OmZahara

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Laughing at the foot steps left behind me... …because there is only today, only this moment. So why then can’t I sleep? Sleep deep, long and hard, restful sleep? I envy those who lie in bed for only a moment and fall fast asleep. Sleep is fitful, but for a few blissful moments just before dawn, my dreams are lush as wine, velvet, dark, and filled with vivid color and long halls with many doors that lead to many secret places. I am an Artist, a painter, a sculptor, a poet-no matter how well or bad I do what I do, I am that that no words can hold, because there is only this. I exist because I resist-my heart is a revolutionary tool. I am passionate, a dreamer. I paint my distractions away. I love dark sultry eyes, long rides and Bloody Mary’s on Sunday mourn’ns. I never stay where I’m not wanted, but I believe that people don’t make it all on their own; we need family. we need love. Love is what we are, “ I can cook and if I can cook you know God can.” (Ntozake Shange). I love roses. I use roses in my collages. If you’ve read Like Water for Chocolate you have a recipe for Quail in Rose Petal Sauce. Laughing at the foot steps left behind me... Kisses awaken the divine in me. Emma Amos paints with photographs, acrylic on canvas and bits and pieces of African fabric-fabulous. Pomegranates are aphrodisiacs. Sprinkle them on jasmine rice. Frida Kahlo reminds me of pomegranates, because of the blood that drips through all her paintings. In Eve’s Bayou, the character played by Debbi Morgan tells Lynn Whitfield “Let’s eat Pomegranates till our hands turn red and all we can think of is gett’n the juice off”. How sexy cool is that? Influences like this are part of the reason I have become the woman I am. They define me, piece together half-truths, dispel rumors, and speak for me. I am a conscious woman of faith bound by the sacrifices of my people-their blood ingrained in the DNA of my cells, replicated by light and love. I am. Betty La Duke is also one of my favorite artists. Her paintings are a celebration of earth’s survival with their sacred sites and shrines. My paintings depict moist, rich dirt, cracked, dry clay and sand. Hummingbirds flutter, opening soundless dreams. I am dancing in the sacred circle of life. I get butterflies, seeing reflections of myself in art and music-This empowers me to see possibilities. I listen to Erykah, Lilah James and Floetry. We are fragmented pieces of a dream. Laughing at the foot steps left behind me... I am sleep walking thru life. I am the dream, outside of me, and outside the world of convenience and self indulgence, self-doubt and mistrust. I dream a conscious life of hope. Sometimes words don’t come easily. They lie dormant at the back of my throat, my tongue twisted from anticipation of saying something. “If a woman was too weak to use her voice, her vocabulary got trapped in her temple and formed a blood clot. And with this came the disaster of silence.” (Eden, Olympia Vernon). So thru struggle and transformation I have learned to let go of the fear of being judged and have set my words free, “…forced to tap into a mother load of shimmering unknown strength.”(Miriam Decostas-Willis). “I shall become a collector of me. I shall become a collector of me. And put meat on my bones.” (Sonia Sanchez). I’m at a point in my life where my whole body is going through many changes. It’s incredible, but I’m still fierce, no doubt. I just laugh at the moon. I honor my sweet place, and remember my hormones are the way the divine get my attention. It is a revolution of the soul, an idea consecrate within itself-hallowed and purposefully sacred. And the words that fall from my lips-sanctified. And the water in which i bathe-holy-Like sand rubbing against dry bone. Like dew clinging to a desert toads back-I hold on. Ideology: i am, i think, i wonder, i dream, i know.