best life ever

ahhh fall. the summer has given up, it seems and fall is definitely on our heels. we feel it in the edges of the day and it's more abrupt than it has been in a long time. with it, back 2 school, back 2 work. the lazy days of vacation have passed and i'm looking forward 2 the tasks at hand.

how will i make more successes for myself this season?
where will i discover my opportunities?
how will i make the very best of every performance, or work written, or thing cooked?

i want 2 have friends over + make dinners, go away for long yoga weekends, dance and sing and do all the things that make life so much fun. i have 2 stop telling myself that there isnt ever enough time. there is always enough time.

this is going 2 be a most wonderful season!

morocco part 2

marrakech proved to be a place of dreams. for me. my boy took the african experience hard, having lived harder in guinea, used to being hustled + accosted on the street for every little thing, and there was no amount of coaxing that could talk him down after a long 5.5 months becoming conditioned to bristle anytime someone spoke to him. between the heat, the (tiny) hustle and the getting used 2 being in someone's face again 24 hours a day, we figured it was time 2 escape marra for essaouira, on the coast.

essaouira is that heart of africa where my mother's people hail from, with a stop in cape verde to live the rest of their lives, so essaouira for me, was a bit of a homecoming. we opted for a 3 hour bus ride, the most popular mode of transport for vacationing moroccans, and passed many cooperatives producing the famed argan oil, on our way. the hills between the two major cities held little aside from roadside signs we couldnt really read + wistful snapshots of a lone donkey or camel, or perhaps a frail old man. the atmosphere cooled quickly from the 45° to a balmy 20°, and we shivered on our way to the medina. the ocean wind blew in with a brutal force, blowing angry sand into every crevice + crack, weathering everything in it's path. i immediately thought of those who'd left essaouira via boat, so many lifetimes ago, headed 2 cape verde + beyond + i wondered how terrible that journey must have been. not only the unforgiving water, but leaving what was essentially home... although i hoped i'd feel an affinity for the town, sleepy + hippy-like, i never quite got the feel of it. my connection to marrakech was immediate. perhaps it was the heat, or the pace of the city, but essaouira didnt surround me with herself, not until i was back home*.

there were mystic moments in essa, however. in the cool of the night, we'd be awakened with chanting... chanting we were sure wasnt just the call to prayer, but an ethereal, rising + falling sound of people AND animals. almost like a wave cresting. no one could explain what we were hearing when we asked about it, but only responded 'c'est morocco'. yes. this is morocco.

i didnt immediately love it. i wasnt feeling like it was a place i could settle into, like so many we met who'd left italy or syria or england + made it their home for 17 or 20 years. but essaouira + it's winds grew on me + wore me down, although i didnt realise it until long after i left that beautiful port town. the smiles of the beautiful women who looked like cousins from cape verde or curacao who were so nice to me stayed with me, even until now...

*my beloved grandmother, born in 1919 in this city when it was still called mogador, passed away from this life into the next, on the very day i left the place where she was born. i will miss her forever, the lovely way i never saw her delicate hands eat with a knife + fork, the fascinating way she'd cover her face when she laughed, like i'd seen old women do here.

magical, mystical morocco part 1

i finally made my journey back 2 africa. it'd been more than 10 years since i was there last, in egypt, all the way across the continent. this time, i'd mapped out a few days shy of a month in el maghrebi, better known as morocco. it's been a long time since i'd dropped myself into a place that i could scarcely communicate on my own. my arabic was textbook at best, and probably only still good enough 2 get around in a taxi. my french understanding wasnt bad, but i had little vocabulary with which to respond. still, 3.5 weeks away in a glorious country full of beauty awaited me, and i couldnt wait.

i landed in the city of marrakech, and found it peaceful, ancient + modern, all the same. i was whisked away in a grande taxi (the standard mercedes sedan, sans air conditioning) and sped thru the city. beautiful, modern apartments were being constructed of the same salmon colored stucco that was used centuries ago to fortify the massive walls that have kept marrakech's invaders at bay and created the medina. the heat radiated from the pavement and roads, and couples whizzed by me on little scooters, reminiscent of italy. women, pretty with their kohl lined eyes and kitten heels, tucked their head scarves in, so as not 2 let them fly in the wind behind them and smiled at me, a tourist in le grande taxi, taking snapshots of her first glance of this magnificent city. donkeys and horse carriages wound their way into the traffic as i neared the medina, carrying carts of prickly pear and figs to be sold in the square after sundown.

the medina is a dusty, winding labyrinth of a city within a city with houses hidden around every corner. i found a remarkable amount of skinny, stray cats along each path, some playful and some just sleeping, on my way 2 find my riad. after walking what seemed like an eternity through twists and turns and alleyways, my porter reached a door that looked none different from the rest we'd passed, and rang the bell. i couldnt have been less prepared for the splendor that was within. cool cream walls created a canvas for beautiful arabic art, the shape of the chimney (for morocco can be very cold in winter) and the clean lines of the riad were almost startling. these homes that have been transformed into guesthouses, or riads are designed to be an internal place of absolute beauty. islam calls for women to be protected, guarded and the most prized treasure of a family. historically, the women of the family would take to the gardens and rooftop courtyards to sun themselves, socialise and still be protected within the walls of the riad. we all know that we keep our treasures safe, close to our heart, and so the riad is designed around an internal courtyard, and often, a garden, filled with birds, fountains and sometimes pools of cool, relaxing water. one could easily spend one's entire vacation within the walls of a riad and feel as if they were transported to another time, but the real fun and adventure of this city lies within it's souks.

imagine a shopping extravaganza, almost anything money can buy, where none of the prices are fixed. everything is negotiable. name your price! each market has it's own specialty, be it spices, wooden goods, ironworks or leather. there is much that is worthless, but many MANY beautiful gems just lie waiting to be discovered, wrapped and taken home. day after day, i walked through the streets of the medina, winding the streets, finding a different kind of olive, meeting shopkeepers with whom i'd done business days prior, and learning new ways to navigate the derbs, the gates to the neighborhoods within the medina, to find my way back home to my own riad. magical days awaited in that city, and i was only touching on the beginning of an adventure i couldnt have dreamt of...

random thought

my hair will not 'fro. i have given up. it's not that texture that it requires 2 stand up, full + proud. it wants 2 fall down, be it's silky self in places where it is silky, be it's curly kinky self where that is as well.

it doesnt mean a thing, but it's a dream i must let go.

and i have. (sigh)

losing sleep, bending time

it's all i can do not 2 count the hours.

i listen 2 the whine of rahsaan patterson and wonder if the acidic quality of his voice is from the mountains...

i hope robin thicke can come right along with us, for each meal, each romantic candlit walk...

i can barely wait 2 fall into the embrace that feels more like home than anything ever has...

songs 4 longing

the time continues 2 tick down on the clock i've created. winter has changed 2 spring and summer stands with her hand on her hip in the distance, just waiting. sweaters + scarves have been put away + maxi-dresses + flip flops adorn the street.

i've lost count on how much time is still between me + my comfort, my man, my love... the substitutes and dancing and distractions have not been enough. well, dancing has nearly been a good find, but nothing really replaces that cradling and cuddling i'm missing. not being held close in forro, not being turned just right when oscar de leon is singing. a dance is just a dance. the fear is that i wont be the same person he remembers, and he wont be that man i knew. the fear is that the change has changed US and there is little we can do except wait + see. and THAT is the part i hate.

i lamented 2 my brother, from across the world. it was morning where he was and evening outside my window. his response 'don't u masturbate?'. a classic response from a man. i explained 2 him that what i was missing was affection, attention. not sex. not mechanics. i could see his eyebrows raise from tokyo.

pandora was kind today, with lots of robin thicke addressing my heart, my want 2 stay inside on a glorious day + panic over the unknown, but it appears that as tired as i am from endless twirling on the dancefloor, it'll be another xanax night trying 2 get 2 sleep. i wish i knew what djinn has it's hold on my peace, so i could appease it. friends nodd when i explain my discontent + pour more wine when it's time + usher me out on the floor when i dont want 2 dance anymore...they HAVE 2 b sick of hearing about it and there just arent enough songs 2 explain the longing away. the night is never long enough.

38 grey nights away from technicolor sounds and songs and dreams. and truth.

the viole(n)t room

there is a lyric that goes..."earlier i'd been talking stuff, in a violent room, fighting with lovers past. i needed someone with a quicker with than mine - (dorothy) was fast." - the ballad of dorothy parker.

years ago, lifetimes ago, actually a love left me for about 6 months. in those 6 months, i grew up, grew into a different person and everything - EVERYTHING changed. the time we spent apart was called the violent room in my journals after that prince lyric. last night, last week, i found myself in that same place. and i'm realising that my dreaming love, far away in africa, has found a violent room of his own. we know that this time apart will have changed us, moved us in ways we cant quite prepare 4, and that no amount of planning will keeps us from shifting into these new, and different people that we are becoming.

soon, we'll be together again, but we wont know each other. it'll be a strange meeting of two people who look like ones we once knew, but we'll be coming from two very odd, old places.

the violent room.