Viewing entries in
Life

it is time

with forked tongues they speak. with incantations they weave. with testing they manipulate. so many times, in so many ways.

take time to listen fully. fully listen. see and feel what is being said.

how many devices do you own? slow that down. ask the question again.

words have multiple definitions affixed/assigned to them. defining what the intention of the word can be or what it could be used for. change your perspective. your perspective is not theirs. know the definition you choose may not be the one they use. it hinges upon the context in which it is written or spoken. only then is the meaning attributed.

meanings/definitions of the same word contradict.

that is the why + how it is extremely easy to be misunderstood. be swift to listen and slow to speak.

think.
dissect.
ponder.
choose your words wisely.

1111.gif

but regardless of this trickery, this craftiness . . .

like rain, the truth pours down.
like rays, the truth penetrates burrowing deep.
like heat, the truth illuminates.

from the ground to the crown,
re-member.
pick up the pieces.
whole-up.

it is time.

remember

remember

there are reminders that appear—some would say—out of nowhere. however, that is never the case. the universe flows in an undefinable order. the truth floats around us. shifts and moves through every thing we feel and encounter. when you connect with this frequency, all that appears as entertainment ceases to be. there are and there be coded lessons in plain sight.

the message, blatant.
the call, clear.
from the ancestral realm and beyond . . .

“you have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me.”

“remember who you are. remember.”

“the past can hurt, but you can either run from it or learn from it.”

do you hear their call, because

“it is time”

to move as the king, the queen, the divine being you are. born—you were—into this greatness, but distracted by materialism and shiny symbols of fake riches you have become. just because you cease to acknowledge and live in greatness, does not mean greatness isn’t yours and isn’t you. all you ever need do is remember, acknowledge, to become who you were born to be. granted there may be a fight to restore the balance, but mighty are our allies. and in the end we win … we always do.

trust and know, when they see us—on a cellular level—they’re hyper-aware of how powerful a seed brimming with potential you be.

a cycle has reached its end.
the lion sleeps no more.
you are that lion.

you are the one true king.
reclaim. your. place.
reclaim. your. power.

resonate with it . . .

a new day

a new day

could not speak, did not feel the need to. not this time, nor in this instance. words from another echoed similar sentiments housed within. it was beautiful to witness a knowing touching and reaching millions.

with the end of the first quarter, the onset of the beginning of a new year, the springing forth of newness that is 2019, the crumble has begun. moons and suns, universe and nature welcomes and ushers in a new day.

feel it.
see it.
here.
now.

4.11

more

more

in one wise elder’s lifetime, lives have been programmed to fall for each and every trick never seeing them for what they actually are. some have; many have not. perhaps by choice or simply by design.

but in this time, in this space, downloads disrupt abnormal programming. prompted, i share …

you who are birthed naked into this existence carry within all you are and all you will become. it is imprinted on the strands of your dna. imprinted in, on and over your entire being. naked or clothed changes not who you are and what you are.

attention directed elsewhere keeps you from seeing. ‘liking pretty things’ is merely a balm or salve to soothe the bruises, the aches, the emptiness you’ve accepted as reality. these ‘things’ are lauded as if they contain value. programmed you ‘believe’. the more expensive, the more exclusive.

even in acquisition misery remains and sadness lurks in the shadows.

a garment you put on does not assign power, status. never could. it is an illusion. the skin you’re in, your skin expresses your power. proudly on display so all who encounter you, know. exclusive. entrance is not granted to all. so a distraction had to be constructed to facilitate in programming you to hate your greatness. you arrived here adorned in your greatness.

those who see, notice and nothing further need be said or conveyed. there exists no trigger.

be not perplexed. you’ve done this before. you’ve erected towns where economies boomed, where your systems and your families flourished. you’ve created. you’ve developed. you’ve educated. how could individuals who did the ‘work’, not know how to do the work to benefit themselves? your history did not start on a plantation.

remember.
think.
read.

self-sufficient towns with thriving industries and businesses were destroyed because of jealousy. you’ve always known how to thrive. what happened to those towns? who destroyed them? and more importantly, why? and as a result, what was ushered in next?

you were, are, remain the cog in the wheel. nothing functions unless you do … in all aspects of life.
so in a cotton tee and sweatpants, you are more.
in a bespoke suit crafted by hands as skilled as time, you are more.
you, my loves, elevate everything.

this game is littered with trickery. however, as in life whenever we’re tired of playing any game or when the sands of time flow no more, we stop.

remember …
you, my loves, as you are, are more.

a point.

a point.

there

are

levels

to this shit.

that is all.

rebirth of the original

rebirth of the original

january and february of 2019 have been riddled with event after event, almost without pause. aimed specifically at poc. events unpackaged, rolled out, and aired with little time to digest or dissect. just inebriated upon consumption from sheer excess.

yet from last moons of twenty eighteen, the intention was clear as crystal: a major, necessary shift was set to occur; twas on the horizon. so i ask …

how’s your vision?
rocking 2020 yet …
how’s your heart?
vibration elevated …
how’s your knowing?
you be …

now is the time to resuscitate your genetic code.
with real-eyes realize the reel-lies and know that
all is always as it should be.

the pen

Comment

the pen

mightier than the sword and deadlier than bullets. swords and bullets maim, kill but also leave behind traceable imagery (evidence) of actual occurrences. visuals which are harder, much harder to finagle. but with the stroke of a pen, written word penetrates deeper than either sword or bullet, proving to be far more impactful, powerful, infectious and devastating. these ink stained markings leave indelible impressions that manipulate thoughts, shape ideologies, and alter perceptions thus creating or recreating stories fashioned and passed along as historical truths further infecting generation after generation.

with this weapon, history can be and is rewritten, daily. the benefit, two-fold: the targeted are left alive so their energy can be redirected and utilized elsewhere. mind and self perception so altered having succumbed to the rewrites, revisions, reprogramming and what flows out of mouths is that which has been absorbed through this subtle, yet deep penetrating act. spoken words betray. ultimately, the targeted becomes a weapon against his own being … his own existence.

this tool, the ultimate weapon is why books were burned, text altered, reading prohibited. it is why libraries were pillaged, artifacts stolen. content and context rewritten to control and construct, and every area of intelligence coupled with curiosity parsed. with each fictitious offering, history is altered in the minds of millions.

cinematic features share in forwarding this agenda.

most no longer speak the truth about themselves. most use the lens through which given and speak that which has been crafted. automatic recitation of the script begins. but these words, no matter who utters them, do not paint an accurate picture. the ingrained narrative that was never our own is delivered, birthing as it flows an old thing. these words, speeches will be recorded, chronicled, published and preserved.

fiction has become accepted fact. fact has become splendid cinematic fiction. yet despite attempts, these things ring and reek of untruth and despair. the truth lives still.

i can never weary asking and answering … do you know who you be? who you have always been? just because you no longer recall and allow others to rewrite and superimpose another image atop your true self does not negate fact.

if we do not tend to this need, our stories will continued to be crafted by the same faces and pens that have painstakingly rewritten our past, attempt to fashion our present and therefore, dictate our future.

talk to elders; visit with ancestors. listen with true ears, with full intention, whole heart. from these, lift up your pen. wield it. write and chronicle the stories shared, and share them. saturate the minds of your own with these words. publish and present to family encouraging them to read, revisit, recall, remember. to change the language.

realization comes from truth. true power resides in knowing. what do you know? pen is indeed mightier than the sword and deadlier than bullets, so write. publish. teach.

Comment

it ain't new

when are we going to stop falling, face first, for the setup? for the manipulation? stop being bamboozled? hell, hoodwinked? when? when will we see the reel within the real?

shit! most of the time life feels like the last scene of The Matrix, watching as shit unfolds in real time but for the viewer or participant at a much slower rate and you stand there, lacking the desire to continue playing the game and all of its shenanigans any longer. but still you play, merely going through the motions … wondering and mildly questioning your sanity as you continue to. testing the reality as it is presented to you.

we’ve seen this before.
witnessed this before.
the predator and the prey dance.
where the predator is preyed upon by a more cunning predator.

dick gregory was famous for saying, “it’s a game.” and you know what, it is. it has always been. a game that has been televised, publicized … repeatedly.

rinse.
recycle.
repeat.

only the faces of the participants have changed. only the names of the dead are different. surely there are those among us who can see … this.

question: at the top of a new fiscal year, what will your reaction be this time?

through the eyes of a child

through the eyes of a child

when our young cry, cringe and withdraw from things, images or people we often seek to comfort and console. we seek to soothe and ease their anxiety, apprehension or fear—telling them it's alright, everything is fine. we, who have been conditioned, programmed, normalized, no longer see what they so easily can. for there was once a time an inner alarm would reverberate and we'd know, we'd sense as they do. but like a lobster in water that doesn't quite feel at home, we'd sit knowing, yet never fully realizing the fire on which we sit gradually being stoked.

truth? our reactions are no longer normal … natural. they've been altered … over time. our young, however, see what we no longer see, sense what we've become hardened to. the beauty … all can never be lost. like scabs, they fall; original sight and senses restored.

Photo by Atlas Green on Unsplash

just cause

Comment

just cause

most authors write to create; most readers read to escape. for me, the written word is neither a means to create or escape. it is vital. it is important. it is defining. it is life-altering…perspective + perceptive shifting. it is as essential as storing concepts, context, and power of knowing inside these things we've identified as letters and words. inside is a code. a break-through. a get out. inside is a feeling that is centering and freeing. 

i write because it comes to me. some thing great…some thing grand. i write because hidden in the symbols is free-dome—ideals language, written or spoken, cannot touch. a conduit necessary to reach within and uncover the stardust of the secrets to universe that is you.

Comment

foundations

foundations

words, while powerful, are oftentimes misused. where we think we're saying one thing, the truth is we're actually saying something altogether different. this language…this english language is duplicitous, convoluted. one could gander at intent. intentionally intentional.

if you do not know what you're looking for, how can you find it? if you do not know what you're giving utterance to, do you really have any idea of the spell you've cast or the power you've abdicated?

here's a word assigned much power and uttered almost daily—believe. yet nothing is as it seems. hidden in plain sight are two foundational words: 'belie' and 'lie'.

belie [bih-lahy]

  1. to show to be false; contradict: His trembling hands belied his calm voice.

  2. to misrepresent: The newspaper belied the facts.

  3. to act unworthily according to the standards of (a tradition, one's ancestry, one's faith, etc.).

  4. Archaic. to lie about; slander.

lie [lahy] noun

  1. a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood.

  2. something intended or serving to convey a false impression; imposture: His flashy car was a lie that deceived no one.

  3. an inaccurate or false statement; a falsehood.

  4. the charge or accusation of telling a lie:

verb

  1. to speak falsely or utter untruth knowingly, as with intent to deceive.

  2. to express what is false; convey a false impression.

research 've' and the findings further illuminate.

for me, the word 'believe' always tasted wrong. tasted contrary to its definition. much like many other words, ie 'black'. one thing i've come to realize in the last decade is even if you don't, won't or cannot see it, the truth is always there.

at most, the word 'believe' is the step before another . . . a gateway, if you will.

 

definitions courtesy of dictionary.com
Photo by
ara ghafoory on Unsplash

align.

align.

that five letter word casts a powerful spell; presents solutions; is the gateway to all; balances mind, body and spirit (soul). yet to arrive, to get to, you must and will grow through some things. that is inevitable. and the growth can be painful, frustrating, sorrowful, yet rewarding.  

seasons shift, bringing with it the lesson for the time and our souls align naturally . . . soul knows. soul trusts. soul sees. mind and body are reluctant, resistant followers. hesitate and delay they do. they pull (due in part to years of conditioning, programming, normalization, desensitization) to redirect attention away from this work.

this work to align, relentless.
the distractions, endless.
the need to balance, necessary.
this growth, now.

this is the season for major shifts. it is in the breeze, the squawk of geese, the flicker of a squirrel's tail, the blade of grass, the bark of an oak tree, the spark of an idea, the earth beneath feet, the soil between toes and on the rays and in the warmth of the sun. shift to align. guard thoughts. filter access. remove toxins in all forms. detox and reintroduce that which is given from source.

your journey is your own. let no one rob you of that experience . . . most of all, be not your own saboteur. 

333 + 21:21

we build on what is and drop seeds where we stand, wherever we stand.

align.

Photo by Luke Carliff on Unsplash

silence

Comment

silence

in some instances, the most powerful thing an individual can say is nothing. when words fail to sufficiently convey a sentiment or an emotion, silence is one of the purest forms of connection . . . through frequencies, energies and vibes these sentiments, emotions are felt, internalized. there is a time for silence. in those instances, silence is golden.

Photo by Hrayr Movsisyan on Unsplash

Comment

Comment

from the inside

for years we've been dupped. dupped into "believing" that individuals who share the same hue, share the same longings, struggles, visions as the collective. so much so, we root for, champion and unbiasedly throw our support to anyone remotely resembling us. cheering when they excel because we see their victory or accomplishment as our own. well, hue no longer cuts it.

our enemies while many, also look like us and, at times, that truth is far more difficult to swallow, to trust. yet, if you see us in positions to effect change and we continue the status quo or further some other agenda—not our own—recognize the truth.

words can be misleading; words and actions present a more accurate rendering. therefore, be critical, be inquisitive, be aware, and most importantly, no longer support a symbol (person). remember, at the heart of "belief" and "believe" is "lie." and the lies are numerous and deep and are everywhere and in everything.

 

 

Comment

synchronicity

SIGNS-FLOWER-OF-LIFE-UNIVERSE.png

the synchronicity of recent events is truly a thing of beauty. individuals having no knowledge of each other, nor their intention, churn out almost identical materials addressing similar conscious matters and phraseologies that it would be downright crazy or even harrowing if you weren't aware that such a phenomenon is quite normal. however, despite normalcy, this synergistic link is heightened.

the flower of life speaks of a connectedness, yet there exists a shift. a major shift. the whole slipping into focus. the hidden and once lost being revealed and reclaimed . . . 

now.

What About Me . . .

What About Me . . .

... has you so afraid?
Is it because at my simplest,
I still radiate majestic energy.

You come dressed before me suited in armor,
and I, a mere dress
with palms open
as if I wield the power of the sun, moon, sea and land. 

Perhaps I do,
hence your fear. 

Perhaps my untapped potential
is what you so desperately wish to suppress.

Perhaps my voice, my gesture
which resonates with millions is what you wish to silence.

Perhaps it is the potential of millions
who will never bow, bend knee, acquiesce nor recognize you
as superior nor an authority;
regardless of the masquerade,
the illusion has been your own.

Perhaps,
my womb and
my ability to birth gods and creators.

Perhaps, 
You fear my greatness.
It seems you always have . . . 

* * *

If we continue to raise up, wake up and cognize the truth of every situation, realize our worth . . . we should have our own everything. Ruminate on the word 'everything' ... for 'every thing' falls under its umbrella.  

More to be said, but for now, this is enough.

*photo credit: Twitter

Ieshia Evans stands before a brigade of militarized public servants during a Baton Rouge, Louisiana Black Lives Matter protest Saturday, July 9, 2016. Ms. Evans is said to have been arrested and charged with obstructing highway traffic.  Powerful indeed if she alone can stop traffic and not the brigade before her.

what he said

Comment

what he said

“Peace, peace. Thank you, Debra. Thank you, BET. Thank you Nate Parker, Harry (Belafonte), and Debbie Allen for participating in that.

Before we get into it, I just wanna say … you know, I brought my parents out tonight. I just wanna thank them for being here, for teaching me to focus on comprehension over career. That, uh, they make sure I learn what the schools were afraid to teach us. And also to thank my amazing wife for changing my life.

Now, this award … this is not for me. This is for the real organizers all over the country, the activists, the civil rights attorneys, the struggling parents, the families, the teachers, the students that are realizing that a system built to divide and impoverish and destroy us cannot stand if we do. Alright?

It’s kind of basic mathematics. The more we learn about who we are and how we got here, the more we will mobilize. Now this is also in particular for the black women, in particular, who have spent their lifetimes dedicated to nurturing everyone before themselves. We can and will do better for you. Now, what we have been doing is looking at the data and we know that police somehow manage to deescalate, disarm and not kill white people every day. So what’s gonna happen is we are gonna have equal rights and justice in our own country, or we will restructure their function and ours.

Now … I got more, y’all. Yesterday would’ve been young Tamir Rice’s 14th birthday. So I don’t want to hear anymore about how ‘far we’ve come’ when paid public servants can pull a drive-by on a 12 year old playing alone in a park in broad daylight, killing him on television and then going home to make a sandwich. Tell Rekia Boyd how much better it is to live in 2012 than it is to live in 1612 or 1712. Tell that to Eric Garner. Tell that to Sandra Bland. Tell that to Dorian Hunt

Now the thing is though, all of us in here getting money, that alone isn’t gonna stop this. Alright? Now dedicating our lives to getting money just to give it right back for someone’s brand on our body, when we spent centuries praying with brands on our bodies. And now we pray to get paid for brands on our bodies?

There has been no war that we have not fought and died on the front lines of. There has been no job we haven’t done, there’s no tax they haven’t levied against us and we’ve paid all of them. But freedom is somehow always conditional here. “You’re free,” they keep telling us. “But see, she would’ve been alive if she hadn’t acted so … free.”

Now freedom is always coming in the hereafter. But you know what though, the hereafter is a hustle. We want it now. And let’s get a couple things straight, just a little side note ....

The burden of the brutalized is not to comfort the bystander. That’s not our job. Alright? Stop with all that. If you have a critique for the resistance, for our resistance, then you better have an established record of critique of our oppression. If you have no interests, if you have no interests in equal rights for black people then do not make suggestions for those that do. Sit down.

We’ve been floating this country on credit for centuries, yo. And we’re done watching and waiting while this invention called whiteness uses and abuses us, burying black people out of sight and out of mind while extracting our culture, our dollars, our entertainment, like oil ... black gold. Ghettoizing and demeaning our creations then stealing them. Gentrifying our genius and then trying us on like costumes before discarding our bodies like rinds of strange fruit. The thing is though ... the thing is, that just because we’re magic doesn’t mean we’re not real. Thank you.”

Jesse Williams, BET Humanitarian Award Recipient, 2016.

* * *

This was more than a speech. Much more than scrolling words on a prompter. 

This was a passionate affirmation for the individuals whose voices were snuffed, silenced under the guise of this thing called 'serving and protecting while scared for their lives' spoken by one who is tired of the alarmingly blatant disregard for a people that look like him, the societal injustices, and the political posturing used to excuse or explain away such atrocities ... every single time. 

There was so much Jesse said and so much he did not. And therein lies the brilliance and beauty of his words, spoken and alluded. This moment requires more than applause, more than raised fists, more than amens, preach, and lip service. It requires dissection, comprehension, conscious thought and above all, action. 

I wonder .  .  .  . 

Comment

Comment

Prince

It was most certainly an ethereal experience ... for you and definitely those whose lives you touched through and with music. Language, therefore, cannot aptly describe you; you were one of the few who required a sensory connection to be seen.

Prince Nelson Rogers. One of the realest in this temporal realm to do the damn thing, his way ... unapologetically. 

Comment

the obvious

Comment

the obvious

I find it rather telling when you know without knowing, understand without benefiting from firsthand knowledge the machinations of a system decidedly dismissive and silencing of evidential "black" love in all forms of media. That image, no matter how exact in its depiction of our circumstances and experiences (unapologetically black, proud, pleasant, ambitious, conscious) is not consistent with the narrative that must continue to be pumped, fed, looped and perpetuated; one of strife, trifling living and cooning. There exists no need to elaborate when examples are replete on big screens, tv screens and available for immediate viewing consumption on mobile devices. 

love jones , 1997.

love jones, 1997.

When first-time film director, Theodore Witcher of the 1997 respected classic, love jones spoke with Hillary Crosley of "The Root" three years ago Theodore mentioned he "couldn't get another movie," in spite of his desire to have a long list of credits to his name. "There has to be something that you want to do that a studio wants to pay for. I was never able to sync that up. I wanted to do ambitious films with more black people. You don't get to do that."

Telling, no?

A butchered version of the beloved classic recently aired on a "black network," but since the abbreviated film was tucked inside lengthy commercial breaks, the connection was wanting. This, the age of instant access, you'd think finding love jones on iTunes, Amazon Prime, Netflix or any content delivery site for immediate viewing a sure thing, yet you'd be wrong. Search love jones on GooglePlay and your device will side-eye you as if you were somehow mistaken in your request, instead offering movie suggestions with "love" or "jones" in the title.  Results: love actually. "Really? I didn't mean love actually." (Looking for Menace II Society, released 1993? Take your pick of content delivery companies.) 

There is a reason movies like The Butler12 Years a Slave are financed, filmed and distributed then later recognized by the Academy (as if that distinction is the definitive mark of cinematic greatness; an altruistic nod for diversity).

Movies are not designed to entertain. Their purpose is altogether different, singular.

Representations previously deemed offensive are now clutched tightly to bosoms and dubbed authentic works by masterful storytellers. There was a time when this alone would have saddened and vexed me, however, it no longer does. Instead, pen to paper, words appear.

Blaxploitation, slavery along with a host of psychological engines were not abolished . . . they evolved.

Comment

Comment

"What Are You Doing With This?"

There are times, infrequent perhaps, distanced by years, when we feel the lack of support so acutely we wince as the chill of loneness snatches us from the fulcrum of oneness. In a well-worn posture of me against the world, fists tightened in anticipation, lifted and readied to defend against perceived threats we stand. Perhaps a figurative stance for some, but for others literal. Words, powerful and mighty enough to incite wars also yield laceration of souls. 

“What are you doing with this?” rattled the warrior within and it was through those eyes I saw. Those words were spoken by husband when he happened upon me seated at the dining room table years ago with my newly chopped mini afro. The ‘this’ to which hubby was referring, my hair. Relaxer gone, taking shoulder length hang time with it. In its place, a short cotton puff. The very puff I stood in the mirror, hours prior, admiring. Twisting and tipping my head in all directions to get a glimpse from a different angle, loving what I saw and exhaling at the freedom I felt. I did not consult with husband, running the idea by him before I took scissors to my hair. The decision, mine. A choice I, alone, had to make. One for me, not him nor anyone else. Granted hubby had to live with the result of my choice, but it’s just hair, right? (That question alone sparks thoughts for another post.) 

My husband is not the most expressive of men, but when some thing or some one displeases him it is quite evident. Eyes widen, eyebrows lift, mouth sets into a firm, tight lipped line and grunts of the “mhmm” variety can be heard mingled with slight yet discernible nods as if he’s pondering life. If the displeasure is great, the bottom lip pokes out joining the cacophony of grunts and mhmms. This sounds comical now, but it was painful then. Through the eyes of my warrior self, I analyzed his every reaction and concluded husband was displeased with my choice to not only cut my hair, but to wear it in its natural state. But was my reasoning valid?

When I spoke of programming in a previous post, I nor my family were excluded from the masses. We were as much a part of the brainwashing until we weren’t. For the better part of 20+ years my soul screamed to express itself fully in this area of resistance, but listen I did not. Even with the birth of our daughter, I resisted the tug, the urge to cut it off until thoroughly fed-up, tired to the bone with the cyclical process of trying to change this one thing about me with a touch-up every eight weeks, the day arrived. Do not misunderstand, I am not saying relaxers are the devil, but they can be if the reason for use emanates from a place of disliking who you are, your hair texture and what you represent. In making that statement, questions arise. Why were relaxers developed in the first place? Designed to permanently alter what and why would you want to? 

Our desire to assimilate has birthed more harm than good in a uniquely created people. There is absolutely nothing wrong with standing out. We were born to. It is preferred existence. But society twists truths, poking fun at those who are different and nonconformists. Society bullies into blending, bleeding and joining in, all the while taking, raping and stealing from the uniqueness of others and boldly passing it off as its own.

Internally poised in my defensive stance, I failed to realize that husband, too, was dealing with experiencing different, new, rarely seen on women of color, at that time, and not fully accepted or globally understood—a woman wearing her hair naturally. Wait … pause for clarification. For other ethnicities natural is normal, but add the descriptor of African descent, unusual, surprising, unexpected are the words that come to mind. No other race is expected to elucidate the hows and whys of choosing to wear their hair in its natural state. A basic right afforded others has not been normal for us, women of color, to wear our hair as it sprouts from roots with markers that determine texture. 

Yet here’s the beautiful, unfettered truth: the versatility and styling options of my mane—our hair—are endless. No longer do I fear the elements, I embrace them. Sometimes arms flung wide allowing wind, rain, sun and snow to water and nourish me. The feeling powerful. No longer driven to run, hide or protest the elements with fist and a scowl. I stand, realizing I am as much a part of them as they are me. After years of misinformation and miseducation, we have to strip bare, get to the core of who we are, and remember a forgotten truth that exists at our center: we are born perfect.

Hubby wasn’t being unsupportive. My hair looked different and he commented. Were his choice of words offensive? Initially, yes and they stung like hell. Did it take time for him to adjust? Yes, but husband has always stood in support of me, with me, beside me as I do him and together we embrace all that makes us different, yet very much the same. 

I am unique. I am a trendsetter. I am different. The power is I know I am. I celebrate those differences, embrace and love the hell out of them. Applaud them every day. I am unapologetically me. Know that within ‘I am' you are included … always.

* Originally posted on Natural Oasis blog February 2015.

 

Comment