Hershey supports packaging production for Project Peanut Butter

Hershey supports packaging production for Project Peanut Butter:  Editor's Note: Read the Packaging Digest article "Group pu...

Dreams

 If you have never heard or read my short prose piece, Dreams.....here is an Audio version: Dreams 

The music is a soundtrack by Kerry Muzzey, an incredible composer... who hopefully will not mind the fact that his music is playing in the background with the whistling frogs of Barbados.

Enjoy....

Bajantube.com Azman - Party Cant Done(Crop Over 2012)

Bajantube.com Azman - Party Cant Done(Crop Over 2012)

The talented young people I have surrounding me keep me inspired and positive..... AzMan- Crop Over 2012 music...listen!

RastaMan Vibe by Ras Bash

RastaMan Vibe  by Ras Bash, one of the many multi-talented artists here in Barbados who I am blessed to know and share a stage with from time to time.  Bash writes and delivers spoken word pieces, sing, and is a general soothsayer at our social gatherings, keeping everyone on the positive side of life.

Just thought I would share :)

Enjoy!

Going Home

Even in the dark, I know I am home from the weight of the mountains surrounding me as I step off the plane.  The moist lushness of the rainforests nearby seem to have substance, and like a child wrapped in warm blankets, I feel the mountains enfold me while the lilt of creole accents mesh with the song of the frogs and a peace settles down in me; home.

I had been too tight on funds to make a trip home in over six months.  I hadn’t realized how much I needed this little re-charge until now.  As much as I love Barbados, there is something about St Lucia that fills my soul back up, and I was overdue for a top up. There is something subtle nudging me when I stay away too long.  I take a deep breathe of the sea soaked atmosphere on Vigie beach before getting into the rental car….filling up with the moist, humid scent and I am reminded of volcanoes and Caribs;  both long dormant, but still alive for me.

This trip I have no set agenda, and since it’s is close to the airport, on a whim I turn into Sans Soucci, headed towards the best hugger and my spiritual sparring partner, Ski.  For conversation, creative blessings, the best massage in the universe; Ski has always been who I turn to, when the well runs dry.

Good times, hard times, we have always been able to share what really matters in life.  He saw me through the death of my son, we both went through the collapse of our marriages at the same time; and through John’s addiction, he is the only person who never judged, and who gave the help that was needed without drawing back in self-protection.

Pulling up in front of the house, local music blaring away on the radio of my rental car as usual; Ski will definitely know someone is there.  And as ever, there is a gathering on the front balcony of the house.  There must be at least five guys, probably passing a joint from one to the next, on the long wooden bench. All eyes are on me as I get out of the car, a white chick in a rental car; headed straight for Ski and my hug.  A wave of amusement passes through me as I imagine the high musings as each of the fellows comes up with their own interpretation of who I am and what I am doing here.  In the dark, I can’t make out the individuals but I feel the eyes on me.   I don’t know whether they are people I know or complete strangers; I put them out of my mind as Ski comes out to greet me, his smile warming my spirit; creating a mirrored smile on my own face.

“Gal, I didn’t expect to see you round here tonight….how are you?” he says, in his Reggae voice as his strong brown arms reach to enfold me in a deep, warm, long hug.

I take a step back, still holding on, arm to arm; “Just stopped by on a whim Ski; following my heart where it leads; as always.  And it led me to your door; straight from the airport.”

There is someone to the right of me, on the porch, still watching me; so intently that I can feel the stare, so I turn to look, see who it is.

 “Jah”, the word is out of my mouth before I realize it.  “Jaws, that’s you?”

My ex-husband is right there, sitting on Ski’s porch, obviously just as disconcerted at seeing me there as I am, now that I realized that he is there.  I had not seen him in over eight years.  And damned if he didn’t look good; as if the man I fell in love with all those years ago had been raised from the dead.

The last five years that I was in St. Lucia, John had been in prison.  I had divorced him legally, finally, only about two and a half years previously.  But that was strictly because of financial constraints.  The marriage had been over since shortly after our son died during his delivery.  John’s addiction had killed off what little was left afterwards.  We each carried heavy burdens.

“Yea it’s me,” and the sound of his voice took me to a million memories all at once.  Some good, some bad, many just sad. 

My composure shaken, I still couldn’t help but smile; “You look good John.  I just came over from Barbados, and thought I would stop and say hello to Ski, so let me do that, and I’ll talk to you in a few.” 

I kick my shoes off while moving Ski backwards into his living room.  We had never broken contact from the hug; he had been my equilibrium throughout the brief exchange in the doorway.  From the corner of my eye I had registered all the expressions passing over his face from amusement to concern, and to care and understanding.  Ski is a wise soul.

He ushered me around to the couch.  The room has not changed since my last visit, months ago.  Actually, since his mother was still alive, and I first came to St Lucia.  The same crushed velvet red and orange cushions, knick knacks and books from years ago fill the bookshelf/room divider, the television front and center, playing nothing that attracted my focus then and there.

As we sat, John stuck his head around the edge of the front door.  He was upset.  I was surprised that I could still read that man so easily.  “Katherine, I have some papers by Daddy that belong to you.  Check me before you leave so I can give them to you.” 

Abruptly, hurt plain in his body language, he turned and left while I am still saying, “Okay, sure John, no problem.”

When he is gone, the tension leaves with him and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, turning to look at Ski.  “Garcion, you could not tell me the man was out of jail?  Jah knows I didn’t need to find out so.”

“Girl I meant to tell you, I just didn’t think that I would be seeing you tonight.  That was something else though”, smiling a knowing, sarcastic smile.   I reach out and knock him on the shoulder, frowning, but followed by my own smile.  He is right after all.  What an intense moment.

“He looks, I don’t know.  Clean; he has on jewelry.  Is he?  Is he using?”

“I think he is good, but then only he and Jah know that for sure.  He has been home about six weeks Kat.  He says he struggles still, every day; but he seems to have gotten some help at Bordelais, and he is definitely trying.  Keynon fixed him up a little apartment at the back of the garage; he does odd jobs in the neighborhood and stays away from temptation.  He is here most days, and we vibe.  I reason with him.  His head is still messed up with prison life, but he’s coming along.  For now.”

I try to get my bearings, and settle into a normal flow of conversation with Ski, but my mind keeps seeing the emotions in John’s face as he left for his father’s and Ski knows I am not fully able to concentrate on catching up and sharing life stories.  I promise to get back to see him the following day, and head down the block to my father-in-law’s house to find John.  I imagine the houses in the neighborhood all having eyes peeping from behind each window as I walk past them.  St Lucia is small and news travels fast.  The gossip mill in Sans Soucci will have enough fodder to run all weekend.

I make in impromptu decision to carry him out to dinner, catch up with him…away from the block, from Daddy K, and see for myself if he is rehabilitated.  There has always been a part of me praying for him to find the strength to rise above the addiction, hoping he would find his way back to himself.  A part of me never believed in that miracle, but I guess my heart is forever optimistic and I realized that I still hoped.

I offered, he accepted and during the drive up north, he complained; “you didn’t even look at me when you came up the stairs to Ski’s.’  That explained why he had been upset. ‘You pulled up to the house and never even noticed me… my wife; who he hasn’t seen in years, pulls up to my friends’ house. I was sitting there watching you, recognizing you before you were out of the car, but you never even acknowledged my presence until after hugging another man hello.  Never mind it was Ski.”

 I wanted to laugh, it was such an irrational complaint….but he was being honest and admitting what he felt, without malice or subterfuge, and I didn’t want to dishonor that, so I just explained that I hadn’t seen him.  Useless, of course because as far as he was concerned that was the issue- I should have “felt” his presence….known it was him, as he had known it was me.    

The papers from his father’s house turned out to be the divorce papers which I had served him while he was in prison.  He said he had refused to sign them, but if I still wanted the divorce, he understood, and he would sign the papers for me.   I got this sinking feeling on hearing that, since we already were divorced and he was obviously never informed by the courts and now I got to tell him.  Oh Joy.

“John, there was a hearing.  You were supposed to have been given legal counsel and transport to Castries from the prison to attend.  It was horrible, waiting for you to show up.  I had sat there in the courtroom, nervous; expecting you to come in and fight the divorce but since you had not turned up, the divorce was granted to me.”  We have not been man and wife in more than ten years in my heart, or any meaningful or physical manner.  We had been legally divorced for almost three years, and he didn’t even know it until this night.  What a crappy way to start the conversation.  I felt on the defense and guilty, even though I had nothing to feel guilty for.

At that point I fully expected that we would soon be arguing and the dinner would be a very short one, but I was wrong. There was a part of us both that needed to say everything that had never been said, to hear each other, and somehow it worked.  We could have easily, either of us, let the past intrude in a negative way.  We talked about everything, the addiction, the financial hardships, the losses in terms of material possessions, starting over, friends, and the broken relationships between him and the kids.  We skirted the subject for a while, and both ended up in tears when we finally could go around it no longer and the ghost of our son came to rest between us.  And we both blamed ourselves, and each other, and admitted it.  And somehow, that made it a little less horrible.  To have it said, out with, admitted. “It was your fault….damn it.”  Those words that were never spoken at the time, the ones we ate and choked on, while trying to salvage a marriage we both believed in when we said “I do”. 

Perhaps it was that we had nothing left to lose, and there was a bond between us of over twenty five years…not continuous, but a relationship that long, originally grounded in love and mutual respect, we had this night, this unexpected moment, and while dinner came and went, desert, then coffee, and the other diners left, one by one… we healed.

John cost me everything I worked for, everything we both worked for, in the first 32 years of our lives. His addiction wiped out everything and I was left in a country that didn’t like foreigners, with two children to raise on my own.   I started over there twice; first with him, then afterwards, on my own with the kids.

When we were together, he used to manipulate my emotions; make me feel as though his habit was caused somehow by my inadequacies.  Not that I was perfect mind you, or I didn’t make mistakes myself, but being blamed for his actions, wanting to hate him, but never being able to….all these years had passed with these things buried in me, since interacting with him was impossible before.

On this rare night; a moment was gifted to us both; outside of our normal life’s timeline; in this very special, unexpected evening, John looked at me, and apologized. 

He looked in my eyes, his own filled with tears, and took the responsibility that he had laid at my feet over and over during our marriage.  He lightened my heart, one word at a time.  And the thing is, his own heart lightened along with mine.  If anyone tells you there is no magic in the world, tell them I say; they lie.

All that grief, resentment and pain I bore for so long, things I thought I had gotten over years before, they fell from me, and as I let the tears roll down my cheeks, I remembered not the jombie, not the man lost beneath an addiction.  I could see the glimmer of the man I fell in love with before the drugs.  I am not sure who benefited more from the evening, he, or I, but I know that when I eventually dropped him back home, and I hugged him good night; I was not the same person who stepped off that plane a few short hours previously, and he was not the same man who was jealous of one of his best friend’s hugging his “wife”. 

Miracles do happen.  Addicts can recover, and love; love can do amazing things, even when it is past resurrecting.

You can go home again.  

The Goddess of Lost Potential

She is

a tribute

to unfulfilled potential… 

lighting up another joint;

perfect compliment

to the next glass of wine. 

(red wine stains have to be removed with salt)

Wine stains

easier to remove

than those

which mar

childhood

dreams.

Ranting

about the state of the world;

intellect still shines

through the

drunken stupor. 

All that has been lost

is apparent

beneath the drink and paranoia,

a creative soul,

bound;

lost

to poor choices: 

Mind altering substances

Over a life of substance.

So easy to blame

childhood shames

for every unfulfilled

dream

dreamt.

(If that doesn’t work, you can always blame the kids)

Every goal un-met

surrendered to the altar

of sickly past roots;

blighted growth

worshipped

as God the creator;

the creator

of this

version

of

Her self. 

Should those ribs crack open,

would they expose

something shriveled,

black and dead?

  

Would we turn,

Gagging on the smell

of

rotting potential,

recriminations,

and lost opportunities?

Would there only be

a mere shell

of what once throbbed…

vibrant,

rich and red? 

A head filled of poisonous pus

forever focused

on others’ actions,

evading her own

responsibility. 

Never acknowledging

pains she caused,

or the blessings

hidden 

within each curse. 

Although forgiven,

pity and regret remain.

The future

seems futile

without

hope for change

here.

I flee

knowing that

this

can never be

me.

Yet

this is the womb

that birthed me

in more ways than one. 

The impetus

to my strength

and the resolve

in my character

The negative

role model

who I will

always pray for

even

as I run

the other way.

Katherine Felix

2011-12-30

The.Baje.eMCee: It's Time for Wesu's Party!

The.Baje.eMCee: It's Time for Wesu's Party!: Dear Readers, I've known this artiste for some time and from the first time I heard him sing, I said "Record please, because I can't take...

Maybe....

Miracles do happen…

Maybe

There is such a thing, as love at first sight…

Maybe

Everyone has a Soul Mate…

Maybe

Sun heats 

Bodies meet 

Souls speak 

Intellects matched 

dancing mischief 

flirtatious 

eyes 

sparkle…

Maybe 

Discussions 

Long into night 

Morality, desires 

Repercussions; 

Hearts swayed 

Passions influencing minds 

Should, could 

Might…

Maybe 

Whispered moments 

Love’s right 

No repercussions 

Pleasure overwhelms mind 

Tingling spines 

Clasped hands 

Soft sighs 

Love is what matters… 

Maybe 

Right or wrong, 

justified by love 

drawing blurred lines 

touches become need 

Denied or Allowed 

Who will know 

Just between two 

no harm… 

Maybe 

Hearts beat 

Glide on Sweat 

Sheets akimbo 

Each caress brand new 

two bodies meld 

Joining rhythms 

In a single heart beat 

Joined… 

Maybe 

Feelings engaged 

Eye to Eye contact 

Close; with or without touch 

Frozen time… 

No disturb sign 

moments ever-lasting 

Thankfulness presides 

God knows best… 

Maybe

Something born 

Passion fueled 

Laughter rises 

Delight sustained 

Exploration of what will be 

Pause, 

Full stop. 

Exclamation point!... 

Maybe… 

Not Maybe;

May be…                                  

Always

I See A Man

Something 

made me pay attention

your words,

actions,

thought processes.....

Arrested my attention,

and in that small

glimpse,

I saw burning potential

like hot magma; below the surface.

I see beyond

the desperation 

the humble beginnings,

Institutionalized conditioning

And societal programming

which has caused you

to turn a blind eye

to your own

Soul's

perfection.

I see a Man

shining with intelligence

trapped

by self-imposed limitations

A Man

who's life

has taught you

that to succeed

you have to turn your back on your talents and dreams

follow a course un-natural to you,

conform to an ideal not your own;

conceptualized

by people

who hold their own interests supreme

over yours.

So you struggle against the tides

of society

family

friends

your,  own,  choices-

sowing doubt in your heart…..

and yet,

the embers;

the flames of passion,

are still lighted within.

Still burning

with the heat

of yearning....

yearning to explore your talent

and show it to the world!

And yet

all this

is just a glimpse

a flash of insight

that I have had

because I got to know you,

that glimpse allowed me

to see…..

A Man

who's potential

far out-weighs

your current circumstances

A Man

who's experiential

day to day life

teaches you to devalue your own dreams

to work for the goals of others;

goals that you must put above your own,

and before your own aspirations,

which do not conform

to the nine to five

factory operations.

Modern day colonial, slavery systems

which you were educated to aspire to

as your highest calling.

Trained to belong

to be seen and not heard,

conditioning

you strain

against,

because it goes against,

who you are....

the potential star.

I see a Man,

a valuable man,

who's sense of self-worth

is all wrapped up

in material considerations,

instead of the value

of your Soul's gifts

and the contribution

you will make in this world,

when you

just

learn

to see

the man that I see.

I see a Man

And that Man is You

and You

and You and You.

A man with talent,

with heart,

drive and ambition,

with skills

uniquely designed

to ensure that you fullfil

your life's mission.

While you doubt yourself

and follow societal norms 

you bury the man

the one there inside

burning to be freed

the one that I glimpse

when I hear

your words spoken,

that I see

when I witness your compassion;

exposing the Man,

the man I see in you.....

Limit-Less

other than for the constraints,

mental shackles,

you allow,

which you place

upon

yourself.

When you look into the mirror

why don’t you see,

get that same glimpse...

see that man....

and set him free?

I see a man

a great man

with all the unleashed potential

of the universe

and that Man

is

You.

by Katherine Felix  Sunday, April 24, 2011