MAHism2026: prose, poetry, peculiarities...

Blax Hx 2023: Stories & Fairytales

More on Arks and Middle Passages…

Who knew the unlearning would seem as though a vice to even ourselves? Who knew it would feel like hell? Have you ever listened to Anita Baker’s ‘Fairytales’. I was afraid of this song as a child; along with ‘Little Walter’ by Toni! Tony! Tone! (I just got the chills). She’s singing the secret: my fantasy is over, my life must now begin. It’s a gospel song – rhythm, blues, and being saved so that you might save yourself. The pianist goes awwwf! Almost eight minutes of a blissful reality check. Because it matters who takes us to the other side. We got lost. And then found again. And again. Some of us just sat there until we went to sleep. And it’s ok. Maybe the rest is what saves you. God is in everything, anyway. And sometimes we are not Beauty or The Beast. Sometimes we are the wilting rose in the glass vase. Sometimes we are the mirror-mirror on the wall. Or the snow and waiting that falls around Snow White; the fireplace and waiting that warms Cinderella (and her stepsisters); the Cowardly Lion and a road the color of sunshine (just in case we look down) – perfect hiding places for His black sheep. He’ll put you into any story as he sees fit. We are reading lessons, rectification, sadness even in summer, love even in the flood. We are learning the unlearning until we are able to write our own stories, the right way – God, ‘Body and Soul’.

And maybe we read fairytales so that we can recognize the ones who came to pull us out of them. #MAHism2023

Blax Hx 2023: Battlefields, Arks & Middle Passages

Leave it all on the battlefield. Everything. Except your soul. #MAHism2023

They found her on the battlefield. She looked as though she’d traveled from some far off land. They’d get these types every now and then. Lost Souls is what they called them. But one took a second glance at her right wrist. It did not have the cut that many have. Instead there was a tattoo there. Something that looked like a funny bird with no body, no beak, no eyes. Just plenty of feathers. It bled down into the word LOVE. Many who landed here had tattoos and other bodily marks. It is how the locals learned over time how to read. When they lifted her lids to peer into her soul, a big strike of lightening pierced through their sky. All at once, they knew. She was indeed one of them. The kind who understood, all too well that eyes are windows to the soul; that your eyes will watch God. That the eyes must learn to mix fire with air else the earth and its need for water (and vice versa) will surely be ones demise. The kind who could will her own death by just being too damn still. Still waters are wicked deadly. She was the hardest to revive. The kind with too much on her plate. So she ate nothing. Gave everything. Fed everyone. There is a risk of too much too fast. She’d eaten the risk instead of the food. Then punished herself for not being able to digest it. She’d survived the void. Then punished herself for how she survived.
What funny beings we are. Perhaps the greatest injustice isn’t how we chose to survive. But that we were never taught how to safely be inside of a goodbye.
What were they to do with her? They tried walking through every fairytale known to man. Each ended atop a sleepy pedestal. The grandmothers watched on with a sly grin and shake of head. Until they could watch no more. Finally, they stepped in. Both took turns rocking. Rocking. Rocking. Back and forth – places no other could dare take them to. Finally she opened her eyes. Finally she moved her write hand, though it was sore and bruised and purple. And they returned her. Anew. Yet remembered. To her baby’s garden.

Blax Hx 2023: Gift

Make the sign of the cross with the whole of you. You are already wrapped in love. #MAHism2023

Blax Hx 2023: In the Name

There is power in your name. Study its history, its origin. Love on it. Write it down, ball up the paper, see how it unfolds. No matter how many hard or soft covers beckon its beginning and end; no matter how many faces they give it, there it is. Etched inside. Parting red seas. A water mark that recedes and washes ashore. Again. There is power in The Name – inherited or gifted. So keep going. Keep being planted. And rise again. And walk again. And cry again. And have joy. Again.

🌹- What is a thorny rose, if not judgement? If not a scented resurrection? If called by any other name, would it not rise again? #MAHism2023

Blax Hx 2023: Prince of ☮️

And we must learn to release the grip around our enemy’s necks. Free our hands for something…more. Forgive our dreams for being nightmares (at times). Give a fist bump to the things you once thought were ruining your life. Ride in cars with tax collectors, realtors, and practitioners. Ask the great Prince of Peace to take the wheel (of fortune; of misfortune). Get dog tired of the spinning. For none of it is ours to grip, to hold, [I 🙏🏽 the Lord my soul…] to keep 🤲🏽.