Fallen

I reach back expecting the warm familiar strength that is your hand enveloping mine.

All I find is emptiness.

I assume you have fallen a few steps behind and will gently touch my shoulder to remind me that you are still on this journey with me.

My heart misses a beat. An all too familiar feeling of hot panic consumes me.

A cacophony of nothingness resounds in the silence of that missed heartbeat.

I look back and miss my step.

I fall into an abyss.

I fall to pieces.

The purpose of living

The purpose of living is to work towards becoming our ‘higher selves’: the best possible version of ourselves. 

We will not always get it right but the merit is in staying on the right path. It involves how we engage in our relationships with friends, lovers, humanity as a whole and most importantly with ourselves. 

Be the person you would want to befriend and love. Show your body and health the respect it deserves.

Our higher selves have a legacy of service that they must live and leave behind. For some of us it is clearly defined in our chosen career paths, for others it is not so cut and dry.

Aha moment!

The universe always works for your highest good. When you are unsure of your worth, it simply waits for you to gain clarity before proceeding ~ Lisa Nichols

The gift of being a woman

To be born a girl is a gift we were given.

To become a woman of wisdom and courage is a gift we give to the world.

Ella Bella and Jean Luc Baptiste

My name is Ella Bella Bleu and his name is Jean Luc Baptiste Depardieu. My name rings like a nursery rhyme character, his like a French silver screen sex god from the days when silver screens were silver. I have sad brown, doe like eyes and he has brown playful eyes that hint at everything but mostly mischief.

The first time we met, he made me smile, laugh, blush and convinced me to dance in teetering heels that were not even made for walking. At 3am I might add. All before he knew my name and I his. He was so charming and full of swag, he had me dancing to a song I did not like, and I found myself being taught how to salsa in a room full of people. Ella Bella Bleu who always has it together would ordinarily have politely declined. Jean Luc Baptiste. What a name! Reminds me of my crush on Captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS Starship Enterprise.

Jean Luc Baptiste was the dandelion in the midst of blackjacks that night. But in true Ella Bella Bleu commitment-phobe form, I could not help blowing him away. Excuse the double entendre. Ironic pun? A month passed by from the first  time I met him. I had not laid eyes on him since, when out of the Bleu, at the end of the night he suddenly appeared, like those dormant desert flowers after a torrential rain. He smiled at me from across the bar. That smile of his that is a cornucopia of innuendos. Badaboum! Patatras! Ange ou demon? I wonder. I think both. I now have the mighty task of putting this dandelion back together. Parachute by parachute. So that I can get back to where it all began. Not a jolted rewind like a VCR, but one like that Enigma video. You know the one. Seamless transition to the moment he asked  for my number. Ella Bella needs to warn Jean Luc.

The moment before the kiss

A moment of eternity.
Those milli, nano, pico seconds when I realize that he is about to kiss me for the first time.
A moment fragmented, seen and felt through a kaleidoscope of human emotion.
His head coming towards me.
That Matrix moment when a thousand things can take place in a dimension independent of time.
The intrinsic electrical impulses of my sinoatrial node short-circuit.
Erratic heartbeat.
To pull away or not to pull away?
Palpable tension, like same magnetic poles being pushed together, yet propelling towards each other as fast as opposite poles.
Defying the laws of the Universe.
For a moment the earth forgets it's axial tilt 23.4 or is that 22.1 degrees?
Is it orbiting the sun in the right direction?
A million thoughts yet none at all.
Is a black hole really nothingness, or is it this undefinable moment?
Then the kiss.
The brief collision of two Universes.
Parfait.
The Big Bang Theory.
A whole lot of something from a whole lot of nothing is how it all begins.
Two kisses on the cheeks, and third one for good measure?

History. My story

History.
A tale of inconvenient truths turned lies.
Delusions of a misguided superiority complex.

Convicts, societal misfits, noblemen, bible men.
You happen upon my treasures and pillage them.
I know you not, though you seem familiar.
A baby that ran away from the Cradle to return a Man? What Kind?
I know you not.
Who are you? He who suckles on my breast.
Denying my children the milk that rightfully belongs to them.
You sink your toothless gum into my areola in greed.
You draw blood instead.
Blood stained milk.
You continue to drink.
You grow fat like a tick.
A blood filled tick.
You rape my children.
You lust for them in the darkness of your heart.
You show hatred for them in the light of day.
Shame denies meeting your acquaintance.
Rightly so.
You rape me.
Planting your seed in my soil.
Do I kill the alien spawn?
No. I let them grow.
Invasive species.
Breeding like rabbits set free in Venice.

History.
A tale of inconvenient truths turned lies.
Delusions of a misguided superiority complex.

The bricks you lay cannot stand without mortar.
You happen upon my houses of stone.
Dzimba dzemabwe.
Ancient kingdoms. Political powerhouses. Universities.
You sing of going to Timbuktu as if you know where it is.
Not an ounce of cement.
My houses still stand.
You dig around. Pocketing souvenirs for your brothers.
Archaeologists. Anthropologists. He says
I say desecraters and robbers.
History. My Story.
Is it not you who continues to deny my Nubians up North credit for their ingenuity and politics.
Too dark to be mighty pharaohs?
Rather darkness by melanin than darkness by ignorance.

History.
A tale of inconvenient truths turned lies.
Delusions of a misguided superiority complex.

I am tiring of you now.
I will crush you to protect my own.
You make mental slaves of my children.
You dare not make physical slaves of them on my soil.
No. You turn them on each other and take them away for that.
A New World Order he says?
A New Way of Thinking I say.
Kalashnikov.Uranium. IMF he says.
Nesta. Hussain. Gabriel. Julius I say.
History shall be overwritten by My Story.