Getting Sexy & Healthy @ a Local Memorial Day Getaway

Years ago I went to a bellydance class in my hometown Los Angeles. There was a sister by the name of Sunyatta Amen who got a group of women moving their hips and ass. I was floored to see how stiff most of us were, as we tried to maneuver big butts, ample thighs and curves that were more than enough to feed an African village.

Well, Eco.Soul didn't have a problem with juking and wining', but I never forget the next day. Not only were parts of my body sore that I didn't expect, but I had massive dumps (bowel movements) for the next week. Yup, got cleaned out by belly dancing and firebreaths.

Since, I've followed Sunyatta and went to her studio in Takoma Park, MD some years ago. Though I gag at Michael Baisden, I do bear to listen if I hear Sunyatta's on. She is the goddess of sexy. Well, after me.

For real, for real, if you are in the DC area, I totally advise you to check out the "Movement & Wellness Expo" this Memorial Day Weekend.

It is a weekend of indigenous movement workshops from Belly Dance, Tribal Movements to Tahitian Dance, to sexual tantra Yoga, yummy.

Women and men flood this event as there are things for everyone. Brothers, if you are single, this is a great place to be. And sisters, this is a great place to network and meet cool peeps.

http://www.drsunyatta.com/mamasita/
http://www.bellydancersofcolor.com/home.html

Blog on

Crack and the Foster Care System Kills Too Many Black Families, ask Keyshia Cole

Bloggers everywhere cheered when Keyshia Cole's letter explicitly stating that she has removed herself from her biologicially family---specifically her mother (Frankie) and two half-sisters (Neffie and Elite).

However, everyone avoids the ugly truth that crack and the botched foster care system of the United States has systemically broken black families instead of helping them become a cohesive unit.

As a person who worked as a liaison between foster youth and the foster care system of Los Angeles, I became disgusted with the high levels of exploitation by the departments of child and family services.

It really became difficult when I discovered the disproportionately high numbers of black children who are shuffled in-and-out of the system as just numbers that are pimped by all types of industry.

A foster child has several case workers, several doctors, an attorney, usually a couple of counselors, and most often, a probabtion officer. All of these people demand that these children see these folk, pulling them out of school, and taking their time of youth away, all to cash out on the children.

Yes, there are foster parents who also pimp these children, but the system of foster care is the biggest pimp, taking billions of tax dollars to maintain and in my opinion, recruit children in the system.

These children go through many hands, akin to a prostitute. The end result, they are so psychologically and emotionally turned out that most cannot function once they are out of the system.

As a matter of fact, 60 percent of homeless, unemployed young adults and youth in jails were or are in foster care.

So when Keyshia Cole's, "The Way It Is Came Out," I was mortified and ashamed. Her mother Frankie looked like so many black mothers who have been strung out on crack and left to walk as zombies on the street.

These women and men are stigmatized as "crack heads" that are unworthy of redemption. Unlike the thousands of rich cocaine snorters who get slaps on the rich while daddy pays off the judges.

Keyshia came onto the scene as this unique, and magnetically trembling whining voice from the Bay Area. It was the passion in her shaking notes that captured many who knew she really couldn't quite sing, but her singing was hypnotic, in a Squeak from The Color Purple sort-of way, and was a fresh sound.

I heard about Keyshia months before she really hit mainstream radio. An industry friend told me that she almost did not get signed or released because of her fractured family life (she had been living on her own since 16), and volatile behavior---especially in her relationships with men.

Often her "love affairs" resulted in violent and very destructive outcomes. This friend of mine told me that she and one of her boyfriends got into a fight that completely damaged a hotel room, thus having the hotel chain ban her from every staying in that establishment again.

This was problematic because Keyshia's home was the hotel, and was like so many of her foster care comrades, homeless, unemployed and in search of her family for answers and love.

You cannot sum up nor fix the emotional and psychological complexities of disrupted families on a reality show?

I applaud all of the Cole's for giving America a very blunt and sad look at how many families who were directly hit by crack. "The Way It Is" gives you a sharp indicator of how once-fully-functioning adults, like Frankie, are jumbled bodies of flesh.

In the case of Frankie, I can see she had children young and started using before she understood a little of her purpose. Resultantly, Frankie is really a wayward, 16-year-old fighting in worlds she will never conquer, nor be respected by her addictions to drugs, alcohol, and sex.

Typically, she seeks love, like Keyshia, who like so many other foster youth, endured the inadquacies of their parents by attempting to establish substantial relationships.

So many parents though have been shuffled in-and-out of systems just like their children, they too are damaged goods.

And here we are, applauding Keyshia Cole for cutting off her ghetto ass mama and siblings, not recognizing the Devil still is sitting on our shoulders.

If you just drive through any urban area USA, you will see the ramifications of crack and broken families, yeah, the way it is.

It is sad to say that in America, a bad choice can equivocate to lifelong banishment of "normalcy" with no room for deliverance, especially if you are poor, working class, or of color.

Moreso, when you talk about crack and California, it is an especially glaring issue due to the documented role that the CIA played in pumping crack into black and brown communities of Los Angeles to supposedly fund a drug war in Nicaragua.

The CIA's major contribution in dismantling South Central Los Angeles was reported in San Jose's Mercury News in 1996. In a series of stories detailing the CIA's controversial contra operations that gave crack and guns to local black drug dealers in Los Angeles.

Gary Webb, the reporter who became (in)famous for his stories would lose his job, be ostracized by the mainstream journalism community, go through an ugly divorce and be found dead with 2 bullet holes in his head in 2004. Webb's cause of death, suicide, yeah right.

Jill Scott Baby Daddy Break Up: Why Can’t Conscious Sisters Keep their Men or a Happy Home?

Today I was reading Essence online and saw that Philly phenom, Jill Scott is no longer with her fiancé and baby daddy, Lil’ John Roberts. Their son, Jett Hamilton is only a couple of months old, and the relationship has dwindled. I also recall a photo of a tattoo that Jill etched on her neck with his name, and he vice-versa. Now it is a wrap!

I think about E. Badu, who just ended it with baby daddy number three, and L. Boogie, who keeps having babies with a guy who is too generous with his ganja stick. Then, I look at all of the women I have known, old, young, fresh, broke down, and all those in between, including myself, and wonder what in the hell is going on. Why can we not have happy homes, including a mate?

Don’t get me wrong. Happy homes do not mean a strict definition of a two-parent family, a happy home means balance. Male energy or males in the structure of rearing a child does not have to be physically in the home. Many societies it is not. And truly, this close intimacy is a recent phenomenon. A child was always reared by extended family and the extended community. The onus of a child never solely fell on a nucleus family. That is so Euro-Christian-American. Yeah T.D. Jakes, back the eff up on that bS you be spewing. Anyway, the stress of rearing a child, and in this time, needs to be village-like. But damn, are villages are crumbling.

However, I know the mainstream question is, “You know all this African ish and you a baby mama? That’s a contradiction?” Though I like Badu’s response who told people that criticized her having her third child with the third rapper that they could “kiss her placenta,” we really need to look at this thing going on here. I know it is hard to live your life like a normal human in front of the camera’s eye, but unfortunately, this truth that we are seeing in Scott, Badu and Hill needs to be an introspective and reflective juncture in family and culture.

I think about this because family pasts do play a part in the blueprint. For example, Lauryn was reared in a two-parent home and she still is married, though many say it is a bizarre, unhappy union that they hope would end. Then you have Jill and Erykah who pay ode to the rearing of them by their mothers, and who are raising their children as single mothers, excuse me co-parents is the politically correct version. Is there a trend that we can't stop?

So let me dig a little deeper and use me as the focal point. I come from a household where my parents reared 6 children and are still married. Like all families, we’ve seen absolutely sunshine filled days, and then we’ve had our nightmares. But we are still loving, fusing and cussin’ it out together. And hey, sometimes we don't talk to each other at all. I am 33 years old and in a long-term relationship of 4 years, but it took me a llloooooonnnnnnnnggggggggggg series of quick, passionate flops to achieve this goal.

I would say that people describe me as “conscious.” I hate the word “conscious” because it has this funky, ass, ill-informed stigma, but for the argument, I will use the word conscious to indicate that I strive to be aware of myself, my ancestry, the world, the world around me, my spiritual growth, and overall development. It has manifested and taken me down many paths. And yes, I do wear my hair natural. Was raised in the braids, will die with a fade (or locks).

Okay, so what happened to me? First love affair, like many, I was a teen who wanted to be loved and felt lust and passion. Damn it hit me hard. Love. I didn’t care that he was a 19-year old middle-school drop out with cracked parents and serious issues he never worked through, but was manipulative as hell. He was beautiful, so complex, I thought. When I woke up I saw that the insanity of him and the blindness of me created a mixture of TNT. That ended.

Afterwards, I was in college and just did the college thing. I dated and had fun. That was forgettable...well, some of it. Of course, I was looking for the one, but nothing fit. And my father told me never to settle. So after many dances with the dirt at the bottom of the sea I thought that I’d give the foam on top a try.

Then when I thought I finally found HIM, he married another woman. I mourned and really pushed to find me. I began reading and doing more African dance. Going to lectures, and refining my artistic self. Spirituality and Iyanla Vanzant tapes. Do you remember those days when black women were really attempting to better ourselves and we got let down? Anyway. I was getting into me, some of me, but I thought I was whole and finished most of the task. Hah, I was wrong!

But the guys I met were for the most part were jokes. They were horrible Huey P. Newton throwbacks, sketches of what they thought “conscious” was, and all the stereotypes to go with it. Most of them never moved me so I went the international route, around the African Diaspora in six years. After traveling the world I came home empty handed.

By this time, relinquishing my personal freedom was not an option. However, I craved companionship. In many cases, I probably was seen as too tainted, too deadly, too spoiled, too Afro-bourgeois, or an untouchable. After tossing and turning, and playing with the hot-burning stove, I decided that what I really wanted was some calm. When I got calm, I accepted the now of being alone, and embraced the possibilities of sharing love. He is cool, but we are still working it out because relationships are a constant, everchanging dynamic that has you turning, tossing, yelling, and cooing.

Overall, this dating thing is for the birds. We all hope for a fairytale endings, but always get stuck with the horror films. Though my parents have been together for almost 40-years, the formula for staying together and making it work have changed, or at the very least, do not apply anymore. Unfortunately, few of us have found one that works. Though we want to hold “conscious” people as a standard, our framework for “consciousness” needs to be tweaked as well; especially, when it comes to relationships, starting with self.

For example, I was on the train and this guy was referring to his girlfriend as a "bitch". I was like "Really, are you for real?" And he was like, "yup." Damn, dude. We got so much work to do.

Let me leave you with this thought, like the diversity of people, awareness, and being aware have varied shades. At the same time, there are varied dimensions. In that, we must understand that being aware of the problem does not mean we have solved it. Blog on...kns