THE VAGINA: THE UNKNOWN CAVERN

The vagina is something that never ceases to amaze me. She has so much going on and yet is so very quiet. She is often the topic of various conversations due to her mere existence. Why, there are even poems about her. As I age, she unfolds yet another mystery about herself that I did not know before. There are various substances that she produces with blood being probably the most popular. There are many lessons that she teaches without pregnancy even being on the table. However, I was on the table yesterday. My vagina taught an entire class. We took notes.

It was high time for me to go in for a physical. While I do believe in scheduling appointments to see all of my specialists, the one thing that I do not do is a physical. Yes, my beloved PCP has spoken to me sternly about this practice of mine which I would not enforce on anyone else. I just get to the point where I do not want to see anyone else. When I go in to have my teeth cleaned, there is the oral hygienist and the dentist. Both of them want to be in the middle of my mouth with shiny sharp instruments that do not please me. The dental hygienist likes to sing while that damn brush thing is squeaking so that I have to plug my ears. I like the dermatologist. Her face is absolutely beautiful with such vibrant skin. Her office is the place to be with such beautiful d├ęcor and the ladies at the front desk look like fashionistas. I am in and out of her office within ten minutes. The most painful thing being parking. Naturally, these professionals have painted a nice picture for the one that women around the world love and hate: the ob/gyn.

Yesterday was the first part of my physical. An intern saw me which has happened before and is always pleasant. Before I saw her, the womens’ health practicioner spoke to me about my head wrap. As we spoke, my mind reflected on the first time that she saw me. I felt as if she had treated me like her own child; an instant adoption. She told me all about her background prior to going into a breast exam. Then there was the wonderful speculum. I requested that she use the small one. She blinked and politely informed me that she would use the small one; however, if she could not see what she needed to see that she would have to upgrade to a larger one and that we wanted to avoid going in twice. Loud laughter soon filled the room as there was no way to contain myself.

The intern happily came to attend to me. She updated my medical history to include the sciatica and c4 tales of woe. She asked if I wanted to have a pap. My mind thought about how much easier it would be to have it done right now instead of going all the way to the hospital to have my main ob/gyn take care of it and then fork over the hefty copay thanks to my lovely new insurance company. A bright yes was soon heard, and I wrapped myself in my nice scarf in anticipation. What happened next can only be described as a side comedy show. My vagina was about to be the subject of study for the intern.

When the practicioner arrived, we laughed and began talking about my head wrap. The intern had to begin with a breast exam which of course prompted many a comment from me including laughter. She was stopped by her teacher, and my thigh suddenly had tapping of sorts. The intern was then instructed to continue with the exam and my laughter subsided; the tickling had stopped. I looked at the teacher in awe. She had applied her expertise to the current situation and showed the intern how to prevent such stimulation. They soon moved on to the main topic of the day.

The stirrups were brought out. They were naked. I inquired about the footies because I felt as if they should have had purple footies to make the process easier. The teacher began wiping them down and said that she thought that they were better without footies because of constant germs clogging the cloth. However, she went on to say that next time they would have footies just for me with cartoon faces. This took care of my footie desire. It was quite interesting to hear the two of them speak in medical terms about my vagina which was now with company and being used as a diagram. There is a distinct difference between a gyn exam and an ob/gyn exam. This was very interesting to me because ob/gyn is said as one word when in fact they are two.
My former thoughts resurfaced: my god, doctors do not consider any hole sacred. They will go into your nose, ear, throat, back door…all in the name of your health. The small speculum was used which immediately prompted a question that was met with the answer of Virgin Mary. It remained there longer than I would have liked but felt the sympathies of the two women. I was soon thanked for being a willing party for the lesson, and felt quite happy to have been the test subject. My vagina is now a teacher!

My mother would probably pass out if she knew that I wrote this because it is of a rather personal nature. While this is true, every woman has to go through this process, and I do not see the harm in discussing it. I once exclaimed to one of her friends that they never talk about what goes on in the pregnancy room and that the younger generation (ME), needs to know. Why do I have to wait if you already know?! Tell me! She dropped details like a stripper on a pole. Men would do well to understand the process as well so that they understand why their significant others may not want to have sex for a while. So here, I have done it. It is yet another chapter in the life of a woman. This one just happens to be a bit more colorful than most. Cheers.

Random Reflection: VERDICT PAIN

It has been about four days now since the verdict was announced. The reality that many had thought was of yesteryear became present day. The argument about the law, race relations, riots, and protesting all run wildly on the Sahara of America today. My exposure has been limited to the radio and Facebook which in truth is too much. The pain of the people is a great weight to feel.

As my mind wanders through the tragedy over and over again, my heart returns to the same place. At the center of this, there are two parents that brought this child into the world; that child is no longer here. There is a mother that is mourning the loss of her baby. There is a father that will never see his son again. Their pain is in the spotlight. They went from being unrecognizable to having their lives splashed all over the media.

I have heard about all the things that are being planned. Stevie Wonder refuses to perform in Florida which is significant because this is the same individual that fought with his talent to make the birthday of MLK a national holiday. Boycotts of the state by other groups are openly being discussed on Facebook. It looks as tourism is about to take a hit. Others yet plan to move away out of fear that their sons will meet the same tragic fate. One mother has removed all of the hoodies from her home. How does this permeate my humble existence? How do I feel?

My feeling is one of sadness. My feeling is one of regret. My feeling is that the spirit of the Civil Rights Era is about to explode. Then there is the question of what can I do? What is my role? For maybe the first time in my life, my role is very clear to me.

There are many people that are actively working to do something positive about this situation. They will need prayer. Aren’t you the same person that just posted that prayer also requires action on your part? Yes, I did. While I do not forsee myself participating in a protest, there are other ways that I can assist. Someone may need to relax their mind and escape for a while just to breathe. Harp music soothes all nerves. There are women that may want to talk about their fears for their own children in the wake of it all. I facilitate womens’ circles and would gladly offer to do a special ongoing series for this matter. It is now my honorable duty to make certain that I keep myself balanced so that when it is my turn to help, I will be ready.

Yes, here I am. Looking out of my window and thinking about my day. It will not be long before I petition Archangel Azrael to remain at Sabrina Fulton’s side. She must fight this battle while the memory of her son is fresh in her mind and heavy on her heart. Dear God, if I do nothing else today please let me ask you to hold her. No parent should ever have to bury her child.

Possessive

She erased our plans because her boyfriend did not like the fact that she talked about me all the time. How does this action help the situation? Didn’t she just further enable his possessive behavior? This is a small step away from failing to buy an olive (reference the post, “THE OLIVE”). Many women have expressed a need to keep their friendship gatherings to themselves because for some strange reason, their boyfriends will create some strange scenario which further engages their time. Then there are the couples that do everything single thing on the planet together. If friendships are allowed to continue, the new flavor of the month has to tag along everywhere. Girls’ night is suddenly awkward because Greg is here. Where is the individual time to breathe as a person? Why, there are some that make plans entirely around the availability of their boyfriends. Others yet ask permission…..WHAT?

It is a complete mystery to me why these things take place. I was under the impression that a woman was her own person and had the right to do as she pleased. Yes, of course there is couple time which is important; however, why is a woman expected to sacrifice her life just to please a man? Wait. I am wrong. How does a woman fall under the impression that she has to sacrifice her life just to make her mate stick around? It seems as if that is too much to ask for the sake of a relationship. Is it truly worth having at that point? No friends. No outside interaction. Sad.

A Christmas story of mine comes to mind. Plans were made with a rather tall individual. His height pierced the sky. We were going to rendezvous after spending time with our families on Christmas Day. He would call me later in the day. The call never came. Instead of pouting, I spent the remainder of the day with my family and enjoyed myself. Boxing Day morning rolled around and it found me en route to fun with a friend. My cell phone rang. The deep voice announced that he was driving to my home at that very minute. My brown eyes blinked as these words were said aloud, “I am not at home……bye bye…”. Weeks later, I was informed that my panties were in a bunch because I did not try to accommodate the fact that he was coming to my home. My brown eyes blinked again as I heard my own voice calmly explain that the plans were not properly executed for whatever reason on Christmas Day. Why was I then expected to be twiddling my thumbs wasting away an entire day afterwards awaiting the arrival of Prince not so Charming? Perhaps, he expected me to drop everything and rush back to my house to greet him. Needless to say, nothing ever came of that relationship because I am just not that kind of girl. I do not bark on command, and I certainly do not do as I am told.

Earlier this year, it was my extreme pleasure to sit down and have a nice long conversation with a rather impressive sister of mine. She is very much into the days of the goddess and things of the like. She put my confusion into words. Every time a woman allows a significant other to dictate the flow of her life, the sisterhood experiences a betrayal. This statement resonated with me a great deal as I thought about the different friendships that were destroyed because of the presence of insecurity. How many times did Maggie vanish? (another Olive post reference). A woman needs more than one person in her life. It takes a village to raise a child but you must then live in that village. When the men go off to hunt, wouldn’t it be nice to go and chat with your sisters? How is that going to happen if you abandon them all and just wait in that house for your hunter to return?

I reconnected for a brief time with the individual that had to cancel our plans because of her jealous boyfriend. When she saw me, she immediately stopped what she was doing and we hugged each other for what seemed like an eternity. We were so very happy to see each other. It was wonderful to see her. She looked great. She is still with the insecure male. She still has my prayers.

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE TO BE TRUE: THE VIOLENT MOON

As two pillows were placed on the bathroom floor, I was thankful that at least I would not be cold while laying next to the toilet. The extreme nausea made laying in bed pointless. It was a sleepless night followed by a day without food. Not even a drop of water. Tea seemed too distant for me to grasp. There was no way that my body could accept it. After two angst ridden days, my body began to move the toxic energy that had consumed the lower chakras. There were emotional outbursts. My beloved friend received frantic text messages every hour in the hopes that she could relay my final moments to my family. There was crying. Random thoughts were at an all time high. My life had been interrupted with pain that I would not wish on my worst enemy. The dreams were at night and during the day. I felt like an oracle that had been left in the dark world. It was the worst menstrual cycle of my entire life.

Now that I am coming out of my bout of terror, there are some things that I am able to see very clearly. All I could do throughout this time was pray to Archangel Raphael to consume me in his healing green light. It was not a time of bonding or warmth. Darkness and cold settled into ever constant thoughts of losing my stomach into a dark abyss. All I had was faith that my bathroom would not be my final resting place. It was not. It is unclear what transpired to this very day.

Early 2013

The Djembe Drummer

He smiled at me and asked for a business card. This particular Sunday afternoon found me performing at a holistic conference in Fort Lauderdale. He contacted me a few days later only to find me in the middle of a dress fiasco. The dress looked horrible and the sales lady had to comfort me because my face had crumbled to the ground. A large gasp was covered by my hand. She felt my pain and rushed to my side, “Oh sweetie its not supposed to hurt that much…” . The phone rang in the middle of the comfort session, and I heard a male voice on the other end. It was bad timing on my part but perhaps a distraction was needed given the fashion disaster and all. (A late night picture text to a friend brought about the words: BURN IT).
We started talking about this and that. It did not take him long to chime that he wanted to talk to me about performing at his best friend’s wedding for free. Allow the word to settle. Do you feel the length of that pause? That was my reaction as well. He went on to say, completely oblivious to the pause, that he did not know what my financial situation was like but that he did not have a lot of money. (Regardless of my financial situation, it certainly was not about to improve by talking to him!). He did not know anything about the particulars of the friend’s wedding, his best friend’s wedding, but was sure that I could work something out with him because he was a producer….as if I was looking. The next line that he threw at me is now an infamous classic: “These are very spiritual people and if you are able to do this, you will see how things will manifest in your life”……hold that thought.
A few weeks prior to this joke of an individual contacting me, I my proclaimed admiration for one of my mother’s social groups at her church. It gave me such an invigorating feeling to know that these retired ladies would get together once a month in their place of worship just to enjoy the company of each other. I wanted to perform for these wonderful women that were showing me that there is life after retirement. They welcomed me with open arms and were so very appreciative of my efforts. Do you know that I now have a regular client because of this performance? She saw me there and asked for my card. This is called beauty.
Let us now return to the djembe individual. It should be noted that he is actually a Bob Marley looking musician that happens to play Latin drums. Any product or service that is remotely close to the word spiritual comes with a hefty price tag. Have you tried purchasing a crystal? Perhaps you have visited a metaphysical store. Did your mouth drop wide open? Yes, I know. Try getting a cleansing or a reading. You won’t be able to do so without some serious cash. When he said that infamous line to me, these are the things that went through my mind. You are probably wondering why the conversation went as far as it did. Remember, he caught me in the middle of a dress fiasco. In order to avoid future pointless conversations, I texted him prior to my paid performance that I was unable to grace his friend’s (wait…his best friend’s wedding he knew nothing about), event.

THE CHEAP POET

It was the height of my grad school semester. Notes, schedules, and exams were all about. When the poet called to inform me that he had, “an awesome gig” for me, I listened. He said that it was a performance with him in Miami. I had no problem with that. When he told me that the pay was, $75.00, and he knew what I charged, the red flag was thrown on the field. Its one thing for me to miss a graduate level class for an actual performance that pays money; however, its entirely another thing for me to miss class for a complete waste of my time. He was soon listening to me decline such a generous offer. He put a great amount of effort into convincing me that this was something that I should do. His persistence made me realize that he had promised these people a harpist prior to talking to me and now, he was in a nice salty pickle. I added the hot dog; with mustard.
Quite some time passed before I heard from him again. It was a surprise to me that he even thought to contact me for round two. He had a talent showcase happening at a local Truth Center and inquired about my prices. He gave the illusion of starting out on the right foot. However, given his past actions, I knew better and told him that the price list would be mailed to him. A second phone conversation informed me that the Truth Center would be able to afford me but would love to have me perform because of my outstanding talent. There would be others performing as well, and my services were simply out of their budget. My voice wanted to say that the pastor would not be giving away his services, why should I be placed in this position? What I heard my voice say, which was a shock to me, “This does not sound like an event where I should perform.”
What people fail to realize is that when I perform, it is not just time out of my day in a formal gown behind an expensive instrument. More often than not, I have nightmares about something happening to me prior to performing. I worry about setting up my schedule properly so that I can have an effective performance and please the client. Bad weather can throw off my driving time or re-route me entirely. The emotional tax is a part of each performance. My body also remembers the performance in that my arms often get tight and require a massage.
No, there is no way that I can perform for free. My car requires gas. It has an insurance bill, and the bank still expects payment for the check that it gave to Honda on my behalf. My music lessons were not gratis. My dresses are not gifts. The instrument costs more than my car which does not include the strings or music. I can not be paid for the emotional involvement.
Poor poet. He is not the first and unfortunately for me, he is not the last. He called the next day while I was shopping with a friend in Aventura Mall. Because time with my sisters is not allowed to be interrupted by anyone, his call was promptly sent to voice mail. He was now inviting me to attend that very same showcase. It is my assumption that if I attended, I would fall in love with the event and offer to perform out of the kindness of my heart. Needless to say, the poet never heard from me again and vice versa.

Mercury in Retrograde: The First Summer Evening

There I was in the middle of the great city of Miami. Pictures of the Heat champions loomed over the skyline as my location was not far from the arena. It was poetry night, and I had been invited to venture out on the scene to behold the modern day Plato people. While figuring out the parking situations with my artistic friend, a rather unusual scene transpired.
A homeless man fell on the ground and was a nano second away from taking me with him. My personal space was violated by the force of his body hitting the sidewalk. We just stood over him; staring. I did not know if we should dial 911 or not. He did not appear to be dying or having a seizure. We blinked. Suddenly, it felt as if it may be a trick to get my purse; no doubt I am fresh from my recent theft fiasco. The need to scurry into the venue and inform the man at the front door pressed upon me. Chances were high that he would have an explanation about the strange occurrence. He ventured out to assess the situation. A woman showed up and began screaming the name of the afflicted. He arose, as if it was the third day after his death, and walked away. There was not a thing wrong with him.
It would be easy for me to say that this man was playing on the sympathies of two women. Did he want attention? Money? Who knows what was in this odd plot. One thing is for certain. It was the first night of the Mercury in Retrograde which made it normal. Bizarre things tend to take place during these cycles. After years of experiencing strange situations and learning that there was something happening in the cosmos, I have made it a personal obligation to inform others of this mysterious cycle. We are halfway through the second retrograde for the year. May it be one of insight for you.

Deep Thought

Human bonding involves risk. It is not for the faint at heart. You have to lay your soul bare if you are to experience the highest levels of true love, compassion, and ultimate fulfillment. For those that choose to push themselves to the extent of such experiences, the consequences include rejection, isolation, and increased fear. They are the true daredevils in life. They are willing to risk it all for the one thing that technology will never replace: true connections.

WALGREENS GUY

WALGREENS GUY.

by Crystal Sawyer (Notes) on Tuesday, October 4, 2011 at 7:59pm

October 3, 2011

I went to Walgreens one day to have some pictures enlarged. The Walgreens guy assisted me. We got to talking, and I told him that I was a musician. This seemed to be of great interest to him. He mentioned that a PR Firm, which also employed him…as what I have no idea…was having a grand opening in Pembroke Pines. He said that within his community there was only the same man that always did all of the special events. I could come and perform for 1.5hrs and then he, the gracious Walgreens Guy, would introduce me and then I could be the one to perform at all of the special events. I smiled and said, “Ok, may I have an email address where I can send a pricelist?” He firmly responded if I understood what he was getting ready to do for me. I firmly responded yes, and if he understood how many times someone has duped me in such a grand offer before. Obviously, I had no intentions of working without proper compensation. He realized this after he called to confirm my performance, and I made it extremely clear that I was not going out of my way to perform for free. Mr. Walgreens Guy had two jobs and thought that I would work for free….what was Mr. Walgreens Guy smoking? I do not really go to Walgreens anymore…but when I do, I see Mr. Walgreens guy and shake my head.