Monday, June 15, 2015

I'm not dead: Ms. Carolyn story

I often walk to the park at our sister town-homes right next to where I live so my children can play and I can watch the sun set. It is quieter on that side of town and it is like my children and I have a playground to ourselves. They laugh and play, sometimes, my son and I throw the football.

Lately, I've been meeting up with a woman named Carolyn. A truly unashamed woman about her life, her skin, and her beauty. She is one tough cookie with a story to tell. I don't know how many people she have told her story too but I wish to tell the world, or at least whomever will listen. How many of us can say we survived death? Yes, the rare few can admit that they died and came back to life, but her story is different. How about the doctor pronouncing you dead but you a hear everything he is saying, not only that but you wonder who he or she is speaking about. Is he or she talking about me? Can't be because I'm not dead.

Her story of courageousness when the doctor told her mother that she was dead will move any heart. She told me she had to move something to let them know she wasn't dead. She did just that and was able to move her hand across her face, if that isn't God, then who is it? She will tell you that she knows a man, you see. Yes, she says that every time she speaks on it. It sends chills down her spine.

Oh, how I want to know if I'm going about life wrong when I hear her story. She told me we can only take life one moment at a time. You only get that moment, that you can walk around the corner and be dead so you have to appreciate life.

I desire to speak to her about dreams and goals, but her view is satisfaction, she isn't a worrier. Her mind is totally made. She tells me she needs two things: her cigarettes and Folger's coffee, black.

I know from her story that she is a mother, friend, sister, daughter, but most of all, she is herself. You will catch her walking around the neighborhood enjoying her day. She likes when others walk with her or she just walk by herself. I didn't want to tell her story, I wanted her own words to flow.

Ms. Carolyn can tell it, better than I can.

"It started as an headache when I went to the hospital,
But a vein busted in my head.
My mom was hollering about her baby.
"I'm not the baby, you see."
I was trying to figure out who my mom was calling baby.
(Her mom reassured her that she is the baby.)
I was sad that I had lost my hair.
I was trying to get up, and hadn't realized that I was dead.
I just wanted to see my mama.
I had to let her know I wasn't dead.
So, I moved my hand, and they told my mom, I wasn't dead."

Ms. Carolyn carries her story in her pocket wherever she goes, ready to inspire someone throughout her daily walk that doesn't believe in the power of God.
She will not push her story on you,
But when she thinks about what he's done for her, this is usually how the conversation will start, "I know a man, you see. When the doctors said I was dead, I wasn't. Thank ya!" She isn't short of praising him and sending up His glory.
Her story constantly reminds me that no matter how dead the situation may feel or seem, it isn't over till God says it's over.

How strong is your determination and dedication when everyone has counted you, said that you will never make it? Does your situation look like dry bones that needs life spoken over it? Ms. Carolyn didn't let, even, death stop her from getting out of the place where she had been counted out. That one testimony she holds on too.

She has gone on to have children and grandchildren.
She still walks the paved concrete of Tiffany Square and Heather Lane.
She has a story to tell and is not ashamed to tell it.

Monday, June 8, 2015

Watered Garden by Matasha Lee (poetry)

Watered garden

The rain was no match for the tears she cried.
The flooded nights of despair.
Tossing and turning her body as if the tug of war occurred in her sleep,
Defenseless to the act of the mighty hand of anguish and anxiety that crept in every now and then to rob her of her joy.
Weeds, unfruitable to the ground from which her feet bled from the daily miles of trying to find herself again.
Will her tears work?
Could she cry a river that would lead her to the lost treasures of her soul?
Will her love ones so kindly greet her on the other side?
To feel love, oh, how she missed it.
The coolness of the morning with the trickle of dew upon her face to refresh the redness that cluttered her eyes,
She would look out into yesterday and glance at what use to be and listen to the screeching of the chained swing rock back and forth, and see herself laughing and playing,
Free from the cares of the world,
But she knows she can't go back to floral skirts and ruffle socks.
She can't find freedom in what use to be.
She continues in hope that one day her dreams will become of fruition and her life will balance out to fit her new idea of beauty and manifest into the sun beaming a new day in the sky.
She sits by the riverside still eyes filled with tears not knowing that she has created a path to her own promise land.
Cry on my dear.
My ears of compassion hears your weeping song.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Love of Basketball written by Matasha Lee

Love of basketball

Put a court up and you will see the love for connecting manifest and no it will not be all hugs and fair game, but you can best believe they will meet again the next day to share the game together. Bounce, bounce is the sound people here when they pass, rather it is the girls going by to eye the guys on the court or the girl suited and booted ready to show her talents off and prove that girls are just as good as guys, or maybe you are that parent who drives by to show your concern and love for your child, but he doesn't want you out there because it will be too embarrassing to see you cheering or screaming, but know that he appreciates you. He loves to see your car pass by. Yes, the game lives on from dust till dawn, and at night the big brother teaches his little brother or sister a few skills and in those moments he is the greatest player that ever existed. See, the love starts on the court and ends up in the schools. You don't have to have a goal before the love begins, a trash can will do, office trash can or tin can. You can have a goal in your room, on the side of the house, or your local park. The game starts with one with its invisible defense or as many players to fill the court. Two on two or the old fashion one on one will do. Friends and enemies gather together on the same court to rival each other and sometimes blood will spill from the bows of the aggressive player or hugs will be given when your team wins by one. Many dream to go the NBA and maybe make a living playing the game he or she loves. The love never dies. The ball never stops bouncing. Each player will dribble again, no matter the age.

Silent Treatment written by Matasha Lee inspired by God

Silent Treatment

Why is God silent when I am in the most turmoil? 
It is like, hey, God, I'm crying here.
I need you.
Can you help me please?
Nothing, just pure silence.
Who is going to defend my disappointment? 
I need someone.

For the past days, probably the entire week I have experienced God's silence.
I cry out to Him to speak to me, but I receive nothing.
I am like, God, which way to go?
God, am I making the right decision,
It is really sad to desperately need someone and you hear nothing.

I wondered why for so long.
My thoughts weren't simple.
I literally felt like I was doing wrong.
I couldn't understand.
I resulted to negativity. 
I should have looked at it more positive, 
But dealing with silence isn't the best fun, but

I have learned that when God is silent, 
I must do the same and be still. 
Arrest my thoughts and cover my mouth. 
Let myself get to a place of complete and utter silence.

This is what He is teaching me, Be still!
If you can't be still in the midst of chaos, you will become a part of the problem, as a matter of fact, you may contribute more to the madness than you expect.

So, you see, silence isn't a bad thing at all.
Silence is the place where you learn and everything in you stops and everything around you keeps going. 

It is like moving through 635 traffic in the morning and yet being the car that doesn't move. You literally have people blowing and screaming at you telling you, "Get off the road, you maniac," and you refuse to move. Instead of reacting, you remain firm in your decision to stay still. (Until the cops come, but that is a different story)

My point is that God's silence is a way to let me know to be still. Let your mind be free and your heart not trouble. All is well. Yes, in the mist of chaos, all is well!

When the cameras go off!

When the Cameras Go Off

When the cameras go off, we don't have to deal with the devastation or aftermath of pain that people have to endure from the chaotic uproar that has occurred in their lives. Honestly, we can move on, but they are left with picking up the pieces. They are left with the endless nights of worrying and constant fear that the storm they are facing will never end, that the cloud of despair will continue to follow them and peace they will not be able to find.

I get it. I understand. Many of us have to endure without camera time, without empathy or sympathetic stares, so, I understand what it feels like to cry alone, to desire someone so badly to hug you and let you know that it will be alright, that joy cometh in the morning. 

No matter how long it seems the pain will not end, understand and get in agreement that it will. Cherish those happy moments you had before. You deserve it, but create new ones. I get it, and Lord knows I want to cry when I read this, sometimes you can remain in pain for sooo long it seems as if that has become your norm, but there is something within you tugging at you, letting you know, there is an extraordinary life on the other side of your pain. You feel it. You begin to daydream out of nowhere and that smile comes across your face and you are reminded that is where I belong. It is like a heavenly bliss and you can see it so crystal clear. It isn't just a vision, it is your life. Yes, your life, is waiting on you to step into an agreement with it and go get it. It is calling, begging for you to open up your eyes and witness its truth. It longs for you day to day.

Yes, tragedy struck, heartache, endless heartache is in your life right now, I get it, take your time, and cry. Don't rush the process of healing, but do not stay there for too long, you have a beautiful life ahead of you. Let's break out of the mold together. 

Strange Land by Matasha Lee (poetry)

Strange Land

I peak over into where bliss is? My desire is to live there forever, but reality is, I don't.

In my mind, I do, and I can feel myself drifting away from that strange land I call home. 

I find myself in a happy daydream and life is begging for me to stay,
When I return to the other side of this manifestation of beauty, 
I find wicked stares and roadblocks with dirt roads, 
Floods of sadness and signs that tell me to turn around.

I still travel to that strange land. I am in abundance there. My wound is open to embrace new life and she flows out of me, London Gracie, we will call her.
She is symbolic to the change that life has offered me, 

But beyond the land I am barren and no man has asked for my hand in marriage, my finger does not glitter with the I dos of forever, or the drop of one knee, for me to bow and say yes.

I sit and wait like a man lost at sea, desiring for my misty heart to breathe again.
My shadow fades away and my body is followed by the dust of me that now leaves my body.

I can't hang on much longer but I do try.
I don't feel that the land is not my home for I have travelled there many times before.
I know my feet will one day feel its soil.
New roots will catch my feet and I will be planted on solid ground,
My hair will be washed in the river 
As the evening skies bathe my soul with joy,
And the sun leaves the sky while the night sings to me.

Oh, strange land of mine, I long for you.
I know soon I will get to you, and we will rest for days to come.
I will embrace your satin sheets and wooden floors,
Your backyards of comfort and family time.
I will spend many days creating new ideas with you, helping to manifest others' strange land of abundance where they will not have to feel the sting of being raped by societies egotistic ways to keep one bound to the clock that never stops ticking.

Until, I arrive, and I will, see you in my dreams!