Category Archives: Ocean

Meditations for Loneliness & Other Ills That Can’t Be Cured with Simplicity

I don’t like sleeping with (fucking) straight men.
I have never liked sleeping with (fucking) straight men.
But I pretended to, because that’s what was “right”.

I’m attracted to them in so far as they intrigue me, much like a flower grown out of concrete.
I like to watch them when they don’t know I’m looking.

I see the planes and plateau’s of their voices.

I see the way they hold patriarchy and misogyny as loaded guns to be fired.

I see how they smile with pearls of white and eyes of black and how it can make my knees weak.

I see how they grow and change with muscle and dream.

I see the stunted way that emotions are squashed further and further down to Alice’s rabbit hole.

I cannot see a future with them, being who I am right now.
Who am I?
I am sexually female.
I have a vagina and a working uterus, breasts and hips, a round ass and I secrete estrogen and testosterone at certain parts of the month, sometimes year.
I enjoy wearing tight dresses and loose jeans stolen from my brothers’ closets.

I’m attracted to people alongside and without the binary.

I love differently. 

But…I don’t feel like a “woman” because gender seems rigid even though I know that it’s wide and open, still something I could never quite starve myself into. Womxn…all inclusive.

Let me make this clear. I am not transgender.

I am balanced and I still need to explore what that means for myself.

Being called “Queen” used to make me feel good and now I hear it and want to vomit. I am not royalty. I am spirit.

It feels like a cage I don’t want to be stuck in. I want fluidity.

I hunger for satiating sex. It’s been so long, too long, forever. Bare in mind that I said satiating, not just sex. That, I had…last month. I wonder when, why and how but honestly, right now I just want to let go. With kisses deep and limbs entangled touching every part of me. I hunger for depth and someone that I won’t later regret. I guess that’s love. Is it? Maybe it’s just sex. I’m horny as fuck, pardon the pun and I do love sex. So good. Like real and deep and no matter how cool I am, a moment doesn’t lie and heat is telling. Good sex helps me focus like masturbation but lasts longer before I need another hit. I’m twitching.

I love touch. It’s essential and overrated at the same damn time. Where did I get those expectations? Explanations? I explained them like I expected them to be who they were not. Still, I tried didn’t I? Do I get points for that? Oh, this isn’t weight watchers. Yet, here I sit on this late night train with tired thoughts and mourning brain wondering when my body will be good enough. Strong enough. Thin enough. Thick enough. Held enough.

I guess the perfect feminine forgot about me, or maybe I refused to tag along. I got bored of always being too much of “something” and not enough “no-thing”. Now I’m rambling. I suppose that black, womxn and feminine couldn’t co-exist outside a lovely box so I made something up. Made believed it fit. The truth is that what you find sexy about me is the exploitative. Or the balance. You like my truth. But my masculine sneaks through when you least expect it and unleashes countless amounts of venom. This small book can’t possibly contain all my truths. I’d need more ink. But since this train is still going, I might as well too.

I’m having an existential crisis at 25.  My soul feels more like 2500. Years. Old. What am I doing here? I was told once that I have books in my eyes. That someone could fall deep into them and never want to come out. I laughed at the reality with diamonds in my throat. My soul is too old to comprehend Cubic Zirconia. Some times, all the time, fake isn’t better. Last night, I spent hours on the beach engaged in my books, my oldness, my youth, my wombanness in that my sex is female and I can create life from a womb and I stood with water tasting my toes on a warm and well lit night. I thought “Wow, this shit is wild and so am I. Who the fuck will get me? Does it matter? Am I one that gets got?”.

I continued to miss intimacy, not sex because I figured out that post my achieved orgasm, I want to try to be held. Something different than my usual vanish and disconnect. That gone girl happens when I sleep with (fuck) straight men and don’t come for various rules of patriarchy require my orgasm be to his own liking. With anyone else, it’s different. Without “straight” as an elephant in the room, I want close, I want to try. Maybe that’s maturity, growth or just loneliness. Maybe it’s some or all. I’ve been interested in the pattern of breath lately. The rise and fall.

How alive am I?

 

Love Always,

Damali Speaks Xx

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For Sea & Sky. For Time Flies By: On the different ways of finding connection and the importance of grounding

Hey Speakerz! Yet another Monday brings with it another post and another look into topics and life lessons. Today’s topic came about mostly because of the 1991 film, Daughters of the Dust written, produced and directed by Julie Dash as well as so many other experiences. So often this week, I found myself questioning the reality in connection, a moment in time. I also found myself breathing into nature and realizing just how important earth and sea are to my very existence.

Just how many ways are there to connect with other human beings? I found myself asking this question so often and this week received SO many answers. I find that in this society where “connection” is often equated to sex in advertising and everyday life, I’m bored. I want more. So I find myself deep in conversations or just eye gazing, creating new work of art and lots of touch with consent and while this may seem strange, it says just as much but requires a different sensitivity. How often do we actually take the time to truly see another human being? I don’t mean just the beautiful parts, I mean the whole person, warts and all.

Connecting on a deeper level is more than just superficial wonderings and ideals. I often think that people fall deeply in love with the idea of a person and not the actual person. We are so bombarded with ideals of who people are, and so often, I watch people place expectations on others that are of those ideals and then are sorely hurt when that person doesn’t live up to what they wanted them to desperately be. But why did we need to make ideals in the first place? Why weren’t we allowed to see everyone as they are from the beginning? Where did these expecations come from in the first place and why were they seemingly necessary?

How is it possible to not second guess? When you’ve found a deep connection, how can we move aside our ego and simply be so present and not over-think and fill the future moments with wonderings of self and season? How much does self love play a part in staying present? Have you ever stared deeply into someone’s eyes and seen their deepest soul in all of its wholeness and somehow there you also see yourself? As scary as it is, it’s invigorating and incredibly awakening. I’ve always loved looking in someones’ eyes, eye gazing as it’s called, but recently I had an experience that left me unsettled in many ways. It left me deconstructing my own sense of self and maybe that’s selfish but maybe it’s also the self love journey in itself.

I’ve always had this deep fear of dark blue water. Strange, considering that I learned to swim at a very early age and would’ve lived in pools and ocean water if my mother had let me, but nonetheless true. I’ve always had this reality or inner knowing that there would come a day when I would walk into the ocean and never walk out. In the film “Daughters of the Dust” by Julie Dash, the setting is the early 1900s on the South Carolina gullah coast of Igbo’s Landing, the site of a time in history when, enslaved Igbo people arrived to that very island and rather than be enslaved, they turned and walked chained into the ocean in mass suicide. I don’t know if maybe that’s me remembering a past life or just an inner knowing of my own, but that story has always lived in my body.

This week, I spent a good amount of time in the ocean. I live about a 20 minute walk from the beach, and the water has always been home to me. But also, parks and greenery. I feel the difference in my sense of self when I surround myself with the world of nature. Although I can appreciate the beauty in social interactions, how often is it that I need the balance of personage and nature dwelling, solitude and aloneness? Most recently, I’ve been called to collect crystals and stones. They all require some sort of charging to cleanse and then incorporate my own personal vibration. Some I’ve cleansed in the ocean with me, some I’ve put lavender oil on and cleansed in the grass to soak up some sun. All of it, goes back to grounding and restoration of that sense of self that I so treasure.

To treasure, sweetness, and more realization,

 

Damali Speaks Xx

 

Ownership In Selfhood – Poetry by Damali Rose Xion

No one will ever really get you dear one.You live up to your word

You switch and change with 

The weather

And yet it is still your truth

You are

Impossible to get all of

Except with your own

Permission

Stop seeking to be accepted

Love that you are this mystery ocean bottom

Talk less

Open more to your

Own mysteries.

-Damali Rose Xion