when words need carpenters 

After Audre Lorde’s “Peace on Earth”, a star fell last night [1] The name of a Taino dance of healing that continues in Cuban spiritismo communities to this day as the Cordon. Glad you enjoy them, Karma Tenzing! is the table we build by sharing, train our tongues to be trans i’ve always had a tumultuous relationship with food, specifically, i have had periods of home-cooked deliciousness and many more periods of brightly packaged poison. Welcome loved ones, to another day of holding close, of longing and reaching. Between the corporate credit computer crash Two distinguishable stars become a different cosmic event as the gas burns out, as the core elements fuse. Advance praise for Undrowned: “Alexis Pauline Gumbs pushes us out of our comfort zone and into the sea, where other species are moving and mothering in ways that can teach us how to survive. The limit of your skin? This love. I wonder if you know how much you weigh. To send you off to sleep dreaming of the earth and liberation (or welcome you awake, if you read this in the morning), I’m deeply glad to share poems from the incredible activist, organizer, poet, teacher, culture-maker, and “community accountable scholar” (her own lovely phrase), Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs. who teach … For 10 days you will wake up to Sista Docta Alexis Pauline Gumbs opening up your sky reading you a poem and offering you some nourishing reflections and questions from her unpublished series of "sky study" meditation poems. I am grateful for the rhythm of these poems for reaching back. She is the author of Spill: Scenes of Black Feminist Fugitivity and the co-editor of Revolutionary Mothering: Love on the Front Lines. The best offering I have to give my ancestors is my joy. Alexis Pauline Gumbs 2011, Extraordinary poems, inspiring thoughts in both poems and prose and the lovely photos too. For Roberto Tijerina A rushing towards, a leaning down inspiring a solar smile from the girl with the computer in her hands. "More about them: They made the radical and brave decision to publish writings only by … Today I woke up at 2am to start Audre Lorde’s ascension day with sacred observation of the Leonids meteor shower on Saponi lands tended by enslaved African geniuses. The through line, the grounding place to return to the present reality, the passage way for being. For the past 21 days I have been limiting my salt intake, clearing a path for more ancestral love to come through, helping myself release whatever deposits have collected from uncried tears and holding it together. Twitter Feed. Am I looking out of the frame into this barely imaginable future? She is widely published in the fields of … PMS during #negrosolstice. I do. To receive love from every direction, in every form. This year the time travel will not be visiting a childhood neighborhood or eating familiar foods inconsistent with my current dietary practices. by alexis pauline gumbs. I think about nourishment, and exhaustion and dreams. In the afternoon you will dive deeper with excerpts from her forthcoming Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons for Marine Mammals. When I look at this picture right now, missing my father and reaching to find him beyond embodied form, missing my Nana who I see over video chat and cannot touch for who knows how long, I feel so bound. My every day writing practice shapes my days into vessels for generations of love. To be held by the universe. It’s an opening. — Image: detail from “Message received. You being less dense than salt water or soil. The work that I do in the world, the spirit work of black feminist love, is supported financially and spiritually by a community of people known and unknown to me who make themselves fellow travelers in my journey by so many shapes of saying yes. It is a completely clear no. To beam rainbows of love upon you like the care bears do. spell it like cauldron, these are the years You were in fact made for it. It is that cleansing. May we make ourselves into good food, nourishing energy and matter for the future our love implies. We breathe on behalf of so many. But to surrender this great portal of my heart. Turn to her when you long to be reminded of how connected and resilient we all are. Where love flows through, or at least leaks out. generate light like a helmet We make time into units of productivity. Today I can say what I must have known all along, the power of the care bears, beaming love out of their chests, is not an act of force. Rare opportunities where loved ones have off of work and time travel to the context of favorite foods tinged with disbelief, dressed in a lie we don’t believe in but still use and live inside of in the supposed absence of a better story. Poetry reading by Staceyann Chin and Alexis Pauline Gumbs, followed by a conversation with Kaiama L. Glover (Ann Whitney Olin Professor of French and Africana Studies, Barnard College). It grows toxic if I keep it around after it has already offered its gift. Of course they deserve to breathe easy and to know that life-supporting love is their divine gift to receive, not a scarce exception they have to learn. The prayers they breathe into our crowns perpetually. Today is the birthdate of my 5th book, Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals. Each of the poems below is dedicated to someone who has tangibly supported my work to study with black feminist elders and to take sacred journeys to places of spiritual significance in the history and legacy of black feminist brilliance. My face in this picture resonates with how I feel today. I am remembering an older knowledge of who you are and who you can be. What if food was to daily practice what breath is to meditation? an ethical escape, and told myself She finds it incompatible with her own existence. Somehow i missed this and only just saw it now doing a random search for something else :) If what is within is less dense than what surrounds me, I can float. Today. 

After Audre Lorde’s “Thanks to Jesse Jackson”, say it like bridge Alexis Pauline Gumbs is a poet, independent scholar, and activist. I am ready to unlearn my life as an earned achievement and to accept it as a gift. i’m happy i will be falling asleep to such a moment. I am up early this morning with archive questions. Alexis Pauline Gumbs’ transportative poetry calls attention to dreams, families, sustenance and persistence. Her work in this lifetime is to facilitate infinite, unstoppable ancestral love in practice. I think about the future we deserve and who that future is asking us to be. I study him, right here in my own face. I am thinking about how I and we learn about the concept of father which is mythological and biblical and larger than life and quite a reach if we’re honest about all we project onto it. I miss my Dad. After I find the love and lessons in my sadness (which often takes some time), they are finished with it. But I know what nourishment is. These poems are my attempt to bring that moment, photographed by my mother into language for moments like this when I need it. Much respect back and forth…, Copyright © 2019 Buddhist Peace Fellowship. I love you with my laughter and my tears. You beautiful being full of air, on a planet made of salt. As a severely nearsighted person, like my Dad and also like Audre Lorde, I want to be present to possibility beyond an ableist narrative of vision as progress. Thank you for showin love. Stability? Could we be interested in, sometimes even delighted by changes as serious as the changes we are going through collectively right now? Our superpower is presence, the presence of multitudes in our every breath. But for me, accountable to my lineage which includes ancestral experience with the violent narrative of sale, of people for sale, my father wearing this smock that says “never sold” when I first get to see him in physical form is also (at least) poetic. And now, with all the lessons I am learning now, especially the visceral emotional lessons of grief, all I want is to look into my father’s face. In this picture, a still image of my father and I reacting to our personal experience of climate change, heat, erosion on the scale of a moment, my Nana seems to be interested in and amused by our tensed and twisted faces. who radiate across me. Table of Contents Back to Top Alexis Pauline Gumbs. And what do the environmental changes, the changes we can feel on the surface of our skin teach us about the deeper mysteries of change, how life moves through us and beyond us. Climate & Energy. My heart is not a muscle. And holding onto this computer like it can hold this cosmic relationship, this black matter I am dressed in, the vast complexity of intergenerational relationship: a poem about my father. Growth and possible growth. who breathe with me. How do we actually face change? How every body seems too small to fit a universe of love. It is often beautifully blurred which is part of the gift of remembering I am not separate from life. The prayers they breathe into our crowns perpetually. In 1992. By Alysia Harris | April 21, 2020. I am remembering this moment when I was about the size of my father’s lungs. heaven drop All of our relationships are. Joy is contagious seems like a strange thing to say during a pandemic. And yet. Every day. It teaches me something that even though the journey was prompted by a solemn occasion, the love that was my great grandmother’s legacy, her mothering impact on her own children but also many grandchildren, daughter’s in law, community members was not closed off when she was buried. who whisper into me. the downfall of drummed up debt worldwide Tags . The through line, the grounding place to return to the present reality, the passage way for being. Though words distinguishing the proper use of property have been with me from the very beginning I am learning to read another way. The coming fall. The prayer of your perfect … But still I have the experience some days of consuming food that is filling without being nourishing. The superpower of a beloved scalp moisturized. ... , Verses Typhoon Yolanda: A Storm of Filipino Poets (Pawa Press, 2014). If I wait until everything is perfect to feel this joy…when will that be? This picture reminds me to remember that what supports and protects me is not actually the clarity of my vision. My poetry follows the tradition of the black feminist poets whom I research and study. Of course the blood pumping valve, central metronome of my breathing is a muscle. That part of my journey that capitalism does not affirm and tries to pretend doesn’t even exist…a big clue that it must be important. And I know he would have very much wanted to do that. “What if food was to daily practice what breath is to meditation? And so I look myself in the eye and form the poem. I want you to know how much it means, where and how you move and breathe. Our superpower is being here, despite everything, as everything. Not to clothe in armor. meditation is to learn how to pay attention to what homes us in every moment and the way alexis framed this reminded me that food is just as deep and intimately connected to how we’ve come to be in this world. This is also your annual reminder that in 1985 Audre Lorde wrote “I’m going to go out like a f**king meteor” in her journal in response to a liver cancer diagnosis. I am that form. Dirty, divine and evergreen. A comforting story? In the photo we are staring at the care bears. By Alexis Pauline Gumbs | Dec 31 2020. It is easy for me to know the truth of that when I look at the young people in my life. Until it's every breath I breathe. This is the Stardust and Salt Daily Creative Practice Intensive. Again. I celebrate all the love that I am experiencing in this time that is also shaped by my grief and by missing so many people whom I love. Lionheart, you got here right on time to teach me what all this strength is for. as I drove myself And the fact that grief is undeniable evidence of love, doesn’t mean that I feel like celebrating my losses. In capitalism we are not supposed to know what actually supports us. What I see in the photograph is comfort and familiarity. This is a subversive legacy. I know this heartbeat. The smock itself has been present for many moments like this, where someone covers over their regular clothes to be ready to greet the newest among us, a just-born infant. I want to affirm that my joy, my future, my success is not limited by what I can see from here. What attention would we give our food, where would we pause to eat, who would we eat near if food was to our bodies what breath is to our spirits? 24 comments. Alexis is the founder of the Eternal Summer of the Black Feminist Mind. All the time. and walk and not fall through, write it like rice Books by Alexis Pauline Gumbs . spell it like splinter, these are the times This is my prayer. It is a dance comprised by a group of people holding hands. In those moments, I am teaching myself to remember the moment of this image my mother made. clean throat back to pink In this time when many of us are feeling the grief of not being able to share joy in person with the loved ones we have lost, or who we cannot be with because of the safety concerns brought on by a pandemic that never had to go this far and kill this many, it is important to me that we remember that joy is not limited by space or time. She is the author of Spill: Scenes of Black Feminist Fugitivity, M Archive: After the End of the World, and Dub: Finding Ceremony. “Sista Docta” Alexis Pauline Gumbs is well-versed in the intersections of harm. It is every blessed breath. At the peak of the Leonids meteor shower. Tweet. Lisa served as a long time contributor and editor with feminist publication make/shift magazine, as a nonfiction editor with Literary Mama, as well as the editorial director for Bitch Media. The portal of every pore cleared. Spoiler alert, he did not create a financial structure that left us all independently wealthy, though I think he tried. But at some point the temperature balances, especially in the calm water of Rendezvous Bay, Anguilla which some people like to call “God’s bathtub.” Do you have those moments, were all of a sudden you feel the boundaries of yourself? pressure of wishes, i ate french fries Finished with it beyond these bodies Thanksgiving does not feel complicated at all activist... End or begin adult life navigating Thanksgiving does not feel complicated at all even., what was an early one you the moment of this picture was not my first of. Of air, on a planet made of salt that will not visiting... 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Poems, inspiring thoughts in both poems and prose and the State of California honoring...

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