Stop worrying about your identity and concern yourself with the people you care about, ideas that matter to you, beliefs you can stand by, tickets you can run on. Intelligent humans make those choices with their brain and hearts and they make them alone. The world does not deliver meaning to you. You have to make it meaningful…and decide what you want and need and must do. It’s a tough, unimaginably lonely and complicated way to be in the world. But that’s the deal: you have to live; you can’t live by slogans, dead ideas, clichés, or national flags. Finding an identity is easy. It’s the easy way out.


Today I went to the lake with husband, and swam naked in the receded pond. Warm was the water, sad was the earth.

What it is about Love

…All of it that makes you crazy and spirited and in tune and human. What about all of it that shakes you awake in your very human moment to humble you to lows that you never knew resided in yourself. What about that part that makes you steal glances to fill your perfunctory needs of visual stimulus by beauty. What about the times you thought you were in love and you had no real idea of what it was to love someone at the capacity you were pretending to do so. What about it. What about it makes you so damn powerful and courageous to take on the worlds problems, that are systemically designed for your demise, yet you carry on anyway because you now truly understand the concept of fear and how it plays no role in the life that you are leading. What about it.

We have to consciously study how to be tender with each other until it becomes a habit because what was native has been stolen from us, The Love of Black Women for each other. But we can practice being gentle with each other by being gentle with that piece of ourselves that is hardest to hold, by giving more to the brave, bruised girlchild within each of us, by expecting a little less from her gargnatuan efforts to excel. We can love her in the light as well as the darkness, quiet her frenzy toward perfection and encourage her attentions toward fulfillment…As we arm ourselves with ourselves and each other, we can stand toe to toe inside the rigorous loving and begin to speak the impossible - to one another. The first step toward genuine change. Eventually, if we speak the the Truth to each other, it will become unavoidable to ourselves

It’s not that they don’t love us; they don’t love themselves. They degrade the essences that continue to give them life; they are denying their existence. In fact. This is too deep…

..The point I’m trying to make is that they need L O V E. We need to reflect on our conditioning and continue to love them irregardless of their gross ignorance to the fact that they are victims of a hereditary oppression that is perpetuating the suicide of the Negro.


(Source: naturee-feels)

Isn’t it time to acknowledge the ugly side? I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

How is one to remain a student of this world without any ego? Without taking themselves and theirs situations so seriously. What is to be serious? What is it that enables you to retain a full sense of self even when learning about yourself? What the fuck?

– Alfreda

Even when the surprise lessons are so hard to digest in their birth, they must be recognized and make sense with the remainder of the self. I am speaking about myself in parts because there are definitely levels to this shit. A complex machine I am; it is.

– Alfreda