Not your urgency.

September 8, 2019

The Lordt is continually working with me on this one. I back slide in my knowing from time to time.⁠

It’s like this though:⁠
Folk who don’t have, honor, or maintain their own boundaries have no capacity to respect yours. ⁠
They haven’t built that inner muscle.⁠

If we are not mindful, that lack of boundaries spills into interactions- tries to become a force, banging up against your sanity, integrity, relationship…. all the things.⁠

These days when I observe that someone is leaking out and unconsciously or consciously offering me a handful of mess. ⁠

I bare witness and acknowledge what is actually going on without making anyone good, bad, worse, or better. I root down into my feet. I inhale/exhale with awareness at my heart. ⁠I quietly say to myself. “I see you…and all of that.⁠ I see you. and none of that leakage is mine or will become mine.”⁠

Or sometimes I simply say real loud-⁠

I told y’all The Lordt is working with me on this one.😂⁠


Who were you?

September 1, 2019

Who were you before the world told you who to be?

Before studio owner. Yoga teacher. Mama. School teacher. Home owner. Wife. Graduate. Road Tripper. Traveler. Devoted daughter and sister.

Before any of that, Writer was the word I whispered in my dreams. “Make me a writer, God and Fairy people” was the first wish I tossed pennies in fountains for. I hoped it would come true.

I was four and completely in love with reading when I realized the words on a page, those small curved black bodied things were scribbled together and created by someone.

When I realized that humans could make books, I wanted to be a human who did that.

I grew up hungry, dusty, and trailer house poor.

The adults in my world knew more about surviving than I did.

They told me “you caint eat them words, baby.” “Stories ain’t fed no body we know.” “Get your education and get you a good job with surance.”

Does everything have to make us “bread?” When your Ancestors and mama nem have survived off less than crumbs, the answer is yes for generations.

That “yes” owned me. us.

so I jumped into that wishing fountain and took all of my pennies back. Pushed writer into a safe corner within me where she wouldn’t be touched by a world that would ravish her, including my own mind.

All these years later and feeding my self so many things that ain’t never left me full. I remember.

The gift of yoga nidra- the “peel back”, the laying bare, the undressing.

The remembering what I feel like underneath all of the shit that I show and people see. My practice has been shyly touching the hidden skein in my heart. unraveling a holy thread of memory and truth.

The four year old girl who loved words more than jumping rope, now & laters, bubble yum, and them cabbage patch kids; she’s wide awake. I remember her.

And so this summer I created a space, an altar- in memory. And in honor of who I am. I created a space for me to come to. To unlearn.

To become.

And there’s no pressure.

I don’t need writing to yield “surance” as my granny would say. It’s about more than “bread”. It’s salvation and soul food.

I simply need to assure my inner four year old that she is worth the effort and offering.

I release expectations of what I must do with this gift, what it must do for me, and what that name means.


I Practice, imperfection. In the words of Outkast, “Now that’s liberation.”

I choose to show up to my altar with devotion each day. I choose to sit there and listen until I hear that pig tailed Black girl brave enough to be half starving and still spending pennies on making a wish- I wait to hear her laugh and say “you returned, you came back for me-

you remembered.”

self love

August 19, 2019

Some times, the Inner Wisdom comes through and then there is nothing else to say.

Like these words. They emerged out of the void. I waited for Inner Wisdom to say more. I kept listening.

Honey. Chile.she simply repeated herself:

You can only keep someone trapped who does not love themselves. Deep, strong, courageous self love is a prerequisite to freedom.

I am held.

August 16, 2019

She is not smiling. Her arms are down and her hands face me, palms wide open. I see all of her deep openings and the rivers that have woven through each wound and cracked place within her. Where the rivers merge, a pool of light radiates from within her.⁠

We face each other.⁠

But why won’t she smile at me? Am I not welcome? Does she not want to see me in this space? Am I taking too long to become. Is she impatient with my “hanging back” at the threshold? Are her palms open to push me across? ⁠

I want her to welcome me. To approve of my presence. To tell me I am good. That I made the right choices. To congratulate me on my ambition and drive. I am waiting for her to smile at me. Her smile will tell me all of those things.⁠

She looks at me. ⁠

I am skin. bone. vessels. and a fabric of sheer tissues in her presence. Her gaze goes clear through my body to soul. She moves in closer to me. I see her eyes open into mirrors. She exhales. I soften. I feel her breath in my mouth. ⁠

And I realize, she is me.⁠

She is me, in our future. She is not smiling because she is waiting for me to honor all of my wisdom, to defy every condition and bond that no longer serves her, me, us. She is waiting for me to fully recognize the light that I see in her, is my own.⁠

She is my future and reflection.⁠

I can stay hidden, small and stuck. I can stand here and hold on to all of my stuff. It’s heavy, yet so comfortable and known. ⁠

There is no way forward unless I put this shit down.⁠

It takes a while. One by one I let the things go. Her light allows me to see in the dark as I fumble through all of the things. To surrender the conditions I’ve been clinging to so long that I’ve mistaken them for identity. To let go of ambition and ideas about “success.” Who am I without this armor? Those definitions? That mask? That costume? That belief? ⁠

This is not easy. Weightlessness is uncomfortable when you’ve carried yours and everybody else’s stuff so long. ⁠

I lift my feet to cross the threshold. She offers her hand as compass and guide. Then, she smiles.⁠

The way forward is boundless, when I let go.⁠

I am held.⁠

-Empowered Wisdom Yoga Nidra Reflections⁠

In exactly a month (September 13) Yoga and Meditation Teacher Training at Sacred Chill {West} will begin. Stepping back into the cycle of teaching and training teachers, I reflect on the graduation of our first group of teachers  and the prayer I offered at graduation.

⁠⁠It’s really a prayer for all of us- yoga teachers.⁠⁠

The prayer.⁠⁠

Beloved, our divine- Thank you. Thank you for bringing this group of brave, authentic, truth seeking, and powerful individuals together in this place and time to do this work.⁠⁠As they cross the threshold may they know that to teach is a high honor, a calling.

It requires devotion. Devotion to truth. To learning. To a sense of service (not servitude), Devotion to The Oneness that contains multitudes.⁠⁠⁠

To teach is both to show up and get out of our own way.⁠⁠⁠It is to practice and stay curious.⁠It means that we refuse to hide.⁠

It is to see and allow ourselves to be seen.⁠Teaching is an invitation to be with yourself, flaws, imperfections, and all.⁠

To be with others and theirs.⁠ It requires skill, discipline, courage, and strong strong love.⁠⁠

New Yoga Teacher:⁠

As you step on to the other side of this deep and long path may you know this:⁠

If you walk long enough, you will fall. You will learn how to rise. When you can’t pick yourself up, you will be lifted. You will learn how to surrender and trust.

⁠⁠Know that no one can do your work or take your journey for you, and you also don’t have to do it alone.⁠⁠

When you teach. We teach. When you learn. We learn. When you grow. We grow.⁠⁠

Ase. Amen.⁠

Am I doing this right? What is the measure of doing it right?⁠
If my kid eats all of his greens, am I doing it right?⁠
If he says yes ma’am to his Mimi , Memaaw, and Maya- is that right?⁠
When his play date takes all of the play dough and my kid punches him to get it back?⁠
When I have that moment of pride that … yes… that’s my boy. He’’s a fighter seeking to redistribute resources more equitably😂. Now, is that right?⁠

Lately, Oye is really into who Harriet Tubman was. He knows that she found a way to freedom and led others as well. His larger question is “how mama?” The answer I give him right now- Imagination. She imagined a better world than the one she was born into and she did something about it. Did Harriet have models? How did she know that freedom was her birthright when she’d been surrounded by the opposite? ⁠

I believe that Harriet’s imagination stretched across time. It walked across water backwards. It jumped at the sun forward. It’s how she remembered and visioned freedom.⁠

Another world is possible, and it will be born- first in our imagination. ⁠

It has to be. What we have seen represented and presented as “the way” continues to turn up as a dead end.⁠

And so, I mother and I ponder “Am I doing this right?” Oye sits next to me and says “Mama, I am a lion, a dragon, and a butterfly.” ⁠

I say “yes” to all of those things, hopefully forever.⁠

Aloud, I wonder what wild and free creature he thinks I am. He says “you are a bird and you made the clouds.”⁠

That means something.⁠

Oye’s presence in my life demands that I reconvene with my own imagination as a requisite to accessing more freedom. How else will I recognize the world that he shows me is possible if I am not a student of the imaginary?⁠

Imagination is not a pretend place. It is the place where creativity, possibility, and infinity live. My son calls on me to love, nourish, protect, honor, and engage his imagination as a measure of “doing it right.” In doing so, I must practice perceiving beyond my five senses. He implores me to be a student of what I cannot see, what is boundless, and beyond real.⁠

Our survival depends on it.

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