Category Archives: Old Soul

In the Quiet/In The Closet/In The Space: On Thoughts of Self, Success & Androgyny

“If you are silent about your pain, they will kill you and say you enjoyed it” – Zora Neal Hurston

I don’t really remember the moment that I knew I was queer. I just know that I knew. I had a crush on Josh* and Helen* and I liked them both equally. I wanted to be close to both of them always, hold them always, play “Duck Duck Goose” during recess and all the other cute things that children desire to do with crushes. I remember being asked if I had a crush on Josh* and never being asked if I had a crush on Helen*. Queerness in whatever form it came in seemed to be something that was silently made fun of and only okay if you did it on the terms of straight people, if you adopted their ways, if you picked a side of either masculine or feminine presentation. I remember those silent and unspoken rules vividly.

I’ve always dressed weirdly. Kudos to those who find true expression. I love the feel of clothing, just as I love the feel of removing it. Clothing is expression to me. I’ve always loved the idea of androgyny and the reality scared me. I’m not shaped like a boy and most of the views of androgynous people that I see are with those who have a very “boy-like” shape. But my androgyny exists outside of those boundaries. I love experimenting with what my breasts do in mens clothes, and just how I can both accentuate and disguise my hips and ass in various wears. MY androgyny is based in inclusion and experimentation. Just how many new ways can I find to fuck up the binary?

The other day, I sat with a family member who asked me, “Why can’t you be Queer quietly? Why do you have to broadcast it?” In the moment, I rationalized the sting and said something rehearsed, but I also thought to myself about why I do “broadcast” my Queer, my Polyamory, my Self. Well, because that’s who I am. It is just as much a part of me as is my sex, my skin complexion, my eye color. Who I love, how I love is important because love is what makes the foundation for a world worth living in. Frankly, I’m out, because I can be. I love myself enough to be all of me, whether that’s privately or publicly.

With the invention of internet and apps, we have much less privacy now than we did 10 years ago. What’s your personal threshold? How often do you broadcast your life and what do you choose to keep to self? It’s a constant wondering for myself. I don’t like to put out all my business but I do choose to display some of it. Is there a right and wrong in that? Does it matter?

I’ve always been a creator. I would create clothing/crafts/songs/poems/plays/ etc. as a child and it all seemed to carry over into adulthood. I occupy space in this world as an actor/dancer/singer/director/designer/singer/songwriter/advocate/activist/writer/etc. I am the slash in a world where the slash is confusing. But isn’t that the fun of the all? How do we manage? How do we fall? How do we choose to fly? Confession: I have not gone a single audition in months. I have no desire to. There’s nothing that grabs my heart and truly makes me want to be a part of it. I am not just an actor. I’m an artist. I want to create space where there is no space. I remember being in school and being taught how to manage and maneuver auditions because it would be “so much of life as an artist” and I wanted to vomit. If Nina Simone had spent all her time auditioning, would she have written Mississippi Goddamn? Maybe, maybe not. Let me make this clear, I am not judging those who choose to audition frequently. I’m simply stating that for me, it’s not the way.

Currently, I’ve done a lot. I released an album, finished a play, started on two projects, got asked to do a few more with some wonderfully talented artists and am simply living, teaching and learning. I’m content with the world and growth that I see from my life. I can see a pattern, a place, a space to occupy. As a millennial, I feel that I have to make the space. I not only don’t want to, I am not willing to endorse the system that doesn’t work. If it’s broken, don’t hop on it and try to ride. I’m not here to apologize, to be nice, to participate in so far as abiding by rules that are clearly messed up. Be bold in seeking your truth. Be brash. Be loud. Make mistakes. Make corrections. Find new ways to love both yourself and others. I’m here to re-frame, to burst through, to hold space, make space and take space.

To all my wonderful fellow beings,

I see you. I support you. I live you.

Love Always,

Damali Speaks Xx

 

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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

Flash Forward Friday: Passage Five

Cora sat beside her mother in wordless bliss as they drove home to their house. Words became a welcome additive to their world of deep communication and love. After a long time of centering and remembering what it felt like to be immersed in a world of love and acceptance, Andrena looked across at her daughter, who it seemed had grown even more into a strong and beautiful woman that she always knew would be there.

 “How are you, my love?” Air hung between them as the streetlights glowed in a steady motion from darkness to light. The car wheels hummed along the road and the whole world seemed committed to a space held in familial love. “I’m well, mom. I’m really and truly well. I feel like I’m ready for this new adventure. How are you?” Cora looked over at her mother and for the first time, she realized that her mother hadn’t at all aged. Her face and physique were just as clear and crystal and they always had been for as long as she could remember. “I’m well. So tell me about these dreams you seem to be having.” Cora looked over at her mother in complete shock. “How did you know?” “I’m your mother, I know everything.” Cora had two options, she could choose not to tell her mother, or she could choose to engage in the spiritual moment that she knew would be exhausting on so many different levels.

As they pulled up to the house, Andrena looked over at her daughter and smiled. “You can tell me later if you want. You could use some rest.” Cora tiredly picked up her bags and walked into the house. The house they shared was one of the oldest on the block, dating back to the early 1900s and was separated into two apartments, one downstairs and one upstairs. Cora had the upstairs apartment, while Andrena lived on the first. “I went food shopping, so you’ve got some food up there. I saged some too, so the space is ready for you.” Cora mumbled a thank you and walked for what seemed like ages up the stairs and inside.

She opened the door and everything was just as she’d left it. As a teenager, she had decided that the apartment was her “Chakra Apartment” with each room representing a different chakra energy center. As she opened the door, she was greeted with a deep blue that reminded her to use her voice daily. To the left was the creative room where she did most of her painting, writing and music production for the Root Chakra and grounding. Walking through the house, various colors met her eyes and she soaked in the healing energy and remembrance that they came with. With each room, her pupils changed as though downloading information from the very walls. By the time Cora reached her bedroom that glowed with a light purple for wisdom, she had put down all bags, removed all clothes and stood naked before her bed. It didn’t even seem likely that in her body as she was now, she could fold back the covers and crawl into bed, but she did. Sleep enveloped her like a friend that she had missed for so long.

As soon as her eyes closed, Cora saw a great hall, never-ending and blurring. As she ran through the hall the years passed overhead, to her sides and even below her feet. “It’s a timeline”, she realized. No years marked the hall, only memories. She saw her face flash by continually through years and years of clothing changes, industry, enslavement, ancient times, and more. As much as she wanted to stop and discover each time, something was pulling her onward. Cora continued to run down the hall of time to the very beginning as a hole seemed to open in the wall and a wave of blue light emerged, sucking her inward and upward.

Cora “awoke” to the grass beneath her feet and the sounds of a village in front of her. She saw women and children, teens and young adults. Some were singing, training, cooking, making art and weapons, etc. As she looked around, one small girl stood out to her. The girl looked so much like she had at that age. Her skin was a beautiful bronzed cocoa much like her own and her hair was frizzy and beautiful with afro puffs on each side of her head. She had on animal skin clothing and cowry shells around her neck. Her eyes were big and bright and glowing bright purple. She seemed to be concentrating on something outside of herself and as the world went on around the two of them, she wondered if the girl was a part of her imagination.

Cora bent down and tried to see what the girl must have been seeing, but she saw nothing. In her head, she thought,” Well this is helpful. Where am I supposed to be going?”. The young girl lifted a finger and pointed to a small hut on the outside of the perimeter embraced by trees. “There?” The girl said nothing, but continued to point. As Cora moved toward the hut, the girl disappeared as though she had never even been there. “Okay.” Cora said. She took a deep breath and slowly walked up to the hut. It seemed so close and yet the walk there seemed to take ages. She took notice of how tall the trees were and how green everything seemed. She could feel the heat of the sun and yet it felt glorious instead of hot and sweat producing.  She reached the hut and as she put her hand on the door make of oak bark, she felt a great change in the air around her.

 

Flash Forward Friday: Passage One

Cora sat sequestered in bed, the air conditioner whirring to her left while sunlight streamed in gorgeous and full view right in front of her face. Her pillows protected her back as she sat with her legs crossed attempting to meditate. “What is my life?” She wondered. All yesterday she had been lazy, watching episodes of The Flash on Netflix and while it had been a much needed relaxation period, it was also a distraction. A distraction from working, from creating, from responsibility. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s go back.

Cora Strong stood, watching the waves roll back and forth. Here she was on Venice beach and felt the cool night air as her toes sank in the sand. This was her last night in Los Angeles and she wasn’t exactly sad to be venturing away. The time here had been difficult as all new beginnings are, but there was something in addition. The move wasn’t opportune. It didn’t fit her and she decided to leave and go back home to the east coast where her family and support system could hold her up as she decided for herself the direction in which she wished her life to flow. “I’m going to miss you.” she said aloud to the ocean and it rolled gently to her feet in a light caress of a response. “You will find us wherever you land” the ocean responded. The tears rolled lightly down her face and she breathed in the ocean air. She lived for moments like this. Moments where she didn’t have to speak or think and could simply exist in the world if only for a short time. Cora didn’t quite know why she cried and she didn’t care to dig through the wave of emotion to categorize and give the reason a name. After the tears dried, she cleared her face with ocean water, turned and walked back to the car, where her friend expected her.

“How was your time alone?” Brenda questioned. Brenda was Cora’s friend, sister and business partner all rolled into one. They met during Cora’s time here in LA and already their duration of time together had been fraught with challenges even while they knew so little about each other. “Time being a social construct aside, it was much needed. Thank you for letting me have that.” Cora responded. Brenda laughed in response. “Had to add that social construct in there didn’t you?” Cora said nothing and Brenda started up the car. “Last night here. Tomorrow morning you get on your way home.” Brenda was engaging in small talk, which Cora despised. She said nothing, unwilling to give energy to a moment that didn’t matter. “Why so serious?” Brenda pushed lightly. “Nothing. I hate small talk. I’m sorry. That was a snap. What are we doing tonight?” Cora finally turned her head and gazed at Brenda.

In the mix of street lamps and headlights, Brenda’s skin almost glowed. She always looked like a fairy; something not belonging to this earth and in so many ways Cora fell in love with the spirit that shown threw every time their eyes met. “What do you want to do? You wanted to go to the water. What’s next is up to you.” Cora loved when Brenda cultivated riddles. It made her mind race and sometimes, most times that was all she really craved, to figure out the puzzle of life. “Let’s go to the house. It would be great to experiment.” Brenda glanced over at Cora. “ Okay. To the house it is. Any particular idea of what you’re making? Do we need to stop at Pavilions or Trader Joe’s on the way?” She could almost see the wheels in Brenda’s mind working on what turn to make where to get to either place. “Nah. We have everything we need.”

Cora was one of those cooks that wasn’t really a “cook” in the traditional sense of the word. She didn’t use measurements and recipe’s in the way that most people did. She just sensed what it was that she wanted to make and voila. It was made and it was usually amazing. She cooked to dig. Whenever she cooked, her mind would work in such a way that allowed her the time and space to sort things out and to truly be at peace. She cooked, or “experimented” as she called it, to cultivate the energy she needed. So here she was, baking a cake. The kind of cake, she didn’t know, she just continued on. She could feel Brenda as she slowly moved threw the hallway to stand right at the kitchen door. “Hey”. Brenda said to announce her presence. “You know you didn’t have to announce yourself.” Cora kept stirring the big bowl of flour, eggs, and a host of other ingredients as she talked, her back to the doorway. “Yea. I know. I just…” Brenda let the thought trail off. “What’s wrong?” Cora continued to stir. “I’m gonna miss this. You and me. Us.” Cora stopped stirring for about 10 seconds and gestured to the cake tin. “Oil that for me will ya?” She continued to stir. “Sure. Just what are you putting in this cake that it needs to be stirred so thoroughly?” Cora continued to stir with a gentle laugh. “Just love. Lots of love. Also, if you wouldn’t mind turning on the oven, that’d be great.”

Brenda moved swiftly to turn on the oven and oil the cake tin like Cora had suggested and then wash her hands in the sink next to where Cora was standing. She kept trying to get a good look at Cora’s face and Cora kept dodging and averting her gaze. “Why won’t you look at me?” She finally asked out of aggravation. “All you had to do was ask. The cakes’ ready to bake anyway” Cora stopped stirring, poured the batter into the cake tin and moved around Brenda to put it in the oven. After closing the oven door, she stood and looked at Brenda directly in the eyes. “Your eyes…” Brenda started to speak and stopped.

Cora’s pupils were glowing a light purple.

Loved in the Light: Meditations on Retreat, Building & the Importance of Sisterhood

Hey Speakerz! THIS WEEK! This week has been incredible, with the highlights of  an even more wonderful weekend and retreat. When I was a little girl, I recall that my mother would go on retreats with her best friends, her sisters. What they would do on this retreat, I have no idea, but they would always come back with shining souls and tired bodies and I couldn’t wait to be old enough to go on my own retreat weekend. This weekend, I returned to a place of home, New England, specifically Rhode Island with my friends and sisters and together we explored retreat, soulwork, racism, solidarity, ancestral remembrance, self and sisterhood.

I’ve been on a self-love adventure for a while now, and with each year that passes, I find myself more and more in tune with the world and all it’s never-ending levels. I’ve always known that my ancestors walk with me. My whole life I’ve felt them talk with me, walk with me, love me, hold me up and sometimes hold me back. One of the reasons why I love art so much is because I feel that I can use it to express those feelings in safety and adventurous exploration.

With the world that we human beings live in, there are so many stressors. The stress that capitalism and greed bring to the world. The hidden truths of the past in the metropolis’ that sprang from the great hurt of oppression and continued active genocide. The stress of growing up and old, etc. However, with all these stressors, it is truly possible to simply tune out of the stress frequency and in to the soul’s truth. Mayhap that’s the reason for the origins of long-standing practices of hermitage, medicine people, active sports, etc. Caring for the body, brain and soul is a mission in this world. I’ve always been interested in the nature, the land, the growth, the act of tuning in and getting the healing. This week, I found myself deep in preparation and solitude. Deep introspection ruled my days and I didn’t know why but I knew that it was so very necessary. This is where my sisters come in.

I have some amazing sisters. No, they’re not biological and yet that makes them no less of my family. Our souls have lived, searched and flown together for millenia and as we continue in this life, it is as though we fall into a routine all our own. All queer women with passion for education and work in the arts, they constantly challenge me to be better and to truly embrace all of myself. How often in the world is there such a strong connection between multiple individuals? We are a force. A sisterhood that endures despite space and time. Spending 2 whole days together meant strength in elevation. We actively challenge each other to love more openly, to speak strongly, to move with more intention and to trust the process. It is so incredibly important to have a team to build with and to establish balance. Just how do we push ourselves to be our best selves?

Healing comes in so many ways. For me, heading back to a place that I experienced profound hurt and joy in, helped me to realize that returning somewhere doesn’t make me any less of the person that I am today. Healing is immeasurable. I can’t really measure how much I’ve healed in a year, but I do know that I’m different and that I know much more of myself today than ever before, except maybe in my childhood. I know that I mentioned it on this blog a while ago, but I did a performance piece last year around 3 enslaved African women. Phyllis, Rose and Fanny. They’re buried in Providence, Rhode Island and going back gave me a chance to visit them once more. I felt so incredibly connected to their spirits, despite the fact that they died 200 years before I was even born.  I laid on their grave in the greenest of grass and as I did, the sun shone on me brighter than ever and I felt warmed with love. They led me to find my own people. My own origins. They held my back as I cried and experienced such pain for the land stolen and the pain that is still palpable today. Ancestors have a hold on us. They guide us and teach us. I truly believe that there is no such thing as coincidence.

I’ve always felt as a sexual violence survivor, that I wasn’t the first in my family. There had to be a narrative of sexual violence, just as there is a narrative of patriarchy and male violence throughout history, thereby giving us the name “his story”. I was right. The strongest of themes from this weekend was love. I have been told repeatedly that I need to be “Loved in the Light”. Myself, along with the women in my family and ancestral bloodlines have been so accepting of being loved in the dark. We take love in the various forms but how often to we demand the level of love that we give, back? We deserve to be loved in the light. We deserve no excuses and action with truth and acceptance. I don’t know that I’m so comfortable talking about all I experienced this weekend with my sisters. Maybe it’s just supposed to stay between us. What I can say is that I’m calling for an Elder to help me discover and understand more of my Native American Ancestry. I’m excited to delve into documentation and artwork that calls upon all the energy I possess and to step into my light as a healer descended from power-filled healers. For the first time in a long time, I am excited for my life. I let the tears fall as they may and the love wrap around me as a warming blanket of comfort and I move on.

 

Love Always,

 

Damali Speaks Xx

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

 

Hello, Goodbye, Is it a Forever Thing?: Meditations on Human Existence & Saying Farewell

Hey Speakerz! So this week, I was surrounded indirectly with a lot of death. I personally am not as much scared of death as intrigued by it. When I scrolled through the news, there was so much of what seemed to be death and despair, but what I was most drawn to was the fact of human frailty. Today’s topic is on the human existence, death and rebirth.

From the time human beings are born, we’re forced to say both hello and goodbye to so many things in our lives. We say hello to our immediate family members when we’re born and then goodbye when they pass on. We say hello to our friends and as we grow and change, sometimes we leave them behind and move forward and new people come into our lives and stay or go. Every day, we wake up and say hello to a new day and the new possibilities that it brings in its wake. You’d think that we would’ve perfected the art of death and rebirth already. But maybe the question is, how does humanity embrace death and rebirth instead of perfecting it?

We live in a world that strives for perfection, yet human beings are undeniably flawed and that’s what’s so beautiful about us. We make mistakes. We breathe, we reason, we find meaning in each season. Yes, I know, I rhymed purposefully. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with striving for the best that there is. That’s realistic. It leads me to question how it is that we set goals and then set out to achieve them. How is being intentional with all that you do important in creating balance?

I always set “impossible goals” for myself. This summers’ impossible goal is a short film and believe it or not, it’s actually unfolding, mostly through sheer will and determination. My point is that what seems to be an “impossible goal” can actually be very possible. It’s the challenge that matters. The striving toward and not the completion of a job perfectly done. Why is it that we strive toward the end result? It isn’t just the “hello” and “goodbye” that matter as much as the life in between.

With the end of friendships and relationships, come lessons. When people walk out of my life, it’s generally through no ones’ fault, but just that it’s time to move on. It’s the journey that matters more than anything. When I watch a film, I don’t want to watch just the begging and the end, I want to see the arch. 

I went to Barnes & Nobles the other day and saw so many books on getting through missing a person. I thought it was strange and so I set about the dig for what it all meant. Then, I sat down to speak with a friend and they talked about how hard it is to end things or to let someone go. Does it all come back to self worth? Do I have to love myself enough to choose me every time? How much growth is in each goodbye? Literal death forces us to let go and begin a grieving process, but what about the walk away? How do we handle each goodbye no matter how or when with grace and acceptance?

I never did resonate with “Goodbye” but instead leaned toward “Farewell”, the idea that though our journey together ends here, I hope that on your journey as it continues, you fare well with home in yourself, completeness, and a self worthy of all that you are. 

Farewell until next time,

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

I Awake, I Escape, I Cultivate, I Expose: Meditations on Soulwork 

Hey Speakerz! Happy Monday! As my first day off in a long time, I’ve committed to writing this from the joyous comfort of my bed. Today’s topic is one of spirit and yes I may get very third eye open, next level plane spoken. I owe the title of this post to a theater exercise introduced to me by my tribe of the moment. If you’re reading this, yes I mean you. The Topic of the day is Soulwork and how we engage with our spiritual experience in our hueman bodies.

Lightworker

I remember being a child and feeling the confusion of ancient and youthful. I was always finding ways to communicate with a deeper sense of self. I would suck on crystals, spend all day digging in the earth, play with birds, and splash in water while at the same time find moments of extreme stillness and quiet and at other times become a regular 5 year old who wanted to run and play after her older brothers. Always a contradiction, no one really knew what to do with me. I’ve learned in my growth that when human beings are confused, we seek out ways to make sense of what doesn’t make sense. We box things. We label. We “under” stand. Why not let something just be what it is in all its contradictory confusion? Is there a way to “under”, “inner”, and “over” stand and then simply just embrace the moment for what it is?

Angel in a Blue Dress

What is it to be different? What is it to not “belong” and instead of shy away from that, embrace it? In this, I’ve found “soulwork”. Soulwork for me is the act of balance in working on mind, body and spirit. All of these culminate in the creation of a soul. I’ve talked before about my theories on soul and while I do believe that soul can’t be boxed and just is, I also believe that there are ways to truly know, love and explore what my own personal soul is. I will be exploring from now until the day my soul leaves this plane of existence and goes beyond, so why not embrace the ride. I always notice that when I’m moving with my soul and flowing with life, just how blessed and engaged I am and when I move against, just how congested and sickly my life becomes. So maybe the question is, how do we let flow?

Self love routines and creation with exploration can all lead to a healthy amount of soulwork. But what really is “Soulwork”? How can we listen to Mother Earth? How do we cultivate true and real love within ourselves before engaging in anything else? What is the work that must be done to truly see both light and dark, whole and fragmented, deep and shallow in our own existence?

Light in Dark places

Most recently, I sat with someone that I consider a soul-mate and anchor. They talked about how they’d seen things, their passion and their hopes and within them, I saw my own soul staring back at me. I wanted to listen to them talk forever. I got home that night and cried, because I know my own soul. This knowing allowed me to recognize and love the separation and collision of atoms that brought us to that moment. That’s connection. That is soul work. Doing the work that is required of your own soul. I’ve written about this before, but when I say “soul-mate”, I mean that there are people in my life that I consider mates of my soul. They are maybe people that my soul has lived with before in other lives or maybe just on the same vibrational frequency. Whatever it is, there is something so familiar about them and we always exist in peace and learning together for however long we have.

Food of life

Most recently, I had an eye-opening conversation with a part of my heart. I work a lot with a belief in chakras, alignment, blockages, etc. Having a steady aura and energy is very important to me. I work with crystals, I have a balanced diet, I do lots of yoga and am focusing on how to turn my love for theater, music and teaching into a business. It takes a lot of work and time and yes some money, but everything is unfolding as it’s supposed to. I realize that I walk through the world with my third eye and crown chakras first and foremost. The way that I engage begins from the top and works downward. With all of the barrage of information and advertisements, most people in America in particular, operate with huge blockages. We are such a sexually explicit and yet repressed society and so many people think with those parts of themselves first and foremost and yet lose sight of the magic of what energy can really do. How do we cleanse so that we awake? What exactly is it to be woke? Is it balance?

How then, do we find the balance of awake, escape, cultivate and expose?

Love Always,

Damali Speaks Xx

 

Self Love: The Importance of Romancing the Soul & Old Ways

Hey Speakerz! This topic came about one late sober night as I sat by myself, romancing my soul and I thought it would be cool to elaborate on with y’all! Today’s topic is on romance, and the emergence of “old” ways and how they can play a part in self care and self love.

When I was little my mom would always say that I should learn how to play by myself. Let’s just say I learned the lesson too well and now I’m a lot bit introverted. I appreciate the outside world and its inhabitants, I just love my own solitary space so very much that I have a hard time giving it up on odd days and maybe even too. The more I speak to elders in my life, the more they talk about how important it is to have a “self care routine”. This routine is all about getting deep into your own soul and while it is in fact work, it can also be a soothing, cleansing release from the everyday conditioning of the world.

I’ve always been sensual. Aware of all the senses and wanting to use and explore each one. This lead to being a serious romantic. For a while, it was a secret. I hid it under lock and key. It seemed that in the world I lived in being romantic and or sensual needed a monogamous relationship and without that, there was no place for my sensuality. I don’t mean to say that sensuality and romance are inherently mutually inclusive. They can be, but don’t have to be.

I’ve learned in the years of adulthood, just how to be romantic with myself. Usually, when I get home after a long day, I light some sage and incense followed by candles and of course string lights. After the ambiance is set, I pull out jazz music because my soul loves jazz in the best of ways. Most nights,  I’ll make my own tea from herbs that I pick up here and there with almond milk and agave and just sit and revel in what I’ve created. (If anyone wants a recipe for teas, hollar at me!) It may seem like a little old lady and I don’t mind. It gives my soul completion. So what do you do? What’s your self care routine? Does self care come instinctively?

I always used to ask myself the question that if I don’t want to romance and fall in love with myself, why or how would I be able to do the same for someone else. While I love being able to romance other people that I have in my life, I always appreciate being able to do it for myself first and foremost. Onto the emergence of old ways. I know that myself and a lot of friends tend to make fun of each other for being “old”. Most of my friends have old souls and I like to think that it’s because vibration attracts vibration. In a society that values youth so very heavily, how does that make for being able to embrace the sensual solitary act of curling up with a book or coffee or even just staring out the window at the sky? Does it at the core have anything at all to do with age? Maybe we put too much on it. I have aunts and uncles who are older and although married, still value their alone time, their “self care routines”.

In romantic routine, is there something to be said for the old? I’m a bit of a purist. Although a staunch minimalist, I have an old cassette player and cassettes, vinyl, old clothes of my grandmothers and mothers, etc. I appreciate the old things that seem to carry so much history with them. It seems that in America, societally there’s an obsession with certain time periods and although I love what those time periods have to teach me, I’m not drawn to them for the purposes of re-living. I’m drawn for the purposes of remembrance and self exploration. I love jazz from the 40s because it pulls on my heart in a certain way, but I also love jazz from 2016. How do we establish balance between the old and the new?

Self care doesn’t have to involve romance. Your self care is your self care. What’s important is that you do take care of yourself. Develop your routine. Romance yourself before anyone else.

Love Always,

Damali Speaks Xx