something like beautiful

August 24, 2009 § Leave a comment

something like beautiful- asha bandele.

ok so i never read the prisoner’s wife.  (i know! i know! bad rwoc! bad!)

“what i know now, after all these years trying to climb out of a hole, is that i am part of a long line of women, black women especially, who believe we have nop right to pain, rage, sadness, that to acknowlege them, let alone walk all the way into them, walk all the way into the feelings so we can at last deconstruct them, is weak, weird, wrong, just plain wrong.  but when we banish them, send them out of our consciences and conversations, where do they go, all those, hard, hurt feelings?”

and this for me, this question, is at the core of this book.  in that she creats discovers realizes opens to the pain, seperation, hatred and violence in her life in order to see the something like beautiful in her life as well.  because, i guess, when we refuse to acknowledge and deconstruct the pain, we miss out in the ribbons of beauty in life (even at its worst) too.

like our children.

so when it is late and the dark sky is encompassing and thorogh and nisa is sleeping next to me, i retun to the palce of peace i once knew.  i return iwth all the humility i can conjure up and call my own and then i meditate and then i pray for aspace to be given, for a space to be opened up to allow in the bringers of light, the dream weavers, the suprenovas, the lumnous, the pure, the mighty believers in love, the the earth angels in our midst, those who do not know how to hate or to reject, who do not know cruelty as an option, those who choose laughter and joy and kindness–mostly that, kindness–again and again and again and again.

i ask them to come

in the sweet soft hours i have learned to call on the seers to shore me up, to call on those who have a particular and lear vision and who are all around us and who come through us, even as we have set them aside. its the childlren.  its always been the children.


which is not to say that children know all, or see orunderstand all. but the breadth of the integrity most of them ebody and are willing to share with the world, until we talk or beat or trick or lie or neglect themout of it, the genuine space of love and truth in their hearts that is so readily and easily acessible, and their real curiosity, and their true push to do better, be better–i know that these are the qualities too often missing from the adult world i inhabit.  we would listen to them, our children, and right now we do not.

we listen nearly exclusively to those who have the right title, or the right figure int ehri bank account, sometiems just the right look. but all these things,which admittedly i have coveted in my life–good looks, money, postion–i know now, after everything, i that i an live without them, without the kind of money i once strove for and without the stature i once thought essential and lord knows i can live with not being the prettiest, but i will not survive without what m daughter brigns to me each good morning: love, spiritual excellence, integrity.  and gratitude


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