An Imperfect Heritage

Augmented, fragmented, forever protection.
Yelling, stirring, frustration, irritation.
Falling flowers, mimicking features.
Flaring noses, feeding 6 mouths.
Wooden table, a box of wine.
Crooked suspenders, feet tapping to a beat.
She needs more tender love.
Memorizing, forgetting, forgiving.
Brothers, Sisters, Mother, Father.
Forever.

The Hike

Miles and miles are traveled over a lifetime. Miles and miles are never seen. The powdered snow leads a path into the forest, astray from the noise of the city, open to natures arms. The silence holds still and all that is heard is the sound of rustling leaves and footsteps that tread forward with curiosity. I manage to walk with more freedom in my conviction, the air is as fresh as the spring rain caressing the tips of an orange gerber flower opening her smile to reach towards the sun. Here I have come to escape, here I have come to escape the movements of shadows that hustle down common, dirty streets, streetcars passing by with no regard for who they carry. A moment of meditation catches me when I feel exhilarated by the climbs that steps ahead of me. I am tired, my feet are sore but she keeps pushing me to go forward without looking back. I slide over my sunglasses and I am instantly blinded by the sharpness of the suns rays that bounce off the untouched snow. This is not the moment to feel anything, instead it is an opportunity to marvel at all the living nature that feels alive itself. Sometimes I forget to cherish all the beauty that exists without needing to be stroked or raised. The resiliency of this iron solitude shows the wisdom that is held in the branches of each tree, the truth that is open to the sky by each blade of grass. Red, purple, green, white and blue. We may describe our sentiments in colour and in creationism colours really do exist as true. I look up and watch the trees as they sway with mood, the unevenness of the hills that lay ahead and remain uncompromisingly smooth. I find myself drifting in and out of my body, it is not the time to feel tired now. She has welcomed me to walk through her glory and across her chest. She has asked me to remember the eternity of life and its ability to water our minds. I am tired but I feel alive. The sweat that drips down my brow, I feel the shortness of breath that gasps in my throat with me. I take away with me the silence of her call even on the loudest of days.

Mistress of the Kitchen

She feeds me with so much food for thought. Watching her in the kitchen is much like watching a genius painter plan colour palettes for a next masterpiece. Chopping and slicing, stirring and pinching, she manages to somehow make my mouth water at the thought of having her tastes in my filled cheeks. I watch from the couch as she fiddles around and sculpts her creation of the day. Walnuts, mushrooms (because she knows they are my favourite) kale, nutmeg, tomatoes, spinach, olive oil, pumpkin seeds, garlic and glutton-free pasta she reveals in excited banter to me, are just a few of the features that excite the plate that is soon to be marked with the devouring of my spoon. I never thought a white woman would be able to make soul food, but that is what she whips up, it's true! Even after a long day of work she will come through the door, take off her backpack and shoes, not relax for a moment and cook with passion and devotion healthy jewels. I try and tell her how much I enjoy her cooking, however I am not sure how much she really gets how much I really do. Her cooking is my favourite. The palette of flavours are as sophisticated as her in a Banana Republic high-waisted black skirt with white pearl earrings that were once worn by her lovely grandmother. The essence of taste that seeps into your cheeks are as delightful as her laughter when I tickle her at night.

I think her food bares the beauty of her soul in solid form. I smile all way to work when I carry her heartfelt lunch in my bag. Embarrassingly, I get giddy at my desk when I think of what maybe inside. Her recipes have me greedily satisfied. She is more sweet a pepper than I could ever ask for. Only her menu make my tastes bud.

I open the fridge door when she is not there and everything seems stale before being touched by her magical hands. She maybe vegan, yes that means no animal products at all, but the richness of her cooking does not suffer at all.

The Power of Words & Silence

I never thought that the stroke of my luck would come in the sharpness of my words stabbing into others minds. I have been told all my life that I had a gift to gab but more often than not, I never thought anything about it. Words were the pillows of my thoughts, dreams, hopes and the rest of me. I never thought anything of it.

Today I speak, I look at others in the eyes when I allow the harmonies of each consonant and vowel fall from the markers on my mouths anxious release. I keep on speaking, I keep on thinking about what is was that I have to say, what it is that I need to say. I have to clear the weight off my chest and let the others know that I am here to provoke them and myself. I am never shy to talk or perform. The nervous jitters that mark your skin before you go on to the world stage seem to fade when I let go of the fear of what others think. I think. This was not about them, this was about me and my endless journey towards finding the highest creativity.

When I sleep beside her at night I have no words. I sit up and I look at her and I am speechless. I touch her and instead of feeling momentum, I feel still in the care of her tenderness. She teaches me with something new each day without always pressing her words. When I get greedy of her she reminds me to let her be free and grow so that she can return to me willingly. We speak in body language in moments when our desires overcome the rationalism of expression, no matter how verbose and articulate the diction.

She tells me "I desire every touch of your fingers on my pale skin. It fills me. I want to die in your arms." All of a sudden I seem to gain back words with a question in mind: could this be the beginning of a great unconditional love? Marc Antony and Cleopatra, I know how they must have felt. There is nothing discreet when your heart has nothing left to do but sing the gospel of loves tail.

My Latest in Xtra: Single & Secure

Though I am no longer a single lady, when I wrote this piece I was! I am lucky I found my She-ra.

I hope you enjoy (0: Please click here.

Nature vs. Nurture

If everything has an beginning and an end, the only thing infinite is the possibility of a new. For as many times as we repeat ourselves acting volatile, greedy, impetuous or cold, we have had the opportunity to adjust these hereditary behaviours and further our development by breaking formed habits.

I have been having some interesting conversations with people lately about their ideas of how we develop to be the people we are as adults, is it more nurture or nature? The response seems to be split when it comes to opinion, some say nature, others say nurture. For me the options themselves answer the question.

I think that nature and nurture are equally as important to one-another when formulating our personalities and choices. Nature is just that, natural, like survival instincts. Upon the first few months of our development we learn our "first round" of likes and dislikes. Now what I mean by the "first round" is that at this juvenile age we are still not as susceptible to the societal and behavioural pressures that teachers in school, the news, forums of institutionalization and so on will place on us. Moreover, the concept of morality (however much it is an ideal rather than a reality) has only vaguely come into play and this will also influence our psyches when we become more cognitive as children.

Nurture, like nature involves a level of psychology, but instead of being applicable to the public forum, I think nurture relies more heavily on the impact of your home upbringing - more directly relationship with family. They say that we repeat what we see and I think this is a feasible observation but not merely enough to be the only clutch to explain all human actions. While we can repeat what we see, we can also be outraged and discouraged by the way our parents and siblings were with us. Through the process of nurture we have the ability of changing ourselves in adulthood to break the pattern of what we disliked as youth.

As humans we are given education that will both enlighten us to be good people and teach us how to acquire selfishness so that we can gain through the fulfillment of what we think are merit desires. Nature and nurture are in a constant state of conflict with each other but the distribution of there impact is equally as vital in making us who we are.

Damyanti

Take a step back to see forward. Touch me deeply to see the surface of my emotions sink into a well of needed change. I have always been the anchor by her side. I am her protector and she is my idol.

Over the years so many tears were shed for the pain he caused us. She stood strong and kept a roof on the table and food on our plates. She is my saving grace, she is the one I am proud to call my own.

You see I am nothing extraordinary if you see her, she is the all-encompassing womb that realized me to be.

I see her age and her kindness remains forever young. Each day she rises around 8am, she then makes chai and fiddles in the kitchen, then showers, does her hair, puts on her make-up (not much at all, for she doesn’t need much to show the depth of beauty). Then she prays. I know she pray for me, my brother, my sister and I. She is mother.

She worries because she cares about our health, happiness and it hurts her to see us struggle. No woman can touch me more than her; no woman can replace her as the centrepiece of my heart.

Taking a step forward requires me to see how proud I want to make her of me. Love is everything she made of me.

Haiti 2010: Fury's Earthquake

Why does the world function if nobody really cares? This is a question we can all ponder once we realize the implications of death. The world is at a point where Mother Nature seems a bit pissed off by the fact that we have an apt to take for granted what you are given. Human nature, no?

It is time to wake-up. Now is the time for us to open our hands towards the togetherness. Everything that is worth something really hurts when lost. Healing is a necessity for survival and destruction is always unjust without at least the idea of hope. I am telling you brothers, I am telling you sisters...time is the essence/the time is now. Change towards peace and giving a damn.

I believe that we need to be good and kind. Karma is not only an idea it is nature. In life and death, joy and pain we attract energy. An earthquake shakes the whole world. An earthquake has just shaken the world of Haiti. Our world is our responsibility. Catastrophe is devastating and nature seems like it has a roar as loud as our need to build edifices of ego and stature. Nostradamus, dinosaurs. We all perish so life can continually evolve and we can be reminded that the fittest may survive longer but we are are mortal.

Through the concrete we need to dig to save our people. When stone falls on human bodies they are helpless. A woman living on the street trying to find shelter and hide her crying child from the bodies. Our power as humans needs to find us now. God help us help ourselves is what we should pray (or think if you're not religious).

I sat today to watch the news and I saw that the hospitals in Haiti have dead babies that have died before getting care. How does this happen through all the pretty pictures? You do yoga and I meditate cause we all need silence. You can’t ignore the cry of life asking for help. Animals, plants we are distinctive as humans because we have the means to have more advanced care for our world. More than the actual life that sustains us. Simple. Technology is nothing without cultured cause for it.

Hundreds of thousands die today in Haiti. This was the most fatal earthquake in two centuries. Help is a cry.