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RHYS' SPACEI DO NOT KNOW WHAT I AM LIKE HERE, I DO NOT KNOW IN RELATION TO WHAT I CAN SAY, "THIS I AM". BEWILDERED AND LOST IN THOUGHT, I WANDER. Rig Veda |
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Thanks for dropping by. I hope you leave with an idea and pleasant thoughts. Please visit me on Amazon Shorts Program to see my digital books. Ciaobella....
WATCH FOR "COUNTRY GIRL" ON AMAZON SHORTS...
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September 09 REMEMBERINGWe have come a long way from September 11th 2001, when the abyss of doom and despair opened and we looked in. This was a first for all of us except the men and women who had seen active duty on a battle front. The rest of us could only try to draw images in our minds..they never came close to the real thing. On that still and perfect morning..perhaps it was too tranquil...we were given a taste and an introduction to undiluted evil at its absolute best. If it could be graded..September 11 would indeed be given an A. What surprise we received!!What a lesson I learned that day. Today I am looking back to see if there was any thing I could have done differently, that would have changed the course of my life that would have put me in another place from 7:30 Am to 10:30Am on September 11 2001. I find nothing that I could have changed. Why would I have changed anything? What would have been my suspicions? I had none. My one obligation was to go to work and prepare for my day ahead. It was what I planned to do, instead.. I walked into a maelstrom of evil without armor, without saying goodbye to family, without a single plan of action..for 24 hours I was completely lost and confused as I had never known in all my experience of life. Following those first hours I was plunged into a place so dreadful it burned indelible marks on my psyche....I can still smell America as she lay decomposing beneath my feet days later, as I journeyed through the underground back to ground zero, back to work...as that did not stop...even though I was more like a Zombie. Today, I still hear the sounds, the absolute din that was created that fatal day..I still see the plane plunging into the tower..I still recall running down the unending stairs...I still recall people jumping from the buildings..I still recall the whooshing sound of the concrete slabs as they fell at my feet missing me God knows how...I still recall the towers imploding..but I am grateful that I can still recall. I will never forget this...but I wont harbor it as one of my finer experiences..but from it, today I am a different and better person. I see the world through a new lens and happy to report that having come through the fire..I am now ready to serve. God continue to bless the citizens of this world and may God always bless America and her fluted plains. Warmest regards 9/11/2007 April 12 KURT VONNEGUT 1922-2007My all time favourite writer has died. The illustrious Mr. Vonnegut. Today I am having writers block and my body is ridddled with lethargy. Kurt is dead and I am typing and glancing at his last book "Man without a country". Lately I have been consorting with death. In one year (2006) I lost my mother,my favourite Uncle,my favourite female cousin, Blossom, my favourite male cousin,Bobby,my good and gracious friend Carlton.
At each of the funerals I had some role to play. Suddenly I find myself experiencing loss and belwilderment and most times amazement at the absence of the deceased. I am particularly amazed each time I go to my mother's bedroom and don't see her on the bed. Its impossible that she is not there laughing or reading a book or digging in her pocket book. Impossible!
I know how Mrs Vonnegut feels tonight. She is sitting in disbelief at what the people have told her, that he is dead. Rubbish!! he is just out for a smoke and will return..Ting a ling!!
She'll miss him, and so will I.
God speed Kurt, pay the boatman and get thee over yonder, the Sirens of Titan await you.
And so it goes. January 29 EPITAPHTo whom it may concern, I didnt make it in to work today.
The reason? I overslept. There! I said it.
The pipe in the garage burst wide open last night and there was a grand flow of water out into the yard. I have no idea how many gallons of water we lost, considering I have no idea when the pipe broke.
Its a lovely day so far. Very cold but lovely nonetheless.
I am not going outside, instead I am going to remain indoors and catch up on my chores.
Lying in bed this morning after I discovered that I had overslept, some lovely thoughts flooded my mind and I made mental notes of everything. Right! everything has been forgotten except the part about what will be on my headstone.
It is this.."DID SHE REALLY DIE?"
Then I imagined one of my friends visiting my grave site and seeing the headstone, shakes her head in dismay. "Tsk!, she says to herself, "dam jackass, what kind of headstone is that?"
Then she turns in a huff to leave and sees me behind her grinning.
"Whats wrong?" I ask, I laugh aloud, "What's the matter? dont you like it?"
I stare down at her prostrate on the soft grass breathing gently, her face drained of its colour. I sigh and place her pocket book under her head.
"Not everyone should visit a cemetery, really!!" I'am thinking.
Here comes the rest of the group. I hasten away as I am not prepared for the questions. January 27 ON WRITINGWhy do I write? Most times I write because I am miserable or feeling out of sorts. Things are not going right or I am blue. I am usually withdrawn and brooding. When I write I say exactly what is on my mind and say it how I want to say it. When I was younger I was so incapable of having any sort of confrontations and would usually come up with what I should have said after the fact. But if I sit down with pen and paper, every thing just flows easily and and I will get everything out into the open.
When I write I am alone with my other selves....yes, that is what I said, and they become my muse. A window opens and I either fly out into another world or I sit and gaze out into the sweetness of space and time, as I listen to the sound waves bouncing on the wind.
Some one is on the radio talking about scalloped potatoes and stewed rabbit..ugh!!! I am myself when I write. I can sing and dance and make faces and segue anywhere, into anything, anytime.
Yes, when I write I am free to climb mountains which I would never do otherwise; I can talk to the dead and the living and get all the answers I seek. When I write I become everyone and everything. I can be any age and I can change my shape at will.
Shape shifter? Yes! Exotic dancer? yes! Nobel prize winner? yes! Test pilot. yes! husband or wife? yes! I am the world when I write, so I write. January 14 CHILD BRIDEThen I became twelve and Charlie decided that it was time that he took a wife. There I was weighing and wrapping flour when he sidled up to me and gave me a note to take to my mother. I stuck the note in the pocket on my blouse and continued to measure out one pound bags of flour.
I took great care to make sure the flour weighed one pound as I did not want any disgruntled customers to come screaming into the shop and call us thieves. "Rass claat chiney split yeye teef" that is what they would have said. I had heard it before and I did not find it endearing nor justified because Uncle Harry was a very honest man. Mind you, he was very clever in making an extra penny. For example, he would sell loose sticks of matches to those who could not afford to buy a whole box. So he made three times the cost of a box of matches. The customer he said must not be turned away. He even kept empty match boxes so that the person with the three sticks of matches could get a free box.
So they would buy one or two cigarrettes, three sticks of matches, got a free match box and off they'd go satisfied.
But back to my impending marriage. I gave my mother the note. She read it and sat down quite abruptly on the green wing chair we had in the kitchen. "Hope", she said. That was my nickname. "Come and sit here beside me"
There and then I realised that the note concerned me. Was I to be made part owner of the shop? silly me.
"Hope, have you ever gone anywhere secluded with Charlie" I knew what secluded meant and suddenly a shadow passed over my soul, for in a flash I knew that something sensual was mixed up in that note. I could hardly speak my answer. The "no mama" came out of my mouth thick and dry. Jesus!! what was happening to me. Did something happen to me and I wasnt aware? what kind of question was that?"
"So why is Harry Lue wanting my daughter to become his daughter in law"
This was too much now, why didnt I faint,instead I sat there going in and out of mini comas as the word daughter in law ravaged my psyche. Daughter in law, could only mean one thing and that one thing would lead to one other thing which would lead to another thing.
I was going to be no body's wife, sex partner nor baby mother. In a flash I was up on my feet and grabbed the note from her limp fingers and read it.
"Mama, I am twelve, do something, say something please". As I pleaded she started to get dressed, not that she couldn't have gone as she was, for my mother was always immaculate night or day. None the less she adorned herself for the short trip and told me to "fetch my handbag".
"I will be back, while I am gone, please have your bath and go to your bed, do not forget your prayers"
She swept out of the house in a wave of linen and evening in Paris perfume, her stilleto heels making light music on the verandah tiles. I have no idea what time she returned because the strain of the evening it seemed, sent me into a proctective sleep.
The next day she told me that going forward, unless 'Jesus' called me to the shop I was no longer to go there, instead I should help my brother to tend the animals. That would mean getting grass for the dozens of guinea pigs and rabbits, the one goat Molly, collecting the eggs from the hen house,bathing the dogs,and feeding the pigeons and doves. The chickens were my only interest, so I became the egg lady. Cutting grass was not on my agenda, though I must admit that I got a secret thrill when I saw the fresh green blades of grass glistening with moisture. I also enjoyed feeding my pet rabbit blade by blade as I held him in my lap.
I never knew what became of the offer of marriage as nothing was ever said about it, and I have no idea if it ever even came to the attention of my father. I doubt that it did. That would be a very grave mistake on my mother's part.
I saw Charlie only in the afternoons when I came off the bus from school, because the bus stopped in front of the shop. He would stare at me but said nothing.
I had no idea what to say to him so I too said nothing. So I continued to grow and fill out. By the time I was fifteen his father sent to China for a wife for him and they got married.
I didnt think she was beautiful, as a matter of fact she seemed so young, perhaps my age and quite unhappy. And so she took my place weighing and wrapping bags of flour and sugar and rice. A LIFE AGOWhen I was a child between the ages of seven and twelve I had an Uncle who had a grocery store along Maxfield Avenue. He wasnt my blood uncle and I never did find out how he was related to me.
His name was Mr. Harry Lue and he had two sons, Charlie and Henry Lue and a wife. Charlie was eighteen when I was ten or so but it did not prevent him from expressing the desire to have me as his wife in a few short years.
Unknown to me I continued to help out in the shop as often as my mother allowed me to visit. The shop was where I saw life in its true form. I saw people engaged in laughter, fights, and bartering. I heard and saw things that I would not necessarily see if I was at home in my parents living room listening to the radio.
One day I heard music and drumming coming up Maxfield Avenue and I jumped over the counter and ran out on to the piazza to see what spectacle was approaching. People were running from every where and bunching up on the piazza and the street corner to get a good view as the blare of the trombones and a colourful parade approached.
To get a better view I scrambled atop the bags of rice piled high in the front of the shop. My eyes became saucers as I witnessed the most colourful procession I had ever seen. Flags and banners were held high by men and women decked out in clothing that looked ceremonial and quite officious to me. They marched in a strange step and shuffle way keeping time with the drums and horns.
"O lawd, is di Lodge peeple dem" some one gasped.
"Is di Lodge, some baddi mussi ded an dem a go bury dem"
The Lodge. What was the Lodge? I sat atop the rice bags asking my self.
Whatever they were, their clothing was immaculate and dazzling to look at. The way they marched mezmerized me and the swords their leader twirled caught me off guard. Real swords with gemstones in the handles and along the necks of the blades.
I wanted a sword like that I thought, but I wanted to be a pirate or a knight going off to a crusade. O sure, a girl riding a great white horse named Troy, holding a flashing sword glittering with emeralds and diamonds. That could work!
I was so lost in my reverie of slaying dragons that I had no idea when the parade ended or what road they turned off onto. The crowd had dispersed and I was alone on the rice bags looking down on Miss Martha who sold ground provisions on the piazza outside the shop.
January 07 A REVIEWJanuary 6th 2007 saw the introduction of the book Belladonna. Dr. Dave Livingstone was host to this affair which was held at the St. Frances and St. Martha's Episcopal church in Tarrytown.
It was significant that this book Belladonna was introduced to the public at this venue he said, because of the strong black history this church represents in the Westchester community. Built out of a need for a place to worship where black faces were acceptable; this church has been a leading voice in the advancement of the Negro Race in the Westchester community and the City of New York for over 100 years.
Dr. Livingstone opened the evening by giving the listeners a brief history of the St. Francis and St. Martha's church, then spoke of the book and how the story was also significant in the telling of the black struggles in Jamaica.
It is by no means a coincidence, but divine inspiration that the book is being published in the same year that "Truth and Reconciliation" is the agenda of the Jamaican government.
Dr. Livingstone urged the audience to read the book and to encourage others to do the same. He spoke briefly about Miss Ho-Shing's first book which is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble book shops. Of this he said, "a journey one should embark for goodness sake"
December 13 LOVE LETTERSI wrote my first love letter when I was fourteen. It wasnt to the object of my affection, instead, I was writing a letter to another woman on behalf of my brother. My brother had fallen in love.
His very first crush.
Stabbed viciously by Cupid he came running into the house and dragged me into the broom closet.
There in the dark surrounded by dust cloths,brooms and floor polish he told of his dilemma.
The love of his life was sixteen year old and lived two houses down. As far as I was concerned, a woman. The bleeding love was eleven years old. I gasped in horror as he made this disclosure and struggled to see his face in the darkness.
"What", I wheezed. "you want me to do what?"
"Write her a love letter for me, and ask her to be my girl friend"
"Are you crazy?" "She is a big girl and you are eleven"
"Shut up, I know my age, you going to write the letter or what?"
" I wont, because she's going to laugh at you and show all her big friends and make them tease you"
"No she wont, if you write it sweet like a man would, she wont"
"Phillip, you are not a man, you are a child she is going to run you like a dog"
At first I thought the snifffles were from the dust and floor polish mix, then I realised he was crying. My little
gangly armed curly head baby brother was crying because he was in love and couldnt express himself.
My poor heart melted with great pity.
"Okay, stop the crying let's go." We emerged from the closet sweaty and almost blue from the lack of oxygen. I
collected my little writing kit and this time we ensconsed ourselves in a much more luxurious space; the bathroom.
Looking back, I cannot recall her name but I poured the contents of my brother's heart in a tender declaration of undying love and devotion. I likened her eyes to doves and her legs to strong pillars..(I had read Solomon's verses) I told her about her cherry lips and fragrant hair.
When I was done, I leaned back in the tub and read it back to him. I thought he was going to faint from the look of extreme bliss that had come over his face. Folding it carefully I placed it in an envelope and suggested that he take a bath and comb his hair. For once he was not reluctant to bathe. Love seemed to be a good thing.
Having caught wind that we were into a secret my youger sibling demanded to know what we were doing in the bathroom together and when she found out she was so indignant.
"I hope she tells her mother on him, isnt he rude?" she asked me, and "why are you helping him to do rudeness?" She was six for crying out loud I thought....
Letter delivered. The response was amazing. She was floored. We were in. For four weeks I wrote furiously. I composed endless ditties and poetry. Then I got bored when he stopped telling me where he was up to in the practicals. As abruptly as it began it ended. He carried on for another two months bathing regularly and plastering his head with hair pomade. I never knew how it ended because one day at the bus stop, I saw the object of passion with some of her friends and in a single moment of illumination I pictured this woman with my brother wrapped in passion and felt that I had done him wrong.
The next time I wrote a love letter it was from my heart to......
Surely you dont think I'd tell you that? December 12 THE ONSETAnd so I entered this vale of misery and great discontent. I was now walking like a cowboy as I felt the woman thing between my legs. Every step I took was a reminder that I was now a woman. The pain I felt compounded my feminine mystique. I had arrived in hell.
My devoted followers could not comprehend why I had suddenly turned into a brooding hermit. All was seen of me was my head through my bedroom window as I watched the clouds float by changing shapes. My mother said my shape would soon be changing as I became more of a woman. Looking in the mirror I saw no shape worthy to be called a woman. I still had the outline of a mantis; arms legs and two almond shaped eyes. What was so womanly about that. She insisted that it was a done thing. When I protested that I didnt wish to be a woman, could she intervene; no she couldnt, she said, as she left me sitting cross legged on my dresser planning to jump off and kill myself. She asked me not to break the hand mirror when I jumped as she liked it.
Reluctantly I went with the flow as I brooded foul. In the eighteenth year of the curse, I
realised that I had developed a certain verve that was distinctly me and that I could turn it on or off as it pleased me. My wiles had arrived to join my muses. Here, I went back to the mirrror to have another look. To my surprise, although I still had the outlook of a
mannequin, my lips and cheek bones had taken on a certain sultriness which I instinctively
associated with the wiles. I smiled seductively and walked away with the feeling of warm wine on my parted lips.
I had arrived in heaven.
I am a woman, yes. This is good!! This could work. HORMONES ANYONEI found out that I was really a woman at age thirteen and Lord knows I resented the fact. Being a woman took me into a realm of restrictions and rules I did not care to keep.
Rule number one: You cant play cricket with the boys anymore on certain days.
Rule number two: Do not climb any trees unless you are wearing slacks.
Rule nuber three: Do not climb any more trees.
Rule number four:Do not allow yourself to be touched by anything male, anywhere, anytime for any reason.
Rule number five: You may not go galavanting over the hills and vales nor in the gully where the ripe plums were ,anymore.
I was now woman. One could hear me roaring with anger as these rules were given me by my parents as dictated by my mother.
to be continued |
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