Faith in Portrait

It is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen. This has always been one of many bible passages bringing comfort to me during any and all situations. Consequently, mine is a faith recently put to test. It was stretched, I thought, to capacity but I soon came to realize its true strength and infinite elasticity.

I have to laugh because the hard part isn’t even over, yet. Nor have I shifted into my second wind. There’s no need to at this point because through faith, I’m still coasting on wind-gear number one.

Man.

I quit my job. It was time for me to enter into externship, which in turn meant it was time to step out on that elusive little shadow called faith. Scary… not having my own money, but still having bills to pay with no idea where a single dime would come from. Not knowing whether or not a dime would even show up. People told me I could’ve found a way to complete my externship, which entails a full 40 hour work week, and still work. That, however, would have left zero time for my family or self at which both are quite important. I’m no workaholic and I’m terrible at cramming too much in one day. The idea of losing my identity to the necessary evil throes of an onerous silo of work schedules is something I have no interest in. So, I exercised the faith passed down my family bloodline like treasured air looms. I quit.

I don’t think a full 24 hours passed before worry set into course and I began to grumble. I got bills man. I should have worked one more week. Well, what kind of faith is that? What happened to all that spiritual bravado beating to the rhythm of my heart the day I said “I quit!”? It was replaced with worry. That weary, enervating worry and doubt.

Worry is a nagging, atavistic insanity that can worm its way down bloodlines of even the strongest family. Something best compared to sitting in a rocking chair: moving but never going anywhere. Besides, worry is the foe because worrying is wasteful; especially if you’re supposed to have a relationship with a higher power, such as myself. But man! It is hard to escape the trap of falling into yourself, feeding into logic and leaning only toward the tangible earthly fruits of taste, sound, sight. The elusive whisper of faith can easily find itself swallowed by the intransigent screams of reason. But if we could only stop long enough to remember that if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to the mountain to move and it will move. With faith, nothing will be impossible for you.

Funny but true that nothing about The Most High can be considered logical or reasonable. It simply is and knowing this in our hearts is strictly about trust, love, and the devoted unwavering faith that there is a larger system of power at work. It’s putting things into perspective for us; plays itself out to teach a grander lesson. It encourages us to open our minds and hearts; pulls us closer to Him, and opens avenues of blessings coming our way. If only we experience faith in action: that wisp of cloud we can only grab with the hands of our heart. Look at it this way: worry is lack of faith all homeless on the streets and is a true gateway to blocking our blessing. That worrisome wall of adamantium will not only keep in all things back breaking, but will also keep out all things sent to lift our burdens. How will we find rest for a weary soul without faith? No one can truly achieve rest until we give up dependence on everything else and depend only on God. If He is truly “God of all comfort” as in 2 Corinthians 1:3, then what else should we need?

So I gave up on all that tossing and turning in bed; the shoulda’s and why didn’t I’s. (LOL) I had only to read Matthew 6:25-34, with all those lines devoted solely to explaining why I should not worry. What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear? The Most High knows we need these things and I have faith that He will provide.

He says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” Yes, and I have the nerve to believe that. Again, I have to laugh. Nothing is funny per say. I’m just experiencing what Maria Nemeth calls a luminous moment. I feel at ease because right now, at this very moment all is well.

I love to hear it: Peace. Be still. It’s all I need to rediscover the loving whisper of faith should, for a moment or two, it escapes me. I find it again and breathe a sigh of eternally grateful relief. That mustard seed of faith will help me go the distance and fight battles the unbelieving told me I was sure to lose. I know the secret to achieving faith against all odds- finding it when I think it is forever lost to me: I was told in Exodus 14:14…

The Lord will fight for you;

You need only to be still

In the quiet equanimity of marshaled thoughts, I find faith has not given up on me even when I feel that I have. Faith never loses me, although I sometimes lose faith. Faith is there, this unmoving gift my parents instilled so deep inside of me that I could never shake its hold. And faith… she loves me still.

The Starched Woman

Earlier this year, I was given a tarot reading by a friend who warned that due to circumstances at the time, I was becoming a starched woman. They weren’t her words, exactly. She never actually said “starched woman”, but based on her description, I alone came up with this phrase.

She painted a picture of a stiff, inflexible woman assuming the role of a man and losing her feminine identity in the process. Work, school, raising a family- it was all being done with a stiff upper lip and a rigid back. Where was the soft, femme child of Aphrodite that had once been my character? It was misplaced inside the archetype of today’s millennium woman: being everything to everyone and doing it all. Raise the children, slay the dragon, bring home the bacon. It’s usually found in women who are unattached or raising kids alone. This isn’t my story, yet I swam in the toxic schema of being about business 24 hours a day and never turning it off.

Being about business is never a bad thing unless we lack the skills to turn it off when it isn’t called for. It’s so hard trying to compete with men in a man’s world and raise children alone. We want the same pay, rights, and recognition as our male counterparts and have made great strides to achieve such status. But somehow along the way, we’ve lost our feminine identity, switching into full survival mode and everyone should know that survival is not living…. it’s surviving: animalistic, programmed, even cruel. Waking up early for work, I scramble to get the kids fed and dressed for school or daycare and then it’s off to work. I swallow vitamins and a “5 Hour Energy Drink” to keep me going, repudiating all signs of respite. I listen to Rick Ross rapping about how he gets up everyday to Push It to the level and to keep going; there is always something to be done and some place to be. I flittingly moved about as if I were struggling solo- a single parent of sorts. I wasn’t. This knowledge is what made my case even worse.

It would have made sense to become a starched woman had I been single and doing this alone, but I had help and was in a relationship. This isn’t an anomaly. I think on it and know there are many other women in the same position: they have a mate, are with the father of their children, but yet they are still in survival mode because it seems as if they are alone. It ties into my theory on the evolution of men and women: men are sitting on their laurels while women hunt and gather, then come home to also rear the children. Men are pampering themselves in salons, getting massages, mani-pedi’s, and facial scrubs. They are rubbing baby lotion on their skin and arching their eyebrows like chicks, barely keeping a job if they’ve ever had one to begin with. I cringe when I hear of women supporting these bums, working their fingers to the bone with little to no reciprocity. He’s at home, not even taking care of the children he helped create. He’s floating around the house like a ghost, easy and relaxed in silk pajama bottoms for the entire 8 to12 hours his woman is at work. Is my way of thinking the actual incongruity here, because my belief is that this story is backwards? If there is anyone in the equation who shouldn’t have to work, it’s the woman. Am I suggesting that we adopt a more primitive, atavistic mind-set of being barefoot, in the kitchen, with kids on our hip? Not at all. But where’s the freedom of choice that real men should be giving us?

There are variations in the face of a woman and not all of us were built to flow from room to room with feet that never touch the floor, but there is a feminine fluidity that should exist somewhere in even the most masculine of women. Kylie Minogue is a great example of having the winning hand. Kylie as she is on stage, is the metaphysical embodiment of the Goddess Aphrodite. The great Goddess stirs within that woman second nature. She’s a living, breathing, deified seraph that simply melts in your eyesight. It’s no wonder she has become the paradigmatic icon of gays around the world.

Beyonce is the perfect example of the starched woman, hardened not only by the nature of fame and money, but by her relationship with a certain hip hop artist. (Assuming there is in fact a relationship) They don’t appear to be in love when in public. Although I have no way of knowing how they are with one another in private, I am only left to assume by her sterile demeanor that he isn’t bringing an element of softness into her life the way he should.

All women, even if she is in love with another woman must encounter unbridled femininity that is free to flow unchecked. I don’t believe Beyonce has been given this option and lacks the skills necessary to tap into this watery element of womanhood herself. If you look closely enough, there is hardness in her eyes; they never smile even when her lips suggests she is. Beyonce is always about business in one way or another, never turning it off. She probably dreams business and any niceties performed may seem strained and hardly sincere. Of course this is pure speculation. She just doesn’t seem happy, though and how can she be? Such a woman who is iron-starched to a keen, military point with sharp creases of the skin that cut all who come too close can not know the beauty and rest that comes with possessing the hypnotic powers of the femme world. It absolutely defies mere physical perfection. It’s an inner magic that attracts like a beacon of light in the middle of the darkest, loneliest seas.

Having children in ripe circumstances can, in most cases soften a woman, as well. If she doesn’t have to go into survival mode to feed, clothe, and protect them from legitimate harm then she is free to experience a type of love that can only best be compared to how God must love us. There is no other emotion like it and one can encounter a deeper, unfathomable feeling of love not only for the child, but for herself as well. Look a Gwen Stefani. In previous albums and songs, the lyrics pretty much carried a tune of darkness, gloom, and melancholy. Once she married, however it was obvious that he was someone who was quite pleasing to the untapped feminine passion inside of her. When they had a child together, I could see on television and in person at a concert a sort of soft white light embracing her every curve. I could swear by the glow surrounding her and the new glide in her walk that can only bring thoughts of silk chocolate and linen in summer breezes. The color isn’t simply yellow. It’s citra. It isn’t pink. It’s passionate blush.

A co-worker of mine is never in a hostile way. Even if health issues of loved ones arise, her spirit remains one of soundness and peace due mostly to spiritual beliefs, but also because she is blessed to have a kind and gentle husband who allows her to be the woman she is.

Some cultures encourage women to develop within themselves the seductive emergence of deep feminine qualities. Studying the Kama Sutra, seductive dances, subtle movements of the eyes and hips are all used to discover the Queen of Cups hidden in all women. These soul qualities are there from birth. It is especially strong within me. I first learned of its existence as a teenager and trained to perfect it as I got older, which is why I was so shocked to realize I’d lost it in the mirth of day to day grind. I know the secret: even the laziest, sorriest of men will fall at the feet of a seductive feminine woman in full effect of her gifts. I seemed to forget its truth, though. If we contend to play the role of a woman at all times as it is meant, there leaves no room for him to assume the feminine role. Should he insist on assuming the role anyway, it’s quite clear that he needs to be kicked out on his ass.

I’ve always believed that men must be made to feel needed. The male has a fragile ego. Assuming his role leaves nothing for him to do. If you allow the roles to switch and pride has little to no existence within this man, then he will gladly accept. As I began to ignore subtle femme nuances, my relationship began this dawdling process of switching. He was becoming lazy by eyesight, making excuses, and trying to spend all of my money while he kept his. I began running myself in the ground- sleepy, tired, and cranky in this struggle of bills on my mind. The things that should have been his responsibility, I began to take them on and he began to let me.

After the tarot reading, I wasted no time in immediately correcting this wrong . No excuses. He is the man, so don’t come home telling me you lost your job, you got hurt at work, or you’re tired of working. This whole world is comprised in totality of “F—k you, pay me.” You sick? F*ck you, pay me. Your mom died? F—k you, pay me. And we owe that to Adam and Eve for the disreputable paradigm that men must till the earth. If you don’t work, you don’t eat. Women must tend to the household and rear the children. Of course I’m not speaking literally. Let’s face it, the woman of today will work and a lot of us want to.

However, we can never insinuate that we are anything but ultimately bottomless depths of feminine power, moving through and about like great bodies of water in which all men look into and see the nadir of their own souls reflecting. Our constant rule as breathing is second nature: Demand and never accept anything less than the congratulatory support and acceptance of the great femme spirit that stirs silently inside us all.

Gender Role Switching: Evolution of Men and Women

As with everything else in life, my friend and I had a highly interesting conversation about the evolving role of men and women. It has come to our attention that we are living in one of the prettiest eras of all time.

When I watch music videos, of which I rarely ever do, I often bear witness to males looking more and more like bitches. I dare to mention the boy band group cleverly calling themselves “Pretty Ricky”, wearing BonneBell Glitter on their bird-like chests while humping floors, the air, and invisible women. I think of P. Diddy with his shiny lips. I’m talking about the men who have baby smooth skin, long flowing hair, perfect white teeth, and well coordinated everything. Their nails are perfectly manicured and they would rather die than break a sweat. Hard work to them is making it to the salon on time in spite of heavy traffic.

I grew up a product of Reagonomics, becoming a proud sash wearing member of Generation X in the early 90’s. We’re a no-nonsense; give me money NOW, blow ‘em all up age group. The prettiest man our generation saw at the time was Ralph Tresvant, and we swore even back then that he was gay. Back when wearing a duke in your hair was cool, Ralph’s hair was riddled with the product and many others followed suit. Guys at my high school were getting finger waves in their hair because it was the “in” thing to do, but even that was a bit too much for me.

So imagine how I feel when I see some man of today with his hair long and blowing in the wind, feathered like Farrah Fawcett? It’s disturbing when I don’t see a single hair bump on his chin, no sign of stubble on his jaw, and his skin looks as if he bathes in baby oil. It’s disturbing to see a man wearing shiny clothing, lips glistening with gloss, and celebrity men promoting skin care products. Shimmering everything. Glitter everywhere. I cringe.

What the hell is happening to the men in this world?

My father was born in 1907 and into a world where, more often than not, men worked hard to take care of their families. My father was no different. Of course, he was a whore. It’s hard to find a man who isn’t, but whatever children he had, he took care of and he didn’t abandon any of us. He was an intelligent man, proficient in math and even went to med school for four years before the money ran out. He became a respected and skillful carpenter in our community, building houses in many different locations, making a lovely income from it.

I can remember him coming home from work with paint in his hair and clothing. His nails were jagged and dirty, hands callused and rough from a day of hard, hard work. That’s what I grew up seeing and that’s what I expect from all men: to work hard for whatever they want. To be a man’s man and who isn’t afraid to get a little dirt under his nails- a little sweat on his brow. I expect to see a little stubble on a strong squared jaw. What I don’t expect to see is some slack jawed, infant-smooth-skinned bitch boy, with hair longer than mine even when I’m wearing weave.

I’m so disappointed.

With men turning into weaklings, acting like women, and not taking care of home is there any wonder why women are turning to other women? These days, I’m running into more and more women who are strong, hard working, and self sufficient. My best friend can fix broken electronics, change a flat tire, as well as the oil in her SUV. My older female cousin is a celebrated firefighter here in Houston, hanging in there with some of the men who are still real men. I once dated a guy who didn’t even know how to change a flat tire and had no interest in learning, either. He dressed really nice, though. What got to me was that we rode around in my car (he didn’t have one, which is why he didn’t know how to change a tire. Or maybe he didn’t have a car because he never wanted to be in a position to have to change a tire. Which comes first? The chicken or the egg?) As I was saying, we rode around in my car and I knew that if I ever had a flat, I’d have to change it myself as he sat on the curb, nervously smoking a cigarette. Thank God I never had a flat. And thank God I eventually saw the light and removed him from my inner circle.

My friend briefly dated a pretty boy named Rainy. (How cute.) He was gorgeous in his own right: hair well past his shoulders and skin smooth enough to feature in a commercial for Aveeno. But one day she looked at him and said, “If I got a flat tire, you’d have to get butt naked before you changed it.” A look of complete bewilderment came over him and he asked rather dumbly, “Huh?”

He was dressed like a boy band member in an N’sync video (did I spell that right? I doubt it, ‘cause I hate them) and she knew he would never dirty his shiny new clothing doing something as gully as changing a tire. Do you know how great the possibility of filth obtainable? The level of grime to befall his baby-like skin and expensive clothing?

I’ve rarely felt safe with some of the men I dated because I knew they would go running scared before I would. The only men I’ve felt safe around were some of my eight brothers, but they were raised by my father who was a real man. When I have felt my safest, I happened to be around other women; my sisters, other female family members, my girlfriends, or my best friend. It’s a sad, sad reality when you find men who look like bitches and women who have to be the woman and the man. We have to tend to our families and hunt like men in the wilderness.

Real men are disappearing, running from their responsibilities. Whether this involves taking care of their offspring or getting a job, they are getting scarce by the generation. I feel sorry for my daughters. The majority of men they will have to choose from are of poor quality and all I can do is pray that they find some type of happiness in life. My son will be one of the dwindling few who are real men. It’s my purpose to see this through- to raise him to be a man and hope that his father sticks around to demonstrate what being a good and decent man entails. Otherwise, I have to prepare myself to be the woman and the man.

Some will ask, “How can a woman teach a man how to be a man?” Well, I ask them, “How can a bitch-acting man teach him to be one?” These days, I will be able to teach him how to be a man, as I happen to be stronger and wiser than most that I know and I’m built Ford tough. If I want to eat and survive, I have to be. You can find me in the woods with a rifle and a slingshot, because long gone are the days when men brought home the bacon…

They’re too damn scared to slay the pig.

I Kinda Hate Firefox

I Kinda Hate Firefox

 

What happened? I scratch my head (which is kind of hard to do through all the hair-weave) and I’m baffled because I used to think I was in love with Mozilla. Mozilla was such hot sh*t to me when we first met.

At one point, I kinda hated Internet Explorer. Honestly, I down right hated it. It froze up on nearly every page for almost any given reason. Listen, I’m just a simple girl when it comes to computers. I know a few things, but I’m no wiz. The only thing I want is for my computer to hold my music, secure a hefty spot for my many writings, and allow me to surf the net (occasionally looking at a little free porn) without any unpleasant incidents. Internet Explorer would not hear my pleas. She froze up on me at every turn. I touch her, ask for a little loving, and it was all cold fish and wet noodle.

I felt rejected.

Then Jennifer, (a beautiful Colombian friend of mine) introduced me to what I thought would be the love of my life. Her name? Mozilla Firefox. Spicy little name, I thought. I absolutely praised its easy use and expedient features like tabbed browsing, pop-up blocking, password managing (my favorite), and themes you can tweak. Although a few pages still don’t display properly, I was still very pleased with the love affair I had acquired.

I had been fed up with Internet Explorer and her fickle ways, shifty ideals, and cold conduct. She never stored my passwords when I needed her to and rarely offered its service in the first place. I was only too eager to leave her, but the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. It’s all smoke and mirrors; a movie set where the green grass, blue skies, and sun that shone so bright are backdrops- made up of plastic and paint. My heart sank.

Maybe it’s just my computer (I have a lot of crap on my hard drive), but I doubt it. Firefox has fallen off regardless of how much crap I have on my computer. It’s come to a point now that I’m only able to open maybe two windows at the same time, because more than two will freeze my computer. I keep my Windows Task Manager handy just in case I have to end a Firefox process when it freezes up. Is this supposed to be advanced web browsing? I think not! I can only open one window at a time. It’s like having only one HD channel. Useless. Stone Age, even.

Critics said Mozilla was the better alternative to Internet Explorer before they released IE7. It’s true that IE became lazy, began to lag and I suppose Firefox raised some kind of bar. The next thing ya know, IE develops 7 which is supposed to be faster, slicker, and all around better than its sad antecedent IE6 in an effort, I believe, to compete with its once viable competition, Firefox. (Competion… no more)

Hmmm….

Don’t it always happen that way? I leave IE6 thinking she’s a loser and I’m now going to upgrade to someone better, but the next time I see her she’s a supermodel who wants nothing to do with me. I dumped her and for what? This tired new browser that runs hot and cold at any given moment. Weak and full of bugs. She started off great in order to pull me in, but now she’s falling off. Now slacking in her job, making me happy is no longer a priority. I’ve become part of the furniture for Firefox.

I feel neglected.

I want to leave her. I do. I know that no browser is perfect and I should just accept it, but it’s too hard. A part of me says that Firefox and I can work this out, but I am a victim of being strictly self-intent and that part dominates. It’s telling me that if I ain’t happy, I should be on my way. So, I dream about leaving. I have been making plans to slip out in the middle of the night. Go running back to IE now that she has changed her trifling, tired ways and beg her to take me back, promising to never leave her again.

But we are at an impasse, I’m afraid. I’m trapped. I can’t leave because Firefox has me by the nuts. The password managing capability I love so much? Yeah, well I have a ton of passwords and I have no idea what they are now because Firefox remembers them for me. Do you know how long it will take for me to request a password lookup for all of these sites?

(Sigh)

(Sigh deeply)

(Sigh deeply and sadly, giving up all hope for a better tomorrow)

I guess it’s true what they say (whoever they are): It really is cheaper to keep ‘er.