The keys of his ribs, I played like an organ in the old black church.
The way I caressed my tongue across his side where Yahshua bled and pore out, I made it into a service.
His heart was my alter, his stomach was my pool of Bethesda where I plunged for healing.
If I could cause butterflies to flutter beneath the hills of his abs then I knew that my kiss was the everlasting hope of his legacy to exist beyond that stony heart of his.
I could hear Turiya and Ramakrishna blaring in the background on my mind, unbeknownst to him. I was moving to my own sound track.
I could feel his heart racing and his breaths going deeper and deeper to resist the adherence to my passionate energy.
This is how I imagine it would be but I was actually a bit nervous, you see, because while I am completely confident in my ability turn him out, I was more focused on tapping into his history and making love to his ancestry.
More like lubricating his mind and filling in his soul.
Instead of digging for his gold I was trying to grow old with him.
It’s like the heart speaking to the soul.
The harp carrying on a conversation with the piano to convince either of the two that we were meant to create together and yet even in our inability to come to a consensus we were in perfect harmony in sound.
Our melodic energy collided on the two count until we were carried away with the three.
I could hear Ramakrishna yelling to Turiya saying, “Slow down”.
Turiya, whispering back,”Let it happen”. Friction from the sounds of clapping, as the the intensity built up in the atmosphere.
Before I get into it, I just wanted to share this video of J. Cole. I love his insight on family and life as it pertains to fame and riches.
When this dropped in my spirit I was almost freed from the burden of thought that the ‘grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’ It taught me that sometimes cliches can trap us for years until the truth comes and takes hold of the lie and destroys its power over us. Ever thought, whose grass are we talking about? Why are we comparing our grass with someone else grass? What if the person’s yard is under development? What if the grass isn’t greener but there is more fruit on their land? Point is is that we use temporary analogies to sum up the entire story. The wise person says, well what else is in this narrative? All we know is that the grass is green over here. Granted we all need a healthy dose of ‘mind our own business’ at work but when we go as far to compare where we are to where someone else is trying to go, we need to have all of the facts. If not all, we must have enough information to not have just the confidence to make a decision but also to have some knowledge about what is actually on the side that we are comparing it to.
‘Everyone’s grass is brown in the winter’ is a word from the heavens that sparks a fire in my soul. It calls for so much discipline of thought, yet it requires the release of burdening another for the sake of having dominance over someone else’s mind. It’s a humbling statement. It’s a funny statement because when you ride through neighborhoods in the cold winter months, everyone’s yard is absolutely brown! The trees are bare and the dang on bushes look like God consumed them all. No matter how much fertilizer, love and care they put into their yard to get the ‘Yard of the Month’ title, the yards are all brown and bare.
Today, I am experiencing an outpouring of Love and Understanding from the heavens, as I take on this 3 day fast. I can sense a new beginning for me on the horizon and clarity for new direction. I struggled recently with letting go of a few endeavors from the past. Have you ever been really good at something, I mean just great and although you are so wonderfully great at it , it seems as though the Universe is in opposition to what you are pushing to manifest? Well, that’s me and my ambition to be a rapper. I have been writing rhymes since the age of 9. I used to sit and listen to The Hotboys, Nas, Jay Z, just to name a few artist, that I would literally recite, write and memorize their music to develop the same melodic flow that they had. I was determined to be the best female rap artist with hopes of being able to outdo some of the male competition as well. My first time to record in an actual studio setting came while in college at the age of 19. Once I got my first taste of the microphone, I was hooked. I couldn’t go to sleep because I was too excited about the verse I wrote that was about to be layed down on this dope beat that I just heard. I stayed awake all day and night prepping for my next studio session. I had finally reached another level in my faith and it came so unexpectantly and easily, although for years just admiring other artist and their music was enough to satisfy my desire for hip hop.
Recently, I listened to an interview, of Louise Farrakhan with Sway, he stated one of his first loves was playing the violin. His mother had pushed the violin in his hand in order to keep him from out of the streets and give him something positive to set his mind and attention. I loved the story. As he grew and set himself to be a steward for God he put down old dreams and take the charge toward ministry. Later in the interview, he revealed that now in his old age, after many years of devotion to ministry, he was finally coming back to his first love, which was his instrument. I thought that was absolutely beautiful. I truly believe that that love he had for music is what fuels him to reach out to the black community and artist in the industry and become an influence to the stars to clean up their image and keep in mind that their influence on the youth is critical. I felt so connected to him about that. I learned that what we have to release for God, God will bless us to influence. He rose above it. I loved that. I can only imagine that he may hurt because of that at times. The thoughts of what could have been. He could have been a handsome, young, influential jazz musician. Instead, he became a minister for the Nation of Islam.
Think of that. At my age I still have a deep love for HipHop. I thought by now I would have gotten over it. To me it was just a phase. My heart teeter totters between HipHop and Poetry. Either way, my love for words has never left me. I love being able to have a voice. I love the relationship between the artist and the music. It’s more to music than just talking trash on the microphone and killing a beat. When the words connect to the vibration of the beat, then it creates a powerful energy that emits into the earth and waves are produced that have the ability to carry people through one the hardest times, or support them on their journey. I know this may sound too deep for one people who scroll down the music streams. Music is so much more than we think. For the Creator of music, it is a connection.
So now I think sometimes.
Is my love for music relevant as an artist? Should I change the direction of my music?
Who am I committed to? What am I committed to? Is it my connection to God?
I was actually okay at one point in my life. By no means was I a perfect person, but my rational was much healthier. I had friends. I had love. I had hope. I had dreams. I had patience. I mean I had everything needed to be a confident successful woman. I made mistakes like anyone else and I didn’t come down to hard on myself unless I had really gotten hurt and was aware that I could have done something to change it. Most of my pain stemmed from the aftermath of a long term relationship coming to an end. That was something that really had the power to bring my continence down. I suffered death of loved ones but truthfully, I get over family dying pretty quick. The ones who died growing up were pretty old with the exception of two, my grandmother and my second cousin. I have been fortunate enough to not watch a person in my family or circle of friends die a premature death. I was a very energetic, fun loving, excitable person with a huge passion for living my best life. When I think back, majority of my most traumatic experiences came from these relationships. I don’t know why I was so hell bent on being married so early in life and having children. Its one of my biggest regrets in life. I do not regret them and their existence. I regret the way I pushed for it to happen and not thinking that whole thing through and waiting for the right timing and circumstances to take place that would have put us all in a much better position. Right now at this very, moment I feel as though I did us all a huge disservice. I wouldn’t tell that to many people because of course it’s people out there who thrive like parasites on the mistakes of others. I promised myself that this time I wouldn’t put any focus on anyone else and what they think or believe about me and soley focus on recovering myself through writing this book.
Sometimes in life we just need someone in our life that doesn’t mind if we do not dot our eyes or cross our t’s. If there is no-one who can be found then guess who the best candidate is? You. Me. Us. At one point in life I was a dramatically outgoing extrovert. I expressed every thought in raps and poetry, yet my right to a freedom of speech was highly exaggerated, probably since the time I could speak. I talked way too damn much! I am not ashamed to say that. Everything that I expressed was a result of not being able to decipher what was important to say and not. On another note, I grew very agitated with people who chose not to say much. I mean, how could you not want to talk? Talking was like my favorite pass time. Still is. Words were probably one of my most cherished gifts from above. When critics would try and correct me about how to arrange words into proper sentences and force me to pronounce my words correctly, I was almost offended by the fact that I wasn’t allowed the freedom to be wrong about something. I loved the term, ‘Grammar Nazis’. How appropriate!? Anywho, so now I find myself becoming more of an introvert then anything. Not on purpose! By no means. More so because I got tired of trying to express myself to people who showed very little interest in anything I desired to talk about. My conversations were predominantly about God, woes, and other people. I suppose that when I was the chosen topic of conversation, I was blocked out of a lot of those group chats. I will say that as time had gone by, I considered the idea that maybe it was a figment of my imagination, with little evidence to prove it, I made the decision to let go! I couldn’t change people, I couldn’t make anyone read my mind. It was time to start finding out what truly made my mind free, heart go crazy, and my vagina quiver. Yea, vagina. So what was it? It was this. This book. So now you get to be apart of this moment where I discover what makes my vagina quiver.
Well here goes. I was a talkative, friendly, charismatic child growing up. I was really shy but of course no-one knows that because of how daringly courageous that I was. I grew up believing that I would have sex when I was married and marry the man of my dreams and be his princess of a woman with not many cares in the world. Boy, was I wrong! Every year of my life was filled with so much turbulence and shocking event after another. I wasn’t the most attractive little girl either. I had such a big forehead, as I do now but it it was so very disproportionate to my extremely frail body. I was admired for things like my long luxurious hair that grew from that abnormally large head that I had. I could not wait to get older and put on some weight. If I was lucky, God would have a nice fat booty in store for me in the future. I mean, He did say that, “He knew the plans that he had for me, to give me hope and a future.” He said, ‘They were good and not evil”. Surely, the plan could not have been for me to grow up in African American culture and not have somewhat of a rump back there. I used to do the silliest things growing up to try to improvise for what I believed was missing from my physique. From shoe box paper or Kleenex bra stuffing to layers of panties and pants underneath my jeans. Being obsessed with the illusion of having more than what I had. Eventually, I got tired of faking it and embraced that I would just have to be one of the boys for awhile. Think of it? The boys sure were not going to come flocking because of how nice of a booty I had so, clearly I understood that there had to be another way. Determined to be obedient and wait as long as I possibly could, my first real kiss came during a game of ‘hide and go get it’. There was no question that I could not be caught! So you know what I did?? Ran! Hid! Ducked and dodged, bobbed and weaved. I did everything I could to not have to face the fear of what happened when you were caught. It finally happened. In second or third grade during the summer, a neighborhood friend named, Demetrius caught me. I was terrified! What was he going to do to me? He plastered me up against the wall of his parents garage and laid one of the wettest, sloppiest kisses on me! Afterwards, he just walked away. My arms were still raised up against the wall wondering what to do after that. Heck, I just followed his cue and brought my hands down, looking around to see who saw the big kiss. Apparently, it was just a monumentos event in my mind. He knew he made my whole world in that moment despite the look of absolute confusion mixed with disgust and relief.
It would be years after that moment in time, before I had yet another major memory with the opposite sex. Undeniably, the kiss did not make me want to start going around batting my eyes at boys nor was I compelled to join a ‘hide and go get it’ tournament. I realized that I favored the type of bond that formed real friendships with them. If you were searching for me after school, you would often find me playing parking lot dodge ball, at the basketball court shooting around, playing two-hand touch football with the boys or hitting a tennis ball with the tail end of a broken broomstick. I found very little satisfaction in playing dress up, although I loved the idea of barrel curls and red lipstick, I was frequently reminded that I just too young. Everything I did was like dodging red laser beams so that I would not signal my mother’s intuitive alarm.
Love is when the rushing waters emotion are calmed into still waters.
Claire de Lune' 