Does the weight of trauma compare to the enormous amount of clothing taking up space in the back of the closet? Are the clothes outdated, frayed at the edges with moth holes and no longer fitting the shape you blossomed into?
Then… Your closet parallels the weight of baggage you carry on your body.
Does the layers of clothing piled on during the coldest of NYC days represent the order of a life once lived, now forgotten and taking up space with a foreclosure sign?
Then… Don’t even think about a reverse mortgage (making a deal with the devil)! Start with the mind. Figure out and get by with a little help from your friends (God) Throw that foreclosure sign off the lawn and loosen up those valves blocking love from flowing to the heart.
Does the care of another or others leave your alma (soul) sucked out like a prune? How about the never-ending verbal woes from the emotional vampire, who loves garlic, nags at you until you resemble the $9.99 TJ’s plant left unwatered?
Then… Start getting rid of the stuff or people who no longer bring joy. Yes, it’s harsh but in the end so worth it as that wilted TJ’s plant will finally receive water on a weekly basis and blossom into the chrysanthemums you love.
Baggage is baggage as baggage is an unnecessary burden we carry by choice or ignorance.
Ignorance is not bliss when it involves the health of the mental or the stunted growth of the alma (soul).
Self-care, self-love, self-importance of the self, selflessness unto yourself is love.
Love yourself the hardest you’ve ever loved. Love hard, deeply, freely.
To just be, at times can involve memories Of losing someone to death of the most painful kind Exposed and raw Carry on, you must For work and play outside the haven of your home
Careful With a suit of emotional armour I ventured into a space Once considered safe But no longer For a volcano was brewing its magma at my core
How A confrontation with a white man of the most dreadful kind Words thrown in a sentence (abrupt, harsh, condescending) Defense to those words thrown in a sentence (ghetto, Sheman-hear me roar persona, 0-60 in one second)
Due to my talking with a person sitting next to him
“Stop screaming in my ear!” –the belligerant white guy
“Excuse me, what did you say?!” – me the person of colour warming up
I can go on as he obviously did not receive the notice on messing with a woman of colour going through mourning and not having the time or patience to deal with a man, who addressed me in a tone uncalled for,
But… I’ll stop here for it did get ugly as I told him, “Don’t make me go ghetto on you” and he said, “You are ghetto”. Magma turned into lava and flowed…that’s how it went until WORDS OF THE MOST UGLY KIND sprewed forth in fire and brimstone from my mouth I left seething in invisible black ash through the exit door
You Not asking for an education on your past I was schooled about it on the ride home On their cell phones two members of the group in the space I once thought safe disclosed your past and mugshot You are not a nice person You were arrested for stealing $37k from a client Posing as a lawyer when you were disbarred years ago For illegal practices
Obviously money and you are not a good mix like alcohol to an alcoholic like a rock to a crackhead like chasing waterfalls and slipping like the lucky charms guy engulfed in sugar looking for his charms
I did not know what you were emotionally carrying that day and time. You did not know what I was emotionally carrying that day and time.
But yet?…What would Jesus do? (Not referring to the’Jesus Gone Wild’ moments: cursing and killing a fig tree, flipping tables and using a whip, hanging out with sinners)
But Love your neighbour, see God in everyone, treat others as you’d like to be treated Those words were not in my heart on that day and time
Treat Be careful how you treat someone for you do not know what they are going through
That is my mantra when I walk out the door into the world But I failed that day I reacted I did not think before speaking
Someone I have changed in the past 8 years Mom, my mom is no longer here to soften my extremes at the world When she passed I took it upon myself to become what I admired most about her No matter how people treated her, talked down to her, forced her to live with an aunt in another country, Margarita, my mom always showed kindness
In that moment of abusive words firing back and forth I did not take the higher ground when
Those words were first written in Tio Victor’s piece. I’ve shed many a tear for those who passed on due to illness’ that showed no mercy, was brutal and bent on destruction. It’s one thing when it happens to your parents, tíos, tías and even primos …
(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla
But when it makes an appearance on a sibling That’s a whole new realm and you can’t help to wonder When you’ll be next
I don’t cry for the Walsh’s Except when my father died The day before his 90th birthday His spirit visited me and he was angry
Angry for being taken from living Angry for the last drink not had Angry for eating his last meal Angry.
(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla
The McCalla I cry for today is my sister Evie Although technically she is a Walsh She arrived through a McCalla And that makes her both
Nicknamed Judy for her JudyGarland eyes Big brown with the longest lashes Those eyes required glasses of the strongest kind To view the world but not life ahead
Judy was whimsical An artist with the capacity to draw Images of fantasy and fiction Prompted by her obsession with romance novels
(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla
Artists run in the McCalla family From photographers to those who draw and painted So does mental illness. From those who isolate and those who drink
LGBT slides Beneath the surface The ones who never got married, never had a partner Who live on the West coast away from the East
But Back to my sister Judy A life lived To the fullest? I will never know
(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla
A life lived Within her means and understanding Of the world she lived in Comfortably existing in
I once told my sister I love you and she said she loved me too.
People of colour come in all ranges of skin tone black, tan, yellow, white, bronze and even the darkest purple We share the same colour tears and blood and in most cases the same colour food
As diverse as our colours are because of it, we lack the privileges afforded to others
We are harassed, ridiculed, talked at slowly, talked at loudly as if we are ignorant imbeciles from an illiterate island
I miss my mom’s accent but I cannot miss what I never heard, for her accent to me sounded like everyone else’s voice without one
Others heard her accent and treated her as if she came from a third world country not from the god forsaken place she was born to
My mother left a developing country with an eight grade education for a better life in America
With that education She worked for a higher learning magazine
I traveled to Greenpoint, Brooklyn from Jerzy City, Nueva Jerzy on the Path to the MTA to the G train-notorious for never arriving on time or at all.
Traveling from one city to another is not the same as traveling from one borough to another which I did when I lived in Brooklyn and worked in Manhattan.
For the past few months, I’ve been stuck in Jersey City, where I now live and work which saves money on taxes when you work in one city and not two.
Ok.
A septum piercing idea went from curiosity to commitment. With turning 60 approaching, I wanted to do something big but also on a small scale.
Researching YouTube videos for information on this type of piercing resulted in videos of the good, the bad and the ugly. Pain was to be expected at a high degree and images of poor aftercare results made me go…hmmm.
Research continued and my interest peaked.
During a hair appointment I drooled over the stylist’s gold septum chain. We discuss the process and it was not painful or horrific for her. A visit to the Apple store led to another discussion on septum piercing with an associate, as it looked like everyone who worked there had a piercing.
My mind, a terrible thing to waste, made the decision to proceed.
With a septum piercing appointment set and chain link picked out, I made my way to Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
The piercer detailed what to expect and I felt at ease.
My eyes teared up during the piercing which was quick and not painful. It’s been almost a month and it continues to heal well without complications.
I wear my chain link proudly and it feels good to continue to please myself with self-care.
Yes.
The septum piercing is self-care as it CELEBRATES me.
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