Missed me?

Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. And yes, it DOES matter. To a degree. But more importantly, I miss me. The “me” that somehow shows up in this space open, vulnerable, truthful, optimistic, ready to love and be loved, growing, evolving…the “me” I tend to keep hidden from myself. The “me” of me.

I tell myself that my blogging mojo has weakened. And maybe it has to some degree. It’s a theme that’s not foreign among bloggers. And while it may right true for me in some ways, there’s something else (or some THINGS) at play though I don’t seem able to name them at the moment.

I believe part of it has to do with itchy people. You know, those people who brush up against your life, against your spirit, and leave you itchy like rough fabrics. Generally you can wash the clothing and remove the itchiness but I’ve yet to see a washer - even industrial sized - big enough to hold itchy people. Now, don’t get it twisted - itchy people aren’t a new phenomena to me or anyone else. It’s just that, depending on where you are in life and what you’re going through, they can affect you negatively. I’ve had them slow me down before but they have yet to stop me. They can’t. I know this.

So…why am I stuck in terms of blogging or writing in general? The “itchies” have NEVER impacted my ability to write. EVER. And so, I know there’s something else at work. I tell myself I’ll recover that blogging/writing feeling after my sites are redesigned. But more importantly, I know that what’s keeping my fingers from caressing the keys as I capture the poetic images that flood my mind is me. Me resisting the emergence of the woman I keep hidden even from myself. She wants me to tell the story, to let the light hit it, to let the breeze ruffle the hem of her tattered dress. She wants me to be brave, to be open. To be naked. And sometimes, I hate her for that. LOL

And so, I hide her behind 140 characters on twitter. (Hi, my name is MsJayye & I’m a twitterholic. Don’t even THINK about an intervention - it ain’t gonna happen.) I try to hide her but she is there. Filling the space of each and every tweet I send. I see her. I feel her. And she gives me that space in which to coach myself out loud but still hidden. The grace to coax myself out of myself at my own pace. Maybe I don’t hate her. I’m intrigued by her, fascinated…beguiled. I envy her and want to study her sense of freedom, her ease in being. I yearn to replicate it from a place where she and I have merged, our beings fused as they should be. She gives me patience - this woman I keep hidden from myself. She gives me tenderness, acceptance, understanding. And love. Lots of love.Unwavering.Unconditional.Love.

And in exchange? I will give birth to the naked truth of us. In time.

But today? Today I string together a series of “six word stories” that interrupted me yesterday and revealed themselves to the “Twitterverse”. Who know a wordy chick like me could find a whole other level of being - first within 140 characters and then within six words?

Enjoy these morsels of my poetic buffet!

Enjoy your weekend! Find ways to noursish yourself - mind, body & soul! You deserve it.

SoulFULLY,
*~* MsJayye *~*

“And so, / Through many drafts, I became the woman / I kept to myself.” ~ Julia Alvarez

“The Woman I Kept Inside” is the title of a poetry collection by Julia Alvarez. 75 poems spread across three sections, each poem having three stanzas. Universal themes (love, marriage, rejection, death, religion, etc.) told from a very personal perspective. I’ve read Alvarez’ work before (“How the Garcia Girls lost Their Accents”). What drew me to this book was the title: “The Woman I Kept Inside”.

I recognize that title as a personal truth. Let’s play “connect the dots” shall we? Hang tight – hopefully you’ll see the connection.

A while back, I was invited to submit a story for possible inclusion in an anthology. I was flattered because, while a call for submission when out to the public at large, I (along with a few other people) was contacted personally.

And so…what did I do? Nothing. Let the date come and go without as much as committing one word to paper. Why you ask?

Cause clearly that is what I do – get in my own way, block my own blessings. Yeah, yeah, yeah – I know. That is the antithesis of what I talk about here on this blog. I know.

It goes deeper than “just” sabotaging. See, the anthology had a very specific theme. Submissions could be fiction or fact as long as they fit into the overall theme. And it was (is) a great theme, a much-needed theme, a “stop-fronting-tell-the-truth-shame-the-devil-free-yourself” theme.

I understand so well the synchronicity of WHY this offer came my way when it did. I do. And yet…I couldn’t bring myself to be that naked in front of everyone. There is no amount of words that I could have piled up before me - no matter how poetic or lyrical - that would have hidden my mess, my pain, my shame, my cross. There isn’t enough fiction in the world to hide the truth I would have woven into the marrow of my main character. Is my “truth” unique? No. Not all all. But my brand of nakedness and all its assorted baggage is unique to me.

It certainly isn’t that I don’t want to lay this burden down. I just don’t know if healing, forgiveness and the peace that goes along with that will come from the instantaneous ripping off of bandages from my emotional scars. Yes, I know that proper healing requires fresh air touch the wound. Actually, there are a few people who have seen bits of it, some of those jagged edges that can’t be smoothed down no matter how hard I try. Probably because I’m using the wrong tool. I’ve noticed pieces of this “thing” glaring back at me from some recent poems or tucked inside the dialogue of one of the novels I’m working on. I’ve even broached the subject with one or two of my “inner council” members. And oddly enough, there have been a unique few (ok, two LOL) who saw through that façade from the gate. AND called me on my blurred vision.

But am I ready for the world to know? To see it? All of it? Without filters?

No.

And so…that story? Still locked inside me. There are days when I feel it rippling under my skin, like a muscle spasm. Days when I see it momentarily peeking out from my tired eyes or clinging to the ridges of a frown that I’ve worn for much too long. Some days it lays itself out in the pit of my stomach like a child flopping from sofa to bed, room to room whining about being bored. Most days I feel it brushing up against the soft edges of my spirit. Other days, I find this very thing blurring my vision – how I see myself, how I see myself in the context of my life. “Hysterical blindness”. Cause I’m screaming on the inside.

As I dig around in my life, stretching out, claiming new territory, I find myself somewhat amazed at just how deeply rooted this flaw is. Once I decided to become my own excavator, I found pieces of it buried in some strange places, causing weird chains of events or distorting things.

Yes, I recognize that title, “The Woman I Kept Inside” as a very personal truth. I too believe there’s a woman I’ve kept inside – because I felt her too fragile for this world (when it actuality the ‘me’ that showed up is by far more fragile), because I needed to grow into her (what a process that has been!), because I got so used to pretending to be her that I didn’t realize I was a poor imitation (talk about your “identity theft”. Mmph mmph mmph), because the people/places/things that she needed to bring her to life weren’t aligned just right. Pick a reason. Or a combo.

She’s there. And she is ready for the world – even if the world is not ready for her. And I intend to write her out in bold calligraphy. Even if that means the world shields its eyes from her brand of beautiful. Because she is just that: Beautiful.

Beautiful - every single flaw, every misstep, every blessing, every accomplishment, every lush curve of her body, every kinky strand of hair, from her laugh to her “take-no-prisoners” voice.

Simply beautiful.

And that deserves to be lived out loud.

BYOB,
(Be Your Own Beautiful)

*~* MsJayy *~*

“We imagine we would be all right if a big crisis arose; but the big crisis will only reveal the stuff we are made of, it won’t put anything in us.” ~ Oswald Chambers

Did I ever tell you that I was a drama queen? Well, I was. Or should I say, I’m a recovering drama queen. (Er’y now and then I have a relapse.) Yep, I was. EVERYTHING was a crisis…drama amped up to 360°, multiplied by itself and then squared…TWICE.

Everything that happened became a drama-laced story to be told again…and again. Last year, I found myself about to don the costume of Drama Queen again…where you were concerned. And trust me, there WAS drama. But my spirit having evolved tremendously over the years had that bit of drama on M-U-T-E. Sure, it was painful, it was hard to deal with but no amount of telling or retelling would ease any of that and my spirit knew my heart needed something more quiet in order to heal. You were not my crisis. While I think you are a wonderful human being (yep, even through the bullshyt…I still see Y-O-U, flaws & all, every single possibility for who you truly are…the person you’re running from – cause Baby, while you tell yourself it’s me…it’s not – it’s YOU), you are not my crisis. I realize that now. And so…

To you…I apologize. Sincerely. They say love dies under the burden of unmet expectations. Does that make me a murderer? An assassin? I pray not. Maybe I (we) simply wounded love, not actually killed it.

To you I say…forgive me for trying to make you my crisis. When in fact, as painful as it was…you were simply my mirror, reflecting back to me the brokenness of my own spirit, the chipped places in my heart. I know now that you were simply an instrument of my healing…not my healer. That job description is mine and mine alone.

I once had a conversation with someone who asked if I ever regretted whatever relationship existed between you and I. I said no – and meant it (he on the other hand said he thought I should…and I’m sure he meant it.). I don’t. Why?

Because even in light of all the painful residue, the intense unraveling of possibilities…the beauty of us still remains.

I hesitate to declare myself “healed”. I do declare myself ‘better’. And that is all we can truly ask as we move deeper into this journey – that we end up better. Even when things end.

I think back over this year and see where “crisis” has definitely brought more to me than it’s taken from me. It affirms the fact that my “crisis” wasn’t. It also affirms the fact that a “crisis”, much like a crutch, isn’t meant to be long term.