Holiday Invasion

First off forgiveness has nothing to do with this. I have already forgiven. I have already loved beyond the damage done. So a lack of forgiveness has no place in how I feel right now.

Me extending the forgiveness I would want for myself has not changed this bad reaction I’m having to an old prescription I was illegally prescribed.

He is in America. Didn’t I see him enough in Jamaica?

God really does have confidence in me. God must really and truly believe in my ability to trust him through and in anything. Why else would he be in America?

So I heard that he arrived and I thought, hmmm must be nice. Then I heard, I have a friend that already wants to be with him, he says he wants to meet her too… So I think, I hope it goes well for them, she should enjoy the parts of him he had pressed up against my leg…wasn’t small…good for her That was a very strange thought to have had but anyway.

Then I heard, he’s coming for 4th of July…

You know those scenes in the movies when the ships start taking on water or the aircraft is losing altitude and pandemonium breaks loose and all you probably hear is ABORT ABORT ABORT or MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY?

I think my mind kinda sorta fell into that. WHAT, COMING WHERE??? WHY???? NOOO!!!!!

It’s one thing to have turned my life back over to God. It’s one thing to be preparing myself to be potentially ostracized because my balcony will no longer be the smoke spot and I will no longer be designated ‘roller’. To feel like an outcast amongst my family because I am no longer what or who I used to be. But to have my home invaded is a whole different scenario.

Forgiveness and letting go and moving on with my life has not changed the fact that just the thought of him coming to my home will cause me to feel naked and exposed. Forgiveness didn’t erase the memories of what he did, it simply removed the pain of the offense.

I’m not panicking but I feel like I’m on high alert. My sisters will be here, my little cousins, my female family, a pool is in the backyard. No I will not wear a bathing suit, no they can’t swim without me there, no one is allowed in the pool with the kids but me. No one is allowed upstairs unless thats where they’re sleeping, I decide the sleeping arrangements…

If I tell my mother she’ll potentially spazz and I’ll feel even more naked and embarrassed because they’ll all get on the phones and it’ll come out that it had happened. Yep, me again, another one of those stories, yep. I don’t remember telling anyone about it other than a visiting cousin near the first instances and even then she’d accused me of telling tales. She was a teenager, she simply thought I was upset about some triviality and that was my response, to tell a presumptuous lie.

I guess I can wear my winter coat until he leaves. And be Hawkeye to the vulnerable ones in my home.

What a wonderful 4th of July it’ll be!!!! Yay…..■■■

Remorsefully,
Rae.

Rae Sonson,
June 27, 2016,
11:41 p.m.

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A Little Low

I was a little low and without prior knowledge of my situation the man of God went up and spoke to my very specific situation.

I was low. I was going lower it seemed. Just last night/very early this morning I was sitting in bed talking to God about the condition of my heart. It was heavy, it was hurt, it was growing a little angry and very weary. It was tired.

It kept getting harder and harder to pray but I kept trying. My mind wouldn’t focus and my mind wouldn’t listen. It’s almost like my mind was in rebellion against the very knowledge of God. Able. All powerful. Present. Good.

Well I received the Word today, it was a needed word. A needed reminder that God is certainly preparing me for greater. I just have to allow myself to face this process with my faith and my worship intact. Not to sway but to remain immovable and always abounding in grace and in the love of God. Operating in the love of God.

I didn’t want to get up and go to church today. However, I spoke to God, I spoke to Him and ended up up during the night and into the morning grooming my hair and getting myself ready for worship today. I wanted to leave when I got here. I guess my natural self sensed the moving, I guess it sensed the shifting that would occur. I am lifted.

I am refreshed. My situations haven’t yet changed as far as I can see from where I am, physically, this minute, but I am changed. I know what I MUST do. I know what I CANNOT afford not to do.

I must linger in God’s presence, I cannot afford to lessen my time with him. I have to stay a little longer as the pressures increase. I have to, in my desperation take a hold of Him. Stay with Him. Let Him uplift me and renew me and prepare me for His greater.

I am no longer low.

Two things happened between lastnight and this moment.

1. He showed me a flaw in my character that had I not been low, I wouldn’t have taken notice of.

2. I was hugged by a woman I do not know and told “…the Joy of the Lord is your strength, don’t allow anything else inside your mind, fill your mind with scripture that remind you of his Joy…”

I am no longer low. I am free to worship. In His presence I regained joy.

I am free from me and free from them. I am simply free.

Renewed.

Rae Sonson,
June 26, 2016,
12:57 p.m.

I Did Have Sex With Him

I actually did have sex with him
But not when you assumed we did

It hadn’t happened when you’d accused us,  when you’d decided that we had soiled our garments, that we had broken our vows we stood right hand raised and professed, “until death”.

We hadn’t done it yet. We were too young. We weren’t ready. Well maybe he was because I could feel his salute, raised at the attention given by our embrace. We’d only just started kissing.

But yeah, I actually did have sex with him. Just not that year you slandered me. Slandered us.

Not the convention I missed to visit my father that your loveless judgment surmised I was away the cause being shame. Ashamed of what exactly? When did this soul tying encounter happen?

I must have missed it. He thought he must have missed it too.

I actually did have sex with him. It happened that year I was done. That year I wanted to decide who could enter, me. That year I had gathered my past, all the pains, stuffed them in with the ills of the day and folded the fears I had of what could have been my future, I was packed. Ready to leave, when is departure?

Duffle bag in hand I called my last ride. He picked up. Will you do me this one favour? He didn’t realize I had plans to leave. I might as well try it, and who else but him. What’s the point of dying whole? I might as well know this one so ‘well spoken of’ thing.

Are you sure? Yes. I am sure that my virtue won’t matter in the place I’m headed. He didn’t hear me say that. Good.

I layed down with him like I should have waited for my husband. I was terrified. You can imagine just how I bled. My body wouldn’t join me. It shut us out and taunted my aching mind. What if you get pregnant, just like your mother? What if you end up diseased? Why are you throwing away this thing you’ve treasured for so many years? Oh, you’re leaving anyway.

Yeah, I guess I forgot it didn’t matter where I was going. I was packed and ready to leave. I left my stains and took my shame home. My nape was covered with the evidence of what took place. I don’t know how or when that got there. I guess I’d left sooner than I thought.

So yes, I did sleep with him. But I wasn’t suppose to still be here, I wasn’t suppose to bear the shame, I wasn’t suppose to face a consequence, my agent had said the plane would leave, on that day. I thought perhaps that agent would have coaxed me but he just left. Left me packed, stained and physically hurting. Still alive.

I’m still alive and now I’ve lost my seal. My sacred seal. The white in my robe I gave away to purchase this one way ticket to the hell that never came. That wasn’t my destiny.

Stained. It took years to wash out. I was just thinking I was clean then I thought of his robust chest, his thunderous voice, his mole. He has a mole next to his beauty mark on the left side of his face. It’s even cuter when he smiles.

I guess I’m back to washing. I must stay clean.

©iamakingsonson

Rae Sonson,
June 24, 2016,
22:50 p.m.

I Like My Hotsauce Spicy

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And because I like it that way I gave up the search and made my own. Nice ole Jamaican pickled pepper. I say Jamaican because that’s where I’ve seen people bottle scotch bonnet peppers, pimento seeds, onions and carrot in vinegar and let it ‘cure’. It’s mostly used as garnish for fried fish.

Hot is how I like it! It’ll feel like death in my mouth. Yay!

Rae Sonson,
June 24, 2016,
21:31 p.m.

Someone Hurt Rasheed

I FINALLY went witnessing with Elder M.
I went Jehovah’s Witness on em (I said that doing some weird action moves in my mind, I’m quite peculiar, I know, aren’t we all).

We went out to share the gospel of Jesus, the love of God, the good news and to invite folks to worship and relationship and the health fair that’s tomorrow.

What you should know is, witnessing, public speaking, people looking at me expectantly, scares me. A LOT.  However, what I’ve come to realize over the years, is that I’m only scared on the way to the action but once I remove myself and just do God’s will, I’m myself, the Christ in me. I’m Him. His arms extended. I’m bold and confident, courageous even. Anyway. This is about Rasheed.

So I met Rasheed today. Seemingly intelligent young man, quite outspoken, eloquent even. But bruised. He spoke passionately. He didn’t want to hear about God. The thing the bible instructs us to do when God is rejected is to ‘brush the dust of that place off your feet’ and keep it moving. Don’t take that mess elsewhere. Leave it where it is.

But he was different. He wasn’t rejecting God. He understood the message. It was us that he was afraid of. He was scared of the people and immediately I felt his pain. I understood his hurt. Someone hurt Rasheed. One of us. One of us “bible thumping Jesus freaks” hurt the soul Christ died for and now he’s hurt and angry. He didn’t say those words, those are mine.

One of us ‘representatives’ of Christ misrepresenting God hurt him. He made us in His image so one of us arms and legs and lungs on the body of Christ the church, malfunctioned and caused this beautiful soul unnecessary pain. I was hurt for him.

The Spirit of God let me feel his pain. So I touched him. I held onto him. I needed him to feel the presence of love. I needed him to take some of the water from my well. I needed him to take some of the virtue of Christ within me. So he could be free. I felt his hurt. Someone cut him deeply. Wounded him, bruised him. I thought Christ was bruised for us. I thought Christ was already wounded for us. So who took it upon themself to cut him afresh, to shed blood made innocent by the sacrifice of the Holy Lamb, the very Son of God. Who hurt God’s son? Who?

I wanted so badly to turn and go running to Rasheed. Just to apologize. To let him know I was sorry we let him down. That I was sorry we showed him human love and left God’s purity out of the exchange. I wanted to apologize that we misrepresented the whole relationship of God and we brought him religion.

Rasheed I am sorry. I am sorry I was busy sinning when I could have prayed for others going out, when I could have asked God to bless souls coming home to Him and to chasten his children. Maybe you wouldn’t have been hurt. Maybe you could have been spared. But I needed to be reminded. You needed to experience this to understand the difference between man’s call to church houses and filling up seats and the beauty of relationship that cannot be shaken by malfunctioning people.

I’m sorry we’ve been dysfunctional. I am so sorry we pushed you away.

I am praying for your safe return to your place amongst the 99. Your Father and Friend is coming to get you. He’s heard your heart, he’s ready to heal you, let them go. I am sorry.

With Love, Rae.

Rae Sonson,
June 24, 2016,
20:47 p.m.

Nat King Cole For My First Dance

When I fall in love it will be forever
Or I’ll never fall in love
In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before it’s begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun

When I give my heart it will be completely
Or I’ll never give my heart
And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.

And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.

Now you tell me how I can still question getting married with a beautiful song like this…I love me some Nat King Cole. I’m an old lady I know. My friends remind me often enough.

Told a friend to remind me, if I get married, that this is the song. Her response, “When you get married.”

She has been waiting throughout the years to make her toast at my wedding reception about how I use to squirm at the thought of a husband and kids.

Only if God say yes!

Rae Sonson,
June 24, 2016,
14:03 p.m.

It’s Not What It Looks Like

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Last summer I dug this hole. My grandmother had a small coy pond that my uncles touched and ruined. She decided she wanted a wider deeper pond with some dimension, dig into the sides and give it some kind of level, she said.

I dug for hours in the hot summer sun. I hit a few concrete blocks, concrete? Oh yeah, she had had a bathroom built in the basement and the concrete and bricks from the floor she had them discard, yep, you guessed it, she had them throw them into the hole in the backyard, her coy pond. Then as soon as they went down she wanted her pond back.

Will you dig my pond for me? I really want it, I’ll make it bigger and add fish.

Who wants a sad grandma? No one. Soooo out into the thick of it I went. Grill fired up, music playing, pool filling up, kids harassing me to help me dig, I dug and dug and dug.

I finally finished it. Got it just how she wanted it. If you could have seen the smile on her face. I was pleased with my accomplishment. Grandma was happy.

Now to seal it and add all the fancy stuff. Hold on, let me take another picture for you…

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You see how fancy it is. All bushy with the slabs of stone for its circumference haphazardly placed, yep. Fall came. Winter came. Spring came. It’s summer again.

You going do my coy pond for mi?

With a smile and what seems to be sparkles in her hazel brown eyes. Guess who’s outside in the hot summer sun clearing out a coy pond for her grandmother, again?

I’m going to get her in a little while and we are going to go to the hardware store (one of my favourite things to do, I’m a weirdo I know) and get all the things I’ll need to slab and seal it then maybe, just maybe I’ll also try to figure out the water system that goes into it.

My hard work sat through seasons before finally coming to realization. Seasons before it finally made it to its true purpose. Seasons before it finally gets utilized. Seasons before it stopped being an eyesore and possible death trap in the backyard. Seasons.

I’m sure there are some things in our lives we’ve adjusted. Some things we’ve given up. Jobs we’ve quit. Schooling we’ve deferred. Friends we’ve dropped. Phone calls we’ve stopped taking. Places we’ve stopped going. But, it seems like we haven’t made any progress. Feels like all we have is a hole in the backyard filled with bush and debris from all the seasons that went by.

IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE

The preparations you’ve made are not in vain. The right moves you’ve made in the right directions are never in vain. The seasons must come and they must be endured. You have to face the discomfort for a little while. You have to face the uncertainty for a little while. All the while knowing that seasons change and the things you did prepared you for now.

I have enough confidence now to take on constructing a coy pond alone. I also have enough muscles now, lol.

You didn’t do it in vain. Some things needed to be realized first. Some stages need to be passed. Some ceilings needed to be broken. You needed to grow in confidence. God needed you to have a little more confidence in his abilities and in his good thoughts towards you and his perfect plans regarding you.

We needed a little more time to be who we are now to finally see these things through to the finish. Courageously. Confidently.

Rae Sonson,
June 23, 2016,
13:18 p.m.

My Father Son Son Johnson

I read a book in Preparatory school or the early parts of High school with that title. It’s actually “My Father, Sun-Sun Johnson”, a book by Jamaican writer, C. Everard Palmer.

I can’t say I remember anything from the book other than sunshine. I remember something island/caribbean about it. Yep, I remember sunshine.

But, I also remember this attachment to the book simply because it had my name on it. And I mean, I liked the title. “MY Father Son Son Johnson“. That is how I believe my heart might have read those words.

MY father. My father Mr. Johnson. Hmmm, well, Sunday was father’s day. I think I need a different post to tell about how my very first good father’s day went. Spent it with my GOOD GOOD FATHER. Not Mr. Son Son Johnson. My Jesus. My God.

I don’t know his date of birth. I know it’s in October. I know his age because I add the age on my birth certificate to my age now, that’s how old/young he is. My father Mr. Johnson, the husband. I didn’t attend his wedding either. The best thing from his marriage I know of is my sister, I love my sister.

Mr. Johnson has 3 sons and 2 daughters. I’m the first born. I broke the mold. And in a whole other story, I’m not even his. Or so I’ve heard. First born with a twist of two tales.

…if you were a boy yuh woulda be a wicked gun man enuh…

That’s what my father said to me after I was taken to his home for some “fresh air”. Wrist in bandage. I’d just failed again at suicide.

You see, he considered the fact that that deep seated hurt and pain that lead me to that dark place where I could seek to inflict pain on my own self would have been an asset in his former line of “work”, as bad man (you have to say that in the rawest Jamaican rude boy accent to get it- bad man -yes like that).

He hadn’t considered the hurt or the pain that lead me to that dark place. So much for “fresh air”.

I was a spectacle.

My father Son Son Johnson. His little sister bought all my birthday presents. His little sister cried all my tears with me. His little sister celebrated all my milestones. His little sister adored me. My aunt my father’s advocate.

I haven’t had any “moments” with him. Haven’t had any real conversations with him. Nope, we’ve never discussed Plate Tectonics and the resulting earthquakes. No talks of a walk in Paris and pizza in Naples. I don’t know what football team he supports. I don’t know if he likes cake or icecream.

If he has allergies I do not know of them. For all I know he might like green eggs and ham.

I do know that he loves me. He reminds me of that truth as often as he can, does. I don’t call or text as often as I can. He let’s me know he is aware of his flaws, not that he’s improved on them. I don’t know if he tries. I know he loves me. I’m certain of it.

He likes to talk of all he’ll do when he has money. I guess he thinks a better relationship is in the bank. He likes to promise I’ll be ok, once he has it all. I guess I’ll have to wait on that million dollar cheque to take a picture with him at my High school graduation.

I know he loves me. That has never been enough. He has never heard my thoughts. He’s never had an opportunity to dry my tears. Boys have broken my heart and he missed his cue to ‘pop dem neck’. He was waiting on that cheque I guess. I guess it can buy him a shuttle into the past and he’ll defend me where I stood wrongly accused and protect me where vile and/or misguided males and female felt the need to disrupt my chastity.

My father Son Son Johnson. He took me to my field hockey games a few times, he didn’t stay to watch but he took me right? Mr. Johnson the adult teenie bopper. I hear these days that he’s getting himself together. That is, he’s finally an adult. Finally a parent to one of us I guess. One is better than none right? I’m happy my sister gets a dad. I’d threatened him with a nursing home stay void of visitation if my youngest brother told me he felt unloved ever again. I guess he found a way to love him more.

I know my father loves me. It’s just that he’s missed a few steps. Bypassed a few stages. He’s loved with half a slice as opposed to a whole. But, I’ll accept the little I’ve got. If nothing else, I’m always certain that my father loves me.

My father Son Son Johnson. My father Mr. H. M. Johnson that with all certainty loves me.

Rae Sonson,
June 22, 2016,
1:04 a.m.

Mother May I?

May I live in your heart again?

Can I be of your flesh once more?

May I feel your warmth again? A loving embrace? A kind honest smile in my direction ?

Can I be of your womb again?

May I see your mind again? May I see your mind, fullstop?

Can I get to know you?

May I be permitted entrance to the courts of your truths, of your struggles, of your strengths and visions for the future?

Can I hear from your voice within?

May I take 1, 2, 3 steps forward with you?

Can I hop skip and jump a few piggy wiggies and 2 baby steps in your joy in celebrating me?

Mother may I still be permitted to play even though you’ve turned too soon and the rules dictate that I move a few steps back or return to the start?

Mother may I banana split across the space between us into peace with you?

Mother may I umbrella twirl beyond our errs and proceed anew?

Mother may I start over? With you?

Can we go back to the future I dreamt of in the past and be Lorelai and Rory? Emily and Lorelai will even suffice! Even they grew stronger.

I want to tell you everything. I want to trust you with my heart. I want to be fearless in my faith in your instinct to protect me.

I want to believe that after the eyes have departed that you’ll still love me. That you’ll still be concerned with my well being, with how I’ve grown, with how I’ve developed, and even with how my intellect expands.

Mother may I still matter to you when I’m out of sight?

Can I be your child again?

Can I not just be the one but rather a part of four?

Mother may I be allowed to be myself in your presence? Can I be enough for you? Can I cease to change suits now? The tailoring is too rigid.

Mother may I live in your heart again?

Mother was I ever there?

Was I miscarried?

©iamakingsonson

Rae Sonson,
June 21, 2016,
9:17 a.m.

I’m My Friends Biggest Fear

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That girl. We both liked that girl. That’s me, pain meds numb and high as can be. Super high me.

She wanted me to go to her brothers party. I was having my monthly visitation from mother, the abysmal brute, nature. I wanted to lay in bed with my weed lol. So, as an incentive she got me more weed (hahaha) AND got me taken to this place where I was taken care of. Listen, they had some good stuff. I sat in a room with her brother- because she didn’t smoke- and a few other men and it was just a plethora of green. I was set for take off for weeks.

I was soooo high and soooo out of it by the time we got to the party. I just wanted to lay down and they wouldn’t let me. This ‘friend’ of ours that liked me, boy did he smell good and felt oh so yummy. So I used him. I made him my designated leaning post. More like a standing cuddle. If you’re in the primary dismenorrhea group I know you understand the need to ball up, fetal position and just be held or something nice feeling (sorry Mr Men for the girly invasion). He felt like everything man should feel like when you need to be held. Ugh. No digressing.

My friend always cracks me up telling me how I am drunk or high. How I was. I always sound crazy in a wild fun kind of way. I was super high. She hated me high but loved it. She said when I was high I became quiet vocally but it’s as if I turned up the volume on sex appeal. Like I turned into a seductress. Trying to lure the sailors overboard. She hated that I affected her. She wasn’t immune to my not so subtle teasing. I often felt sexy high, so I believed her tales about me. Drunk me she despised. She says I had no filter. Every thought the high me drummed up the drunk me vocalized. LOL.

We went out together a lot. Matter of fact, most times I went out it was due to her devises. We spent a lot of time in each others homes. We were Netflix binge watching  home bodies that enjoyed partying at nights. She enjoyed hearing the detailed stories of my past encounters. Rather, she loved the details. I didn’t have an issue dishing out the dirt.

One set of stories had to do with our other friends. Friends closer to me that had a desire to experience certain things that my ego had dibs on. So, soon enough she requested a dose of that life. I did it for her. To her. Yep. Moving on.

After a while we couldn’t even walk to training off campus together. My body liked her. Yes, my body. It released this intense heat when she got close to me. We couldn’t be alone together. Everything turned into something. Accidentally touch her elbow, something. She touched my toe, something. Everything turned into something. Ok, maybe not everything, but most things. (That was in case I do finally allow you to read my blog and you see this post, love you boo lol)

Everywhere was THE place.

My body liked her. My ego was in love. She only did what my ego taught her and it sure was an excellent instructor.

••••••••••

It’s Saturday night, and I’m struck by the thought that hell is for all eternity. That I would be completely aware of the pain, the torture and the torment. I imagined that eternal thirst.  Another thing she was used to, was me talking to myself or God out loud, so she listened quietly like always. I prayed, I cried,  I turned. As I allowed God to guide me back on that random Saturday night in the middle of an odd conversation, she told me that she’d come with me if that was the decision I was making. Why not? Were the sentiments she relayed.

Sunday morning I received my salvation in front of a loving body of strangers. Ending with terror that I’d walk out those anointed doors and back into the arms of hell.

Anyway. She got saved too. Then she got baptized. I have been so happy her soul is safe. Especially because I had a hand in laying out the bricks that were the road she was on that only lead to eternal damnation.

Now we are here. She’s coming to visit. I prayed the moment she said it. Holy spirit keep me faithful. Lord I thank you that I am a new creature in Christ. I thank you for curbing my desires. Keep us. What do I do? How do we coexist without sin?

I got insight. I couldn’t just not wear clothes in my room like we used to. I couldn’t just walk in the room out the shower and drop the towel, carefree like we used to. I mean, we played on 2 teams together, we’re used to the locker room nudity. We’ve roomed together on 4 tours. However, we had tainted our friendship so we are no longer governed by the same rules as others. We have to be lead by the holy spirit for a specific checklist and a specific modus operandi.

You are my biggest fear. Out of everything, you. If I’m being honest, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do. But yeah, it’s you that I fear the most.  

I had been silent on the matter. I prayed the moment she said she was coming. But to hear the words from her mouth I thought, hmmm, thank you Lord.   Why? For her to admit that in her now transformed life, that falling into sexual sin with me was her biggest fear. That I, being the person that she could ask anything and everything about whatever she lacked wisdom in, was the kryptonite. That inspired thanksgiving. Because she was honest and because she recognized the desire as sinful.

We joked about the extremes we’d take to avoid each other while staying in the same space. We prayed. I can admit that to a very very miniscule extent I felt some negative emotion. Very minute. Who wants to be their friends weakness in Christ? But I thank God that He sets the standard and that He gives us wisdom in our conversations and interactions.

We will make Him proud.

Rae Sonson,
June 20, 2016,
23:30 p.m.