer meeting,
start a war to tare the whole church down.
all because that church, would be better serviced as a parking lot.
I’ve become an informant in the darkness, where it sleeps over street lights and battery-operated cars. I’ve watched lovers, dead in the middle of an argument, stop traffic, jump out their brand new Escalade, growl, and rattle against the city’s pavement.
Splashing their darkness like hot glue guns, pressing into the blues, ain’t that like the blues, once it starts there’s no stopping.
Next door to the church on 21 street, there are no street lights, but a sour-somber, song, lingering making its way down onto where I lived,
by then, I had stepped outside, in my neon green bathrobe and declare not on my block, not on my watch, not on my stretch out towers of love where we share our burdens.
there is enough love to cover the darkness, there’s enough love to carry the weight of darkness – hold back the darkness from spilling onto innocent blood, there’s enough fish nets, bamboo traps, to hold it back for a little while longer
but I’m asking for a little more help,
so I declare, I wanna live with all the poets of world…
kindness sis. Krissy