Personal Introduction/

In this story we will discuss love while using pictures, I will make the story a reflection of all the pictures I see on the post of my Maven. I think I got every photo, I tried to highlight the words but they did not ...carry on in this message. good night I am tired, enjoy!
 
 
Story/

"In a map, that shows countries near and far, I am sure there is a broken heart out there somewhere surrounded by hands of many color of many people. We understand that love knows no limit; love is the surrounding of black babies on the back of a black father. Love is the pride the loin shows to his lioness. Love is the touching of crossed hands held up high giving praises to the mighty God Allah.

When we open our hearts to love we allow the wings of blue butterflies to flutter from hands of lights to rescue lost souls from a lonely boat which no longer floats or moves with the tides. Like a moth attracted to the flames of many candles of colors love can be blind. However, as blind as love can sometimes be, we see love in shadows of women and silhouettes and rainbows of colors. Don’t allow your love to float away like colorful balloons let go from loose hands. Allow the sun of many shapes and a moon of a distance night to touch your heart like the love and peace formed from unity within the book of palms 133. 

Our thoughts of love grow in minds that flourish like flowers attached to brains that need nourishment like colorful roses that if not loved and cared for will die as a dark red rose which gets no light. As Jill says love…slipped down my chin … and landed….. on my bowl of berries and seeded watermelon. Love is humor just waiting for laughter. love can be calming like a bald eagle perched on a lonely branch waiting for the virtual flowers to turn into real ones.



Love goes around and comes around like the star studded world which spins on its axles. Scientists try to find the real Jehovah and not The Hova. Dude is a supa star rapper who can take a hand holding virtual leaves and make it in to a meaningful hip hop song, which can depict the non love and the non justice for children who march for hearts holding hearts of red and blues on the 20th of November in 2010.

Love can rip out your soul but we can see your light showing bright even as the pain you feel is replaced by a glow that takes over and renews the you that plain face we see will become a Maven of color."

~ Emma Kent

the great step shrine

Bring the code of the right mathematics:
additions multiplications in exponentials of fiv3 /

return the capstone into five of golden transformation

 ==

i own, live and operate from the blanchicheusse beach house where my five morrocoys grow my wealth, abilities and returns, sheltered they arein their mended turtle house made of old windows/ all in the land where i operate the restaurant/tea garden/supper club/salon/cafe; ArtPost Trinidad and Huggins Healthy Healing foods as i pay daily homage to the ancestors at their compound shrine.

07. 19. 11

"Look for the space where the person will allow for your shop to exist without monetary compensation. I'm sure it exists, maybe you need only ask and you may be surprised that the place has been waiting your you all along. "

Sangowunmi's Esu/ Prayers and Personifications

 Esu! Please open the gates for the forgetful so that our children will remember their ancestors and find their purpose for being through the strength of their ancestors.

Esu! Please, give us Ase and to overcome the wicked and evil forces of both realms and all three worlds.

Esu! Please guide our Orisa to manifest good things for us.

Esu! the small one/ for the small one/ for the small ones/ with the gigantic aura, give us fortuity and accommodation in the world.

Esu! Please teach us the protocol of the universe, how to be humble, and in correct and reverent postures to access the cosmos

Esu! Please open the gate for us

Esu! Please bring the relevant Orisa to me so I can follow my destiny!

Esu! Please let us not be self-opinionated thereby limiting ourselves and our world from positive transformation.

Esu! to you the Auspicious One,
After I was initiated, I initiated myself.

At its Heights, Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
when you are out of the house
away from six international news channels
two commissions of enquiries
endless commentaries of all that is going wrong
in the island in every sphere of human existence
when our head is substance dependent
not waking up till eleven
and surrounded by the bottom of the barrel
fake brahmins
exacting their correction of perceived victimizations
see the irony and fallacy of that preposition

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful
when you are out and about
among the people living their lives
moving to and fro\
having lunch, shopping with what money,                                    
extra money, plenty money to burn\
this is an island of complete iniquity
all have of illgotten gains

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
when you are at the Heights of Aripo
at the river flowing, bathing
forest bank watching
















Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
at the Heights of Arima
surveying the vistas east
to Wallerfield south to central
even as your view is now obscured
by the massive cable tower
and what used to be a community stage is now
galvanized shut and walled off
when beautiful community forts are deflowered
green sky spaces turned over to money
ripped from the community womb and belly

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
Sitting in a lovely neighborhood
getting your vehicle washed
by a peaceful spirit worker warrior rasta
with his locks twisted into a huge
complicated chignon and wearing
black Malcolm X frames rose colored lens glasses

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
After Jul 9, 2011
even though I do not know how and why
Trinidad. Was. Is. Always. Beautiful

When the myriad birds sing from morning into dusk
and then the peculiar unseen kind at night

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
sitting in the shade of the guest/client galvanize shack
smelling the marked sprayed pee of alley cats
on the cushions of the makeshift benches
where most of the people passing you by
looks to see your face and say good afternoon

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
at the edges
at the core
on the ground
on the grass
at the roots
the grassroots

There are endless places where Trinidad. Is. Beautiful
crying for TShaka at lunch
in a new restaurant with a tenuous new friend
not realizing that it was TShaka's  death anniversary
but having cause to call her name
the tears were for the telling of her and how loving she was to me
how she was the first to ever call me to do a film, any film
and to boot, on a black woman, she, I, us,
free, unmitigated, and unhung by
trauma, drama, maladies and dysfunction
I realized, I will call the film TShaka!

In memory of Juliet TShaka McQueen Dagbovie, 
 and for her three sons, Perovi, Kokou, and Agbelé,

and for this being the place of all that outworking,

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
Realizing here and now
Is here I am to live and be and bring forth
the ancestors, known and unknown
and all the women outside my family
that I admire have all been mothers of sons

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful
when I learn and hear of interesting individuals
doing great things, I think
I must ring their bell and
make them prophets in their own land
to tell them, They are Beautiful. In. Trinidad.

Is how and where I am                                                            
where i sit reading Sangowunmi's Esu
thankful for Margaret to effortlessly lend me this book
that led me to bring it on today's adventure
the moments culminating in now
for what is to be. what is. is what is coming.

Trinidad. Is. Beautiful.
as it teaches me of and about all
three things.
Trinidad
Being Is
Beauty and Full of It
Gratitude

Tuesday, July12, 2011

Intersections

"The Baptist faith was brought to Trinidad by the "Merikens", former American slaves who were recruited by the British to fight with them, as the Corps of Colonial Marines, against the Americans during the War of 1812. After the end of this war, these ex-slaves were settled in the south of the country, to the east of the Mission of Savannah Grande in six villages, since then called The Company Villages."

... read that this evening. And it brought me back to my writings on my ancestor Pa Neezer, who is from the Companies, who I think is a direct descendant link to the MERIKINS. It took me to my writing with my cousin on our grandmother, Ruth Huggins who I suspected was a Shouter Baptist. I specifically asked my cousin Joanne, who was one of the last to grow up with her, if Grannie was Shouter Baptist because I remember her tying her head in red cloth hand ties. She was. This writing from Sheldon, for the first time, makes me remember, think, integrate that I am Baptist. I was baptized Baptist in the US, in Tuskegee. For the first time, in this moment, I recognize the Intersections. Me walking and mapping myself without ever knowing.

“Obeah Woman”
They called her that because she filled her spiritual vessel with the contents of her social being.
Because she wrass’led with the spirits.
Because she made a great emotional investment in the performance of her worship"

“Obeah woman:” With so many women in its hierarchy and within its congregations, it is no wonder that the Spiritual Baptist faith has been so persecuted and prosecuted over the years, the prosecutors and persecutors haughtily proclaiming their intent to stamp out” obeah, witchcraft and sorcery”.


The Shouters resisted. Indeed, their barefooted courage inspired Earl Lovelace’s great novel`` The Wine of Astonishment. The true sources of that courage are yet unknown and so too the real origins of the Shouters/ Spiritual Baptists. Where did they come from?


Some say they originated in Grenada. Were the members of the “Converted” sect made up of Grenadians who eventually headed down to Trinidad? Or were they Vincentians who fled first to Grenada to escape the Shaker law, then went on from Grenada to Trinidad?


Some say the Shouters got started in Trinidad from a spiritual spark brought there by the African-Americans ex-soldiers (the so-called “Merikins”), who came to the Island in the wake of the Anglo –American War of 1812. These African-American ex-soldiers were transported out of the United States to Trinidad, for they had waged war on the side of the British (in exchange for their freedom) against the Americans cause. Trinidad, then a sparsely populated colony with less than twenty years in the British fold-took delivery of its first batch of Merikins in 1815; a few more came in 1816 and 1821, the latter group consisting of ex-soldiers who had opted for Nova Scotia in the immediate wake of the 1812 war. Papa Neezer (Ebenezer Elliot [1901-1969]), the Trinidadian Orisha leader and seer, who rose to prominence in the 1950s-was a descendant of the Merikens. (See Frances Henry’s He had The Power Lexicon, 2008, pp7-8). Papa Neezer won some negative attention in Sparrow‘s “Obeah Wedding” (Melda O [1966]). In “Obeah Wedding” Sparrow boasts that he is the grandson of Papa Neezer and therefore untouchable. Sparrow sings:


You doh seem to understand
Obeah can’t upset my plan
For Papa Neezer
Is me grandfather.



Source: http://www.spiceislandertalkshop.com/cgi-bin/talkrec.cgi?submit=lt&fid=f1&msg_num=749674

^*the Shouter Baptists emerge as a Feminist Africanist  Healer Seer Tradition

been walking the path all along. gathering the pieces as I made my way through and forward

Trinidad was A Gift, A Healing ~~ Beauty and Wholeness Dwells ThereWithin

Point e Pierre, Trinidad
—-°-(¯`•♥•´¯)-°—__..——_♣♣`•.¸.•´-♣♣——— .

that spectacular photo is by James B. Solomon, Trinidad photographer extraordinaire, was posted by him yesterday. I wrote then..."absolutely gorgeous pic/that pink to bright yellow orange, the lake, the spire flares. magnificently simply magnificent." I did not write it to him, but i felt somehow, in some ways this picture was so encapsulated of what Trinidad is: oil, sunset, color, water, greenery, structure and fire. and the mix of all firmaments to earth; and the mingling of the purest to the dirtiest--the smell and smear of oil...so when i look for a pic for this blog, I immediately went back to James' page and asked/took permission to post. I hope you see it. I hope James is honored by this blog content for the use of his pic. I see the two matched. I am grateful f
r that kind of rich life beauty everyday. that is trinidad despite everything and all else. beauty dwells therein


I wake up for the second time this July fourth morning with confirmation, the fullness of a previous thought into the birth of a revelation. It started out with my two most common first morning phrasing and words upon my waking in recent weeks: Thank You and God. Then when I put those thoughts into sentences it often relates to prayers and gratitude. But somehow today, I realized Trinidad has been my gift. My gift of healing, repair. A second womb so to speak in which to collect myself after the battering of the doctoral journey and the failure to move life beyond into employment and sustainability, for many reasons. 9-11 started a trend that ended with the recession of 2002.

Trinidad being my healing was an impactful thought. Trinidad being my womb. Trinidad being my savior. Trinidad being my love. The giver of my life. Again. For this is the place that gave form to me: through my parents and the place of my birth. And here I am again, in another process of formation. Yes, it was a significant moment, one still that I am trying to come to terms with, at least making it public, for I have bad mouthed Trinidad so much. Not that it wasnt worth it, valid, fair or legitimate, but because it is such a jarring one hundred and eighty degree revelation. But it is true. All those negatives exist outside my life and my self. Trinidad is a peculiar place.

Trinidad is a place where as I write today, I have the crisis and madness of the Redbullshit Flugtag to refer to yesterday that had the whole western peninsula backed up into Port of Spain into unmoveable gridlock. Where possible two people lost their lives, many were robbed, and lots of accidents. All for entertainment. All for the lack of thought, thinking and competence. All done by a Board of the Chaguaramas Development Authority and all the police and firepeople who had to be consulted for such an event. And yet, though the numbers of officials, still a disaster. Trinidad is that place. The utter and total external failure of this place at the hands of humans and their lack of structures and systems has nothing to do with the lovely beauty of the land, its rivers, oceans, forests and mountains. And it is that, them who have loved me. Brought in by my second mother, Marjorie Baptiste. It is to that Trinidad that I acknowledged my debt to life and wellness, my succor and revivification.

When I returned to Trinidad in 2003, I was broken, fragile, and close to a nervous breakdown before I packed up, sold all I owned in an estate sale, which was everything as I had been patching together a life for long term living. Purchasing worthy furniture and antiques that I had no intention to part with; it was 2002 and a recession was raging, no employment for me after completing my PhD in Development Economics. My Aunt told me to come home. And I did.

The cultural shock was nothing to laugh at; it was painful beyond belief as I grew up in a worship of the place of my birth, especially being away since I was seven years old and held on to the vision and experiences I had within my very loving family. The language escapes me but this is typical of people who leave their homes, they have a heightened endearment to the place they leave and never get the option to move with the space, and so the ideas become a delusion over time. So if and when one returns, one is in schism as I was. I had to come to terms with how much this place that I have always been identified to and with was not what I envisioned. Despite how much we hear of how wonderful the people, the output and creativity of this place, the life, living and observations I found did not live up to those stories. It is a slam

I have written about this at length, It is a manuscript called Ant Bites. So I wont recount that here. But this is to say despite all this bitter washing, disappointing baptism and rebaptism, I wake up today realizing Trinidad has been my healing. She has been my teacher of Human Nature, Human Character, and not necessarily of the best, unless we talk of my second mother, and Aunt, Marjorie, but mostly of the underbelly evil and darkness and it seems that is the character most prevalent and flowing, fueling in this small landspace>

Nevertheless, I feel my wakening, my observing the HCU Commission of Enquiry, full of interesting individual witnesses and victims, both women, both Hindu and both of amazing life stories have muddled my thoughts on my gratitude to Trinidad/ and the ways in which she has fostered me back to health. The way she has cuddled me into polishing my hard edges. For life, other people and myself cant be with unpolished edges. Something had to give, and it has been me. That something had to be produced and it is and was me...as better me. That something had to be made whole in this broken place and the universe, my guides and ancestors, as well as my spiritual pod decided it would be me.

Trinidad has been the womb of my wet by tears and messy by blood of disappointment, and sweat of outer/utter futility to be prepared for better and bigger than where I was trying to make manifest and be.

It is also interesting to see how variant pieces come together to make a whole: July 2011, half a life year of my plans and dreams, where i switched to wanting to be more planted, drop bucket, and vested as opposed to being a continual rolling stone, from here to there, contract to unemployment. I wrote a plan totally different from what I have lived and viewed for the total of my career, the last twenty one years. And then, two jobs that I applied to that fit this new bill, one before I even wrote this new vision, the other emerged at the same time as I wrote my application. And feeling like I am growing up. That is it. I feel like I am growing the fuck up. And I am grateful. And I realize I would not have been afforded that gift and grant without Trinidad

So this is my love letter to S/HeR while I continue to rip her other retard children to shred.

I do love you Trinidad. I do thank you. I am eternally grateful to you. I shall do anything and everything for you dearest Trinidad, for you have been holding my people for hundreds of years, and in honor to those Indios who were here before all of us, I shall be indebted to you forever. Thank you for my Life and my life's Strength Trinidad. I am your Mountains, I am your Rivers, I am your Oceans, Seas and Shores. I am your Forests, Bush, Dense and Entangled. I am you, I am Her. I am Me. A Dark Green Natural Trinidad, by head, heart and hands. See her and see ME,. The Carib Being Ever to Be. Not dead but Living Loudly and Boldly, with the abiding everlasting existence of this little space; its bounty, resilience and self protectiveness, in stark contradiction to all those who will destroy it, in their quest to vanity, and in empty self futile fulfillment. Pathetic inhabitants notwithstanding, the Love Stands.

Ode to Trinidad

~~ ~ ~♥**♥♥¸.•**•.¸♥ Love and Gratitude ♥¸.•**•.¸♥
°•.•.¸ღ¸☆..☆¸.✿¸.•°*”˜ƸӜƷ˜”*°•.•.¸ღ¸☆..♥♥.
✿◠‿◠) (◠‿◠ )✿¸♥♥.
***♥ ♥♥
(¯`♥´¯) .♥.•*¨`*♫.•
...´*.¸.•´♥
.-*-.(¯`•´¯).-*-.              
`•..•`•.¸.•´•..•´

Half a Life in Empty Words, Fallow Dreams and Great Aspirations

There is so much work to be done it is not funny. I wonder how no one has ever thought to make films of V. S. Naipaul’s myriad books, if not chapters; endless Riche, rich and rice material.

I think and ponder too, how it is the sugar cane f...armers have not thought to develop other products from their fields like the making of paper and fancy paper from bagasse, we are so surrounded by other fibers besides that could be intermingled with the bagasse for texture, color and effect. Niche and Novelty market creation. No thought for the possible.

All this comes as waking before daybreak, and reading for two hours. I realize from the text, I don’t read enough, my language levels are deplorable. Imagine, as much as I write, I cannot think of ever recently, if ever, using the word, excrement. And as I turn on the news to write, I realize, it is good to find succor, rest and relief from harsh life living, in the words of good books. To read, learn and be a writer of what one observes.

Our publishing might be made easier if ever we wake up and make use of the wasted manna and fallow resources, left wanting. Downstream industry, free and integrated paper. NO thought for the possible

So, after only what would be three hours sleep, between excitement before bed and reading upon awakening, I think no great idea has stuck or taken traction here, because I am not supposed to be here. It was just for the healing, the regaining of a self after the phd battering. Instead of the typical black phd experience post of a nervous breakdown, the universe chose for me, respite and more lessons on the place of my birth, heritage, Caribbean nature and human reference. It has been and is interesting to sit with not doing, not knowing and finding contentment therein. I heard Arminon Fragga say last night, that all things tend to work itself out. in time

Here are to far more great and greater good mornings

~