Pardon the er, Ratchetivity.

Because. Life. Happens.

And for certainly, I would know.

I’d rather watch ant documentaries and chipmunk videos any day.

Waffle cone sundae on the side.

[insert some super awesome gif right here]

Currently in the process of….cleaning up my life 🙂

Like the old days of cleaning our rooms

Just doing some mind cleaning.

so don’t mind me 😉

 

 

 

 

 

Love in All the Little Things

Ever step on a crunchy leaf on the sidewalk just for the melodious sound of the crunch? Ever tried blowing kisses to the moon? Do you walk down the street brandishing a delicately picked flower like it was a magic wand? Because I do. All the time.

I don’t think. I just do. I walk and hum these days. Just a little tune, nothing too fancy and def not your Top 40. I sing songs of love to the universe so my vibration can be felt, sensed.

Life is a complete and profound testament to love ya know. Just look. Everything is a love song. What on this earth is not fueled by love? If we look deep enough, it is all love really. Love is the universal force that pulls matter together. It’s that great energy that creates something out of nothing. It’s the place where we come from and the place we will go when we leave. It’s in us and lives through us. Love is love is love is love. All the types of love. All the ways of love.

You are here because of love. I am here because of love. No matter how you slice it. Everything has a relationship with love. Sadly sometimes things come about inversely because of love or the lack thereof. If there is a restlessness or a problem area in your life, I dare you to sprinkle a little love on it. Love is the balm of all balms. And when we learn to love with God’s love, when we learn the language of universal love for all beings, then we will know the true happiness that is to be found. As if it were ever lost is what you will say. Because when you seek and find love you will see that love was always here winking and peeping at you in the flowers, from the sky, from friendly hugs, in hands that touch, eyes that behold, and hearts that feel.

Can you feel the love?

Retiring the Internet: How I Plan to Swerve my Internet Addiction

Yep, I said it. And I mean it, somehow.

I am giving up my dependency on the internet. Maybe not permanently but def temporarily for right now.

Life feels too swirly as of late. Life in the fast lane is already fast enough without the addiction of the internet. Which is clearly just a rabbit hole waiting to suck our attention and deplete us of energy. I am convinced. Basically because I hate being too dependent on anything. Too much of anything is a bad thing, not to mention what happens when we abuse it.

I abuse technology, the main target being the internet. I just hop on it whenever I please, for however long I like, doing God knows whatever it is that I happen to like at the time. And oh boy, there are so many dungeons and dark holes to fall into on the internet. I was living in a new, big, beautiful city but was not exploring any of it because I would never leave the comfort of my laptop screen. Busying myself with the claim that I was looking up places to meet people or trying to find ways to connect with people, I rarely ventured outside. Thirst trap if there ever was one.

My Master Plan:

  1. Destroy the mf’n wifi. You read that right. I plan to disable it when I am not using it. If it weren’t for marriage, it would be in the right bottom kitchen drawer collecting dust. But I can’t torture the man like that.
  2. Plan my internet use. Do I have an absolute, definite purpose for using the internet today? No. Good, no need to log on. Yes, I do need to use the web today? For what? I plan to write down my needs for internet the night before logging on the next day. No plan, no internet. (Planning to look at cat memes or ratchet youtube videos is allowed, just not too much.)
  3. Use the Internet outside the home. For some reason, devouring countless hours of internet use at home is much easier to do in lieu of going to the library and having whatshisface from the bus stop stare at you over his computer monitor. Nothing like a nice noisy mouth breather to hurry your work along 🙂 To that end, I will be forced to make monthly trips to the place I call my second home…the library.

 

Welp, here’s to the swerving. Hope you will continue to read my journey.

 

Breaking Up with Self-Hate

I loathe. I hate. I despise. I regret. I resent…..Myself.

I used to think that hating myself was what kept me humble but the more I live, the more I realize how muddy this water has become. I’ve managed to poison myself from the inside out, letting hate fester.

Self-hate feels like the blackest cloud or the darkest storm. Just like some storms, I enjoy the sound of the pounding rain. Sometimes I relish the steady stream of fresh tears that drip from my chin. Sometimes I enjoy this deep pit of despair I am in. It has become home for me. A place of familiarity that I can always return to.

The downside is that the more I come home and the longer I stay, the harder it gets for me to leave. Like an addiction, I feel myself craving it. I begin creating situations unconsciously that bring me back to it, swearing that I would never come back again. Yet I find myself here over and over again. Self-hate has become my friend.

Today I want to break up with my friend. I never want to see home again. Because this home is no longer my home. This place does not hold my heart. And that friend is really a foe bringing nothing but ill and woe. Today I break up with the past, with old habits and familiar routine. Today was the last time I ever go home again.

 

The Balm

Others all around me, passing by me, all seem to have it.
I ask to borrow it, most are willing to lend.
Just when I thought I have it, it slips through my fingers like water

No two days are the same.
I am never the same person

Tears won’t help;
Fighting does no good
It is always there like a sleeping giant.
Any little noise or trouble sets it off

Drained and annoyed
I resent the world for my being here
No purpose, no point.
This is pure misery. Why me?

But there is a balm.
Like the one in gilead.
It works like a charm

Never Washing My Face Again — NOPE

Why Did I Chose to Experiment with Facial Products?

Cause I had mad pimples and like many of you, I started googling and self researching remedies for irritated skin and pimples. Of course I came across the usual advice: Use newer, more expensive must-have facial cleanser, astringent, toner, and creams. My mom even convinced me to visit a doctor who prescribed a topical cream to be applied twice daily.

Issues with the Solutions Presented:

(1) I was budget sensitive

(2) I hated the idea of adding more product to my already long and time consuming daily regime

(3) a;sldfjasdlkfjsdlfkdfljk —Frustration because NOTHING seem to be working and I was spending mad money, yo!

What Did I Decide to Do?

I decided that I would take matters into my own hands, quite literally. I handmade my own solutions (cause Clinique is too fancy and shawty got bills to pay). I started by combining honey and sugar as a rub and used lemon juice with it twice a week. I also decided that for a while, I would simply do nothing to my skin but let it breathe. Thinking of my skin as an organ, I figured that it had been pretty overworked as of late trying to adjust to the different products I had been using.

Results?

ARGGHHHH— PIMPLE OUTBREAK HYSTERIA!

Here is where I do not lie to you as readers. Some may refer to my “do-nothing” method as the “caveman” regime. No water, no soap, no handmade solution, no nothing to your skin. I tried this for a week and my skin rebelled. Breakouts happened all over the place. I had pimples the size of walnuts in places that one cannot dare hide (i.e, dead between my eyes. I mean, come on, people have no choice but to look at this point)

Sticking with it

Despite the crazy rebellious backlash, I held my ground, refusing to put anything on my face. About 3 weeks, in I noticed something short of a miracle — my skin cleared up. My mom noticed it before I did. Not only did my pimples disappear but my skin was much softer and appeared to be glowing. Thank Mary and Joseph! YES!

Caveat

Even though I refused to put anything on my face for a week and a half, the remaining 3 weeks I resorted to simply splashing water on my face every morning, lightly massaging the skin, and rubbing it with my fingers. Once a week I would add my homemade product of 1 parts honey, 1/2 part brown sugar, to my regime using it as a facial scrub. After scrubbing and massaging lightly with the honey sugar rub, I would lightly pat my face with lemon juice, let it dry, and then wash it off with water. THIS. WORKED. WONDERS.

* I hereby swear by it*

Ditching all of my previous facial cleaners and creams, I felt like singing the old negro spiritual, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I’m free at last.”

BUT…..WAIT. We got too excited…..

The issue with makeup. This topic here is enough for a separate blog post in itself but I will say here that I was able to go without using skin care products to clean my skin because I was already in the habit of not using enhancing products on my face like makeup. I believe that if you put products like makeup on your face, it is most natural that you would have to put more products on your face to get it off. That’s just the nature of the game. And if you’re one of those conspiracy theory types, totally unlike myself, you would then be lead to believe that the beauty industry is intrinsically designed this way. Beauty product makers and skin care product advocates influence each other and help keep each other afloat.

Overall Takeaywas

*I am happy to have been brave enough to experiment.

*Shout outs to my husband who is secure in himself enough to not be repulsed by a wife who’s face resembles a nestle Crunch bar.

*And kudos to myself for sticking with this. I got a much needed confident boost after not dying with embarrassment or being overly self-aware of my facial maladies.

*Self-realization came about—  knowing that I am the only person in this world who can make me feel ugly.

The Essence Within

Closing my eyes, I am wrapped in velvet darkness that caresses me. The darkness transforms into the light of peace, calming the storms of my mind. Racing questions, instantaneous thoughts, self deprecating feelings all wash away here in this space. Like my secret retreat. Silent tears sleigh down the hill of my cheeks as I relish in this peace and calm, closing the doors of senses, letting the world fall away. I am grateful for this space. I sit asking the Infinite for strength to continue in my mortal form with its finite intelligence. I ask him to let the peace of this place remain with me when my eyes open. I dread opening my eyes and rising from my meditation pillow before realizing that this feeling in itself is a form of Maya. So I sit a bit longer, praying fervently for me to believe in true stillness and peace of mind. I pray for greater faith in the unseen— Peace. For me, I know not of peace. Not of what it looks like, what it feels like, or how it sounds. It takes much faith for me to believe that sitting here is okay, that this moment is supposed to be okay. That each moment is perfect and peaceful as it is.
No matter how difficult it is at times, I find comfort in meditating. My most favorite places to meditate are in the shower or in the woods while it is raining — because no one can distinguish the rain from the tears falling from my face. I cry often. Gut wrenching sobs that cripple my back forcing me to my knees. I have always cried when I pray, even from a young child. I cry out of sincerity. Out of sheer will for a greater, deeper faith for that which I am praying.
Most of my mediations, I am asking for strength and fortitude to continue with life. Pleading with God to arm with me his blessings of peace and fortitude for nothing else in this world is worth having. I beg Him to equip me with whatever it is that I need to complete this mission called life. I remind Him that I am suffering in this human form and need his help. Stretching my hands to the sky on my knees with tears streaming down my cheeks, I remind God how hard the suffering is. I bare my flesh to him, exposing deep ebony skin. I cry to him, saying “Master, Infinite Creator, please remember me. Remember that I am in this black girl form. This black skin is drenched in suffering, in past pains, past hurts. Though I know I have a mission here on earth in this body to complete, please be with me. The cross of this black skin is heavy. walk with it I must. Times come when I want nothing more than to meditate on you and practice your teachings when this brown skin fails to believe. This brown skin and the pulsing blood in my veins carry with it the sorrows of a thousand slaves. This brown skin knows little of peace and trust. Lord, you know I have the faith to believe in you even though I lack the faith to believe in myself. Lord, God, please give me the love of all loves — the love of myself. For if I am able to love myself, I am able to express that love to others, as it is your will Lord.”
I pray this prayer and have been praying this prayer for as long as I can remember. Not exactly in those words. I find it difficult to meditate deeply or to enjoy life as fully as I can because my mind always seems to get the better of me. Growing up Black, I was always told, “You have to work ten times as hard as everyone else just to get half of what they get”. This philosophy became the backdrop for my life, filling it with fear and anxiety. I overworked myself to the point of exhaustion and then would get depressed when I physically couldn’t go on because to me, if I was not working like a slave, I was worthless. At work I would arrive early and leave late, working overtime even when I wasn’t paid for it. I didn’t mention any of the injustices that happened to me because I was taught that suffering injustices is the norm for my life as a black girl and that to speak up for myself would attract attention, and attention was bad because I should just feel grateful they even allowed me to be there in the first place. I was inadvertently taught to expect and accept a life as a second class citizen both in this country and in my thinking. Was I groomed and primed to hate myself?
I continued through life always trying to prove myself and denying the luxury of knowing peace. I got to a place in life where I questioned the point of any of it. I asked God why did he make me? I felt ugly, worn, and insane. I wanted to know why God was so unmerciful to people with dark skin. We were brought out of slavery only to have physical chains be replaced with mental ones. In my thinking, I was sure that physical chains could not hold a match to mental chains, for who has the key to free a man in mental chains? Oh, how I felt conned again. I felt once more like a loser as if the pains of suffering would go on forever.
After a very dark episode of depression that landed me into a mental hospital for a week and after quitting my job, I began to get heavily involved in meditation. It was through this meditation that my pain and suffering made sense. I learned about reincarnations and the purpose of this physical body. I began to believe that I was not my body nor my mind but I was an essence that was temporarily residing in the current earthly form. It gives me solace for when times are hard. For those times that the color of my skin causes me to doubt and hate myself, I remember that I am not this black skin, I am the essence within. And if God selected this particular earthly form of black skin with all of its pains and suffering for me to reside in during my mission on earth, He must have also known that my essence is already well equipped.