Musings on A Butterscotch Beauty...

Musings on A Butterscotch Beauty

The first time I see her two words come to mind: butterscotch and beauty. Arrayed in complimentary shades of cerulean hues, she is indisputably that. A butterscotch beauty. Cell to ear, absorbed, she is listening to someone---her lover, perhaps, or a dear friend, maybe---as I study her with the eavesdropping eye of my camera and a writer's insatiable curiosity. I am posted up on the opposite side of the courtyard, where I have gone in order to better appreciate the view.

She is a photograph I can no more leave without than I can depart without my beloved golden scarf. So I stare, deciding how I'll best approach her, and before I can execute a quick plan, another woman, stoic and looming, emerges out of the crowd and hovers possessively at her side. Like scent, she doesn't linger, her intent, probably, to mark her lady territorially, and then vanish.

On the other side of the bricked wall behind BB is a grassy carpet of Smooth Jazz Festival revellers, swaying and bobbing in the early-October sun. Enthusiastic, they vibe in spite of the heat and singing insects and nibbing grass, patiently casing the outdoor stage off in the distance for any sign of Bony Jones and his musicians.

Passing revellers block my view of her from time to time, but I don't mind. My enjoyment stems from observing BB listen to whomever with every fiber of her being---the act intimate and surreptitious yet public. She, the lucky listener and I are ensconced in secrecy amidst softly falling afternoon shadows.

The sentry of a woman returns. Again, BB continues listening, although her body tightens about her purse and phone. She looks up once, acknowledging the other woman's presence wordlessly. She motions to the concession window, and loosens her body, giving it section by section, to the impenetrable wall. Behind large dark shades and her artsy purse, she peers downward at her turquoise, gem-studded Indian shoes.

Between us, jazzed and jazzy festival-goers mill. Yet unbeknownst to anyone, she woos my curiosity, becomes the curio of my lens.





Iconoclastic, she has perfected a gypsy polish that intrigues me, prompting me to step outside of my anonymity and stroll up to that soft-looking, red-smeared smile...just to see firsthand, if it is as stunning and inviting as it appears from across the walkway. Now inches from her face, I sense the power in BB's smile, which is awakening sleeping twitters in my belly. I shift my weight from one Roman sandal-clad foot to the other. Take in the light-weight earrings. Though nondescript, they communicate how thoughtfully she has dressed for the day, for the occasion. A-line, sky-blue dress, long matching head scarf, one bracelet, plain but pretty, a silver watch, that blue-jean purse, and bare legs ending in decorative slippers.

Es una mujer exquisita. She is an exquisite woman.




I sip her for a few seconds, persistent about sampling whatever I can of her sweetness. Is there something in the way she smiles, in the way she purses her mouth that showers me with memories of my mother? Had my mother lived, she might have been this BB's contemporary. The egg-shell blue dress echoes Jackie Onassis and hints of Audrey Hepburn. Minus the mane of wiry, mile-long black hair and excessively thin frame, she might have been a buttery Diana Ross.
But then again...she isn't so far from me, until I do not fathom her attractive. I do. A question plays on the corners of my lips before floating between us and passing her to me in a silky instance. She is somewhat amused. Possibly embarrassed. Her eyes widen when I do not give her a break, and my pleasant openness pays off. Her hesitation recedes gradually, and when it does, she graciously nods her consent.

Luscious red and looking exceedingly kissable, her mouth, like a wave, wavers, then blossoms warily into an almost grin, then a half smile, and finally it is fit for the runway, the Silver Screen, the boardroom, or the leading fashionista magazines, but, gracias a la Diosa, my camera's smile finder goes to work doing what it does. Not to be outdone, my imagination follows, doing what it does, framing snapshot images of what she'd look like, "desnuda," cornflower-blue dress draped across the back of a chair, with her scarf now hanging loose over her erect nipples.



A spaghetti straw threatens to slip from her shoulder. Unconcerned, she lets it go unnoticed, immersed as she is in flirting with the ravenous eye of my camera. The "I'm not a model" and "I've got a tan" and sweet little girl whims flutter off on stray breezes. In my invitation for her to play at modeling on the runway of the patio, she realizes she is as free, unencumbered and adventuresome as her poses will allow.

So she teases me. Flashes a "You know you like it, huh?" come-on, and just as mercurially, withdraws in a series of closed-mouth pouts. I move about. Craving out distance between us, hoping to gift-wrap her privacy, thinking if I do, she'll give me more...and she does.



BB's enigmatic charm can't be squelched, not even by thick, whitish-grey shadows that drift down and around her like a lover's hand on the delicate straps of her dress, tugging them down to reveal a flat chest. My bet: she never could boast much in the way of breasts. Not even during childbirths, if she has known any. Her tummy doesn't give her away either. Flat, softly rounded at the bottom, feminine, it slopes appealingly from under her nonexistent breasts down toward her dancer's legs. Yes! That may be who she was, more than likely, years ago, when she was fifteen or eighteen. A dancer. An Alvin Ailey dancer. Commanding the stage, other dancers, the audience, her woman on a theatre row, front and center.

Seems to me she holds back, in spurts, the more I shoot. The more the camera flashes. The more passers-by notice our cinematic foreplay. I wonder if she ponders why this younger woman is photographing her. "I hope I'm coming through as attractive," I imagine her self-judgments. "If I smile too wide and free, my smile may confiscate my face, and she will know that I know little of modeling!"

Her daintily delicate lower view is equally as hot, to me, as the top. So my camera does as it wishes, unapologetic, and memorializes BB from every angle except from the rear view landscape. The moment I back-up, expanding her stage, although unsuspecting extras in the photo shoot never stop moving on their way from here to there, I know time ticks. Her sentry will be returning shortly; therefore, I aim, focus and snap quicker. She pirouettes to the left, then to the right, but she never turns in a complete circle. Guarded, she poses as though to keep something sacred from this smiling, exacting photographer, short and frisky, slipping and dipping, seeking the most advantageous angle.

That, too, doesn't matter. I know she's slim-hipped, much like me. I have never showcased the bodacious, pronounced, bouncy, show-me-what-you-got, basketball booty. Se la vie! Over the years, I have learned to call sexy to me without one. Hmmmm. Mastering a slick, sexy, stunning glide in heels, in stilettos, that leaves the object of my desire spellbound, executing double-takes, has been my forte. Para seguro, I know it's all about self-confidence. And self-love. Feel me?

I like this long angle view. Her poses are sweetly subdued. Despite the fact that ours is "a click and flash" relationship, flaring and fading within minutes, I am elated I encountered her. No, we did not exchange names nor e-mails. That, too, is okay, also. Strangely, I feel as if I know her, and me cherishing her pictures here is good enough for me.

I did present her with the option of me sending her the pics via e-mail, but she declined.

To me, she exudes a classic sexuality, memorable and divine. I appreciate that she did not dye the edges of her hairline, the small curls coming spiralling and mixed with blond and silver along the fold of the scarf tied 60's stylish. If one's face is gently softening, as Mother Nature is kind enough to allow us to experience this occurrence gradually, why is it so hard to imagine gazing at oneself minus the harshness of brash brown, reckless red and berating black?

What is it about aging that makes people, especially women, dig our heels into the dirt and hold stringently onto thirty, mentally and physically, even when our bodies are comfortably complying to forty like a squeezable bare breast in a Spandex top without the insult of a too-small bra sending extra softness to protrude unappealing over the bra's edge? Why do we chafe when folks comment, in an ironic tone, how we are "kinda pretty" for fifty? And why do we catch a case at others sharing their opinions on how we should look, behave, speak and dress at a certain age?

We are the only ones whose opinions matter...so why wrestle with drivel?

As for me, damnit, I am not a cougar. I am and want a full-grown lioness, who is comfortable in the knowledge I no longer dye my locs, fleeing sprigs of grey rejoicing about my temples. After all, can too many years of dying color one's brain? Yes, I know my body; I no longer stomp the hell out of those machines at Bally's, although I do exercise. And sure as shooting, there is no way I can overlook, giggles, my sight is changing, as in, "Forget passing me those glasses. Hand me the magnifying lens, sweetheart."

But believe me...it's all good gravy in the wagon trainy, let me tell you. As my Grandfather Willie D. Moss was known for saying, "If you ain't aging, you are dead, and if I have my druthers, I'd rather be aging."

For the record, I love TheGoldenGoddess, and she loves me! I will remember my time with the Butterscotch Beauty, and for the moments she illuminated my view finder, I think she enjoyed me, too. How do I know? After I thanked her for allowing me to photograph her and vouchsafed how beautiful I thought she was, she embraced me, pulling me into her perfumed bosom. Then she owned that I had made her day and murmured a "Thank you" so redolent with sincerity, I might have passed out if I knew she'd have been fast enough to catch me before I kissed brick.

I am older than my mother would have been had she lived. She made her transitioned at the flippant age of 42. It will have been 10 years come this January 11th, and I yet miss her. That may be a thing one rarely gets over---the death of one's mother. I know on a cellular level she would have aged gracefully, not wildly, as I am prone to do. With all the other little wildflowers standing in neat rows and leaning in union in the direction of the wild, I am usually that drunk-on-life blossom, petals bobbing in the breeze, stem snaking, roots jitter-bugging, just living it up right where I am planted, glancing out across the field, wondering what it would be like to pop up in the neighboring garden.

That's alright, too. It takes all types of vegetation a field to make!

I'm not strange. I'm me; no other person I can be. No other person would I want to be. I can discern my Butterscotch Beauty is cut from s similar cloth. Confident in her seasoned skin, sexy in her ripeness. Desirable to many.

Of this life, I want to live and let live and love and be loved. I want to always know the Oneness of all souls. I want to risk it all, throwing what I deem I can't lose into the face of the wind. As Alicia Keys sings, "I want the freedom to fall...it sure looks good to me." I want to leap onto the back of my fears and wrestle them to the ground, brazenly, exhibiting the prowess of my Unca Eddie's brood when they came to visit us in my Waterbury, Connecticut, childhood. I want to rush onto a figurative field of lions and, trembling, experience what it feels like to defy even the king of beasts, when I know within my soul the king of kings...

Yeah, where I am, I am a Woman Warrior, heading out towards that field, the weaponry of my craft strapped to my chest. Yeah, it sure feels good to me.

Be emboldened. Live a Golden Life.

TheGoldenGoddess

El 27 de octubre, 2009

Good-bye, Lil D...and Greggory..Two Nephews in One Year

A handsome, sporty young man, he was. Intelligent and warm. He was my debonair nephew, my only son's cousin, the last son of Avery Sarden's aunt, Shari Sarden. He was born and raised in Detroit, knew the streets, mean and hard, like the back of his hand in the darkest night. Yet he was love and loved. His beautiful, spirited mother, Shari, raised him both alone and with the loving support of her village of a family, the Sarden Family.

He died this week, shot in the back. He was nineteen. The family knew him as Lil D. As a baby and small boy, he was short and thick, a miniature bruiser, adorable. He was huggable, lovable. He made you want to squeeze him and kiss his chubby cheeks.

As a young man, he cultivated an inimitable swag, just sugar sharp, as Southerners might say. In his world, he moved with confidence. He danced with style and grace. I will miss his easy, ready smile, his willingness to embrace friends and family.

According to Avery, Lil D had spoken of relocating to the South with his mother, after his brother's death. But for whatever reason, he remained in Detroit and the streets claimed him...as surely as night the day will wring.

Although I have known now for several hours, a large part of me cannot believe he is gone, like his older brother, Greg, who died in the service, in the U.S. Marine Corp. A gifted poet, charming, engaging, handsome, family-oriented, ambitious and fun-loving, Greggory Dowdell, Jr. was a honeysuckle breeze on a sunny Detroit day. Courageous, he served two tours in Iraq prior to his Home going and was about to serve another tour. His position, as a decorated sharp shooter, he died in a Marine-maneuver accident in California earlier this year.

My family and I traveled to Detroit to stand with the my son's Auntie Shari and the Sarden Family back around Memorial Day. Greg was about Avery's age, 22 years old. He was the first of my son's cousins to die. I remember him as a little boy, gorgeous and fast, with a brush haircut, always racing, zipping up the sidewalk beside and in front of Little Avery, when we visited. Since those glory days and divorce and the passage of time, I had only heard of Greg's magnanimous adventures from this one and that one. I was proud, despite absentia. So when he fell, I stopped the merry-go-round of my world and went to stand in a show of love and solidarity with Avery, Shanice Smith, and my grand baby, Nazir Sarden. In two cars, we traveled with Aunt Debra and Avery's cousin DeLaina Sarden, his Uncle DeLaine's daughter.

Now, with Lil D's leave-taking, I will travel North and stand with the Sarden Family, alongside Avery, Shanice and Lil Naz, as an act of love and togetherness. For when all differences and circumstances are spread across the table like empty plates after the repast, we are one. We are family, and that is what families do.

Below is a picture of Greg. I couldn't help but snap a picture of him in my private, viewing moment with him before the funeral. Although his remains looked nothing like the vibrant Greggory of my memory, one thing is for certain: the U.S. Marines gave him a hero's send-off, complete with slow, saluting marches to the coffin that lasted throughout the service, a distinguished former-Marine who delivered a memorable tribute, and the sorrowful shooting tribute at graveside. Through it all, Shari was a rock, holding up like the young queen that she is. How were we to know that she would bow under another adieu to her second and final son within a four-month period?

I thank Shari for allowing me to speak on program, sharing Greg's obituary with the gathering and reading some of his poignant poems. Near his casket were huge frames of pictures chronicling Greg's youth. I was in some of those pictures. Our paths had crossed for a time, like mine and Lil D's, and I am blessed and the richer for the crossings.

In the photo below, Lil D smiles beside his Uncle Lindsey. The smile on his face is that of a boy. His uncle was someone he admired, someone to whom he listened, even when others thought he didn't. It is all in the smile, in the eyes, two portals to the soul that never fabricate.

There is a time we must come, and a time we must go. The two are set in stone. We need not fret about them. All we are called to do is to make choices each moment of our lives between our birth and our death.

Each life is precious, no matter what the choices. Judgment is not ours to mete. Greg and Lil D are two lights in the tapestry of stars in my night...they burned brightly...in different ways...and then were summoned back into the heavens...from which they came.

God is forever at the helm of our days, so it rains inside my heart today, heavier than the rain that fell in the night, last night, when the heart-wrenching news came. But the day sparkles outside my windows this morning, and I know sorrow does not last always...

We love you always, both of you........

The Golden Goddess

October 7, 2009

He Came To Play His Part
“For the Bookmark”

When he entered this world
He came to play his part
First, sweetly claiming his mother’s heart
No thoughts to when he’d depart
For those dates:
When he came
And when he left
The angels maintained and sang the glad tidings
While he managed the rest
Filling his days with the life he loved best…

From baby to boy to young man
He was who he was
Handsome, smooth, genuine, sweet
No one else could in his shoes stand
He was the teen with the easy smile, the ready laugh, his presence a treat
Rarely blue,
Vibrant, he insisted on living up to the name he knew
Mister D,
A precious passage he traversed
From thick baby Lil D to tall, slender Mister D, a darling to the ladies…

To see him float across a dance floor
Was to bow to enchanted lore
Some have it, some don’t
He mastered it. Call it swag or cool. As a rule, he was the door to Good Times
And at our core
We know that nothing he relished was a chore
Because he lived the revelry of his nineteen years,
Dear,
To those who held him near….

Indeed, he came to play his part
Made the choices he made
For whatever reasons, his lessons were his to impart
He taught them well
In the love, camaraderie, affection and brotherhood which tells
How much he will be missed
Yes, only Spirit knows why he came
Why this year he had to go
Plus all the answers to the questions we long to know
Yet some things were between him and God
So his Mother, Grandmother and the entire family bow
To the indisputable knowing of a Higher Power
That came to comfort him in his final hour….
Claudia Sarden
October 12, 2009

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Let Not My Living Be In Vain
(for D.S.)

Let not my living be in vain
I found joy in most everything
So no, I do not complain
God is in charge of me and all things.

Tear drops can wash away your pain
Tis true, yet I don’t want you feeling blue
Go stand outside in the rain
Until my memory baptizes you.

Let not my living be in vain
Use my leaving as a reminder to live your dreams
Listen! I hear the roar of a coming train
Why not meet it with hope, faith and the joy life brings?

Don’t pine I left yesterday
Just gather ye rosebuds as ye may
Who you know came to stay?
Me…I’m too busy praisin’ the Lord I passed this way.
So don’t come or call
Tryin’ to figure out what went down
The message on my answering machine is meant for all
Find a way to love somebody and help him build on solid ground.

To my boys,
Hold yo’ head up and make peace with yourselves
And stop treatin’ one another like Tonka toys
Do something positive with yo’ time. You ain’t twelve.

To my sweet lady,
I know it seems shady
I won’t be physically there to hold you and whisper how much I care
But I love you. And remember, in Spirit, I’m always there.

I love everybody, from Mama to the last person in the back pew.
Got no judgments now, but that ain’t news.
So don’t judge how I’m speakin’
My Auntie Claudia’s tweekin’ these lines
And this is how she spits her poems most of the time.
All I want you to remember, from January to December is “Love is Divine.”
© Auntie Claudia Sarden October 12, 2009

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I Will Remember You
(For Master Derek Sarden)

I will remember you in late-summer sunsets
In the pink and grey streaks that
Paint the Detroit morning skies
With no tears to sit in my eyes
Loving you was much too much a blessing
Not to choose the happy moment of the lesson
Every second is our gift, our recollection.

I will remember you in a group of teenagers
When I see you in the slick stride
And “What you lookin’ at eyes?” when I offer a word of advice
My intent to encourage and overlook Fear’s need kindness to ice
Loving you was much too much a blessing
Not to choose the happy moment of the lesson
Every second is our gift, our recollection.

I will remember you in a stranger’s flash of a smile
When in that moment, we realize we are one in Spirit
The cherished times we safeguard in your Mama’s albums and picture frames
And the golden memories of you and your cousins immersed in backyard games
Surely loving you was much too much a blessing
Not to choose the happy moment of the lesson
Every second is a gift, our recollection.

I will remember you on your Mama’s lap
Chubby legs keeping up a rat-a-tap-tap
Greg standing beside you, a big boy, the ever-protective brother
Both of you, Mister D and Greg, loving beyond love your beautiful mother
You, who adored the uncles and delighted in the aunties, was too much a blessing
Not to choose the happy moments of the lesson
Thank you, God, for our gifts, our recollections.

I will remember you, this you’ll see
For you, now Spirit, will never be far, far away
Whenever I close my eyes, there you’ll be
Returning healthy, whole, complete, even more vivid than yesterday
It’s true. Loving you was much too much a blessing
Not to choose the happy moments of the lesson
Every second is your gift, your recollection.
© Claudia Sarden October 12, 2009

A Celebration of Self and Photography: Before and Behind the Lens

I have always loved and celebrated myself...even during those times when I thought I didn't. Whatever it is, it is a human thing. I doubt animals traverse a period when they doubt their self worth, their beauty, their intelligence. Perhaps we move through such periods to climb towards the higher ground of a self-love so deep we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if we can love ourselves, in all of our complexities, then we KNOW with an unshakable certainty that we love others.

When I focus my camera on others, I celebrate the beauty of creation, of God's handiwork. I remember the words of a photographer who once told me, "Photography is all about the study of light." The more I venture into photography, the more I know this is true.

Sometimes I play with my pictures and crop them in unusual ways and add colors and highlight the parts of myself or my subject that allows the mind to open to lush possibilities....it's like seeing an old situation in a new way, in a fresh light.

In this pic, I am experimenting with color and focus. So what? Why not turn a picture on its head, as the day pivots us from an up-right position at times, and we wind up bottom's up, wallet spewing cash, our hearts pouring love, or senses short circuited! I know I can fly or swim in this one! Can you see it in my smile? In my pose?

Here, I can hear Jennifer Hudson singing her hit, "Spotlight." Playing up the contrasts in our lives pinpoints realities we might never have contemplated. Red is richer when sitting alongside grey, and yet the grey is sensual and soft of its own accord, inviting us into softened lines and gentle edges. I am engulfed in sensuality here, too. In the pose. In the smile. My body language is playful and womanish, as Alice Walker might say!

The human body is exquisite...from all angles...making the walking away a sensual delight.

There is something about a woman's back that bespeaks a delicacy, sensuality, a poignant revelry, a treasure chest of charms. I love this pic because it paints the effect of time on all things...erasing lines once sharp and straight and crisply firm, the difference between Mother Nature biting into the tight red skin of a fresh Georgia apple and her tongue tasting the sweetly silky fuzz of a peach, ripe in morning light, on a counter, in an orange bowl, metamorphic in its unforgettable sugar.

I adore myself when I am smiling, as Zora

Neale Hurston loved herself when she was

laughing. A magic comes over me when I smile.

All my troubles disappear. So much so, I fathom I had no troubles to start with, for smiling changes my perception on myself and the world.

I thank the Goddess for giving us the ability to smile.

I am the Lady in Pink, shimmering with an inner essence of gratitude and love. Truly I am living my life, as Jill sings, like it is golden; thus, I am the Golden Goddess. Yes, I am a woman of five decades and one year here. Yet in the same breath and sweep of my laptop's keys, I am a girl of one decade and six years, playing with the lens, screaming, "Yaaayyaaaa! Let's do this, okaaaay!"

There now, my back is back!

Girls hold up half the sky...even in the water! There is nothing as sweet as friendship. It is an elixir we all sorely need and must not do without, or we become recluses, fighting to get out of our silences.

Green. The color of life. Possibility. The future. Cash money. The rush in your heart when you run out across a field of grass and wildflowers. Then again, it is also the hue of boldness, of fearlessness. I am getting my swag on here. If Shakira can shake her groove thang and wrap her curves in shimmering flash and baubles and pause the pulse of countries around the world, surely, por supuesto, si, I can shorten my stature and ease into a pose of sensual repose...

Again, I play with focus and sketch muscles and honor colors.

There is something about Black & White that mesmerizes, much like soft and hard, dark and light, meek and bodacious, that stimulates campfires. Hmmm. Contrast is alive and well in the Universe...

Water is one of Nature's most beautiful backdrops as long as it isn't unruly and pooling inside our homes and hearts. This morning as I write this blog and post these pictures, I am captivated with the music of the rain, yet I pray it does not pose problems for those who must encounter it up close and personal in a few short hours.

I feel almost like Spider Woman in this one, scaling the pool's wall, mastering the power of will and gravity. The colors I've splashed here add to my glee of photography and self revelry!

We are all rushing...sometimes...with very little time to stop and watch the world rush along its merry way.

I am captured in time, feeling, in the fabulous now, and I feel what it feels like to note the passing of time, like sand in an hourglass, wave by wave.

Think Diana Ross and the line, "Upside Down and Round and Round."

I call this one "Blue Blanket."



No, I have never taken a photography class. Yet I love taking photographs.

Upon me, my passion confers its own degree. I bow to it; I have known it for years. With my camera in my hands, whether I am before or behind its lens, I am alive, same as I am with a pen and paper or with my chubby grand son on my lap, clapping and overjoyed because we are sharing a moment.

"The Celebration of Self and Photography" emanates from my soul like the rays of a rising midnight sun. I am illuminated with an unspeakable joy. I know that I am on my correct life path, and O oo ooo...I say, Bring it, Life! I accept the gift basket of blessings the Divine offers me in this moment.

The Golden Goddess

On A Rainy Night in Georgia

October 2009

A Review of Faith Trimel's "Black Aura on an Angel"

A Review of Faith Trimel's "Black Aura On An Angel"

Can you lose yourself?

If you're trying to “save” someone else, you can.

This issue is at the heart of a film that has captivated me since I received it from Amazon.com last week.

I watch it for the third time, the first time in the comfort of my boudoir, the second and now third times in my knee-baby sister’s comfortable, Ellenwood living room, again nearing the bewitching hour. For my sisterly sojourn, I have brought “it,” my laptop, my work calendar, stories in my head, and my books. By October, I will have relished it at least three more times before I meet her to discuss it, her new film, "FAMILY," and her stupendous journey in film making.

“It” is the 2004, intoxicating drama, "BLACK AURA ON AN ANGEL."

She is the incomparable Faith Trimel, the film’s writer, producer and director.

I am enthralled. Wholly. And for good reasons.

In truth, one can lose oneself in another person, in an unstoppable chain of events that swirl irrevocably towards a devastating ending.

Trimel’s haunting thriller opens in suspenseful shadows. Anxiety abounds. The atmosphere is heavy. A woman’s voice can be heard pushing through shadows, imploring someone to please come over. My breath catches in my throat. I feel the tension. As though it is my first time viewing the film, I see a figure dragging something, and then someone is crawling, a woman, inching down a carpeted hall.

More shadows. Darkness. A fluty voice begs.

"BLACK AURA" begins at its ending.

This captivating technique stirs my curiosity to know how Angel and Phaedra, two women in love, arrive at this mesmerizing moment.

Before I devour the well-filmed psychological thriller, I go to the web in search of its creator, Faith Trimel. I find her where I begin my search of everyone I want to find, on MySpace. She is warm. Beautiful. Sharp. Cordial. I seek her on Facebook as well.

Then I go in search of YouTube footage of Faith and "BLACK AURA." I view the footage on her site. Since I love interviews, I search for other Trimel interviews.

Several friends vouchsafe to me that they have seen the film; their respect and admiration are undisputed. My desire to experience the film deepens.

From the start, the film’s complexity draws me in, not only because it’s based on a true story or because of Phaedra’s downward plunge into insanity, but also because of the depth of emotion Angel and Phaedra exhibit separately and together and the intensity of their love affair in the face of obvious signposts to turn back, to walk away and never look back.

Get it. Watch it. Sit with it. You must experience it for yourself.

Like me, you will contemplate what effect Angel Jackson’s mother dying had on little Angel. In a heartbreaking flashback, you’ll see the birth of her desire to nurture, see her vigilant at her mother’s bedside, and hear her promise that she will take care of her father. Softly, like mist, it comes to you: this is significant. When she confides to Jennings or “Jen,” her present-day mother/friend/sister/confident that she can’t leave Phaedra because she promised her she wouldn’t leave her, that she loves Phaedra, and that she is tired of being left, you understand.

You understand Angel’s need to love and be loved...in spite of domestic violence and other issues.

In the strangest sense, you understand why she is in awe at the boundless depth of Phaedra’s passion and sexual fire. It rains across your heart, a refreshing drizzle, when Angel tries to make Jen feel how close Phaedra holds her, how she needs protection, and even when Phaedra spirals into insanity which leaves her strong, emboldened, jealous, and without a thread of reality to guide her back to this side of paradise, Angel yet loves Phaedra.

Jennings tries to stay the hand of fate. She tosses a lifeline to her baby/woman/child, seeing as she does, beyond the things of Angel’s world.

A card reader, Jen invites Angel to get a reading with the words,“Before you go falling in love, find out if you are wasting your time,” but it is way past too late. Angel is already sprung.

But love dictates Jen read Angel’s cards without her consent.

What she discovers snatches my heart out of my bosom, and I long for Angel to be present, to see the red behind the beauty, to do more than observe and kiss cut skin, to understand the pain behind the need to cut, to stay away after the destruction of her personal property after Phaedra’s breaking and entering, and to read the irony in Phaedra’s premonition: “Don’t be scared of me, okay?”

Yet Angel heeds nothing...not even love of self.

So I clinch my teeth and stare, consumed, wanting to ease into the flat screen and shake somebody.

Though I love the delicate, pithy sayings drifting through the story like mental manna, especially Jen’s “No one ever leaves that shouldn’t have already left,” makes me want to scream, “Angel, baby, you don’t fall in love with someone, no matter how show-stopping, who can take up permanent residence in a mental health program. No, Sweetheart, no! It isn't healthy!

I feel Phaedra’s black aura from my perch on the sofa across the living room, but I gather all over again that love is indeed blind.

Despite wanting to draw Phaedra out of the film by one of her hoop earrings, bumping her head across my sister’s shiny new hardwood floor, I must be honest. She has known childhood trauma and deserves seeing “ten therapists" as Jen says.

But as much as I want to save the beautiful Angel, I know that both women are broken. Perhaps Phaedra is more so damaged, as she is a child rape survivor and worse, she is raped by a family member, more than likely her father. Both characters’ childhood flashbacks are palpable with a throbbing pain.

I’m grateful for the film’s lighter, falling in love, love-making moments. Like the film's sensual music, the poem “Bathe Me” coupled with the sexy bathtub scene tantalizes. I become the water rippling over alluring dark bodies. I am the path of petals and blossoms leading to the candlelit bathroom. Combine this with the lush scene of Angel cutting a green apple with her pocket knife and eating it in bed as she awaits her lady’s arrival, or the scene of her walking, biceps ripped, strolling through the streets, looking delicious---and you have a femme fantasy. And Phaedra is herself a provocative, tantalizing blend of roses and thorns and perfume and tears. She is a wet dream in red lingerie, a hellion in shards of light.

To fully appreciate the film’s beauty and magnitude, you must experience it for yourself. Order it from Amazon, pick it up at your favorite DVD establishment, or borrow it from a friend. It doesn't matter how you get it, just get it! You may find yourself “feeling too much,” as Phaedra so aptly puts it.

It’s Sunday morning. And I plan to watch it again, later in the day, with a friend, here at my sister’s house. Her only comment...she wants more. The film, she says, is too short.

Later, I take in the film’s Special Features: “Interview with Writer, Director, and Producer Faith Trimel,” “Interview with Actress Sherry Richardson,” “Cast and Crew Information,” and “Photos and Music Samples.” The segments--all of them--are sensational!

"Black Aura on an Angel" has whet my appetite to bask in all that I've heard and seen of what it will mean to relish Faith Trimel's sophomore offering, "Family." I am ready! Hyped! Expectant! I know it will be everything I have conjured and so much more!

Embrace the gold in your life, and be blessed.

The Golden Goddess

A View From the Floodlights: Somilia Rabee and BEATS SOUNDS LIFE

I love the playfulness in Track 1. Rabee takes me to the top and gently back down to the bottom with her sexy lines: "You're the one for me....Look me up...I'll play music for you." I sway and rock, know that I could cut up in a sassy, jazzy way on a dance floor, in stilettos, a short dress, making eyes at her across the dance floor, completely convinced "You're the one for me...tell me what to do!"

"I can't make a deal with you...my heart's never true...but I think you're the one." Damn, I love her lyrics, the way she delivers them, the pumping, throbbing music that matches the pattern my feet dance. The gyrl-based love lyrics are taking me there...fast...bumping atop her mad beat. Pick up BEATS SOUNDS LIFE. Spin it and meet me in the middle of the sky, aight!

Track 3 slips into my private places. Cause it was Saturday nite and we are both with someone else but...do it, Somilia Rabee. It is so sweet...reality...Hermanita...do it...hacerlo, bebe! I need a breath. Sweetness slipping into my...did I say private places?...killin' me! Huh uh, yeah! Gracias La Diosa por esta mujer y tu musica!

Yes, I have been alone, thinking I could do it alone! Rap that truth; I know you do exactly what you want, Querida! I wanna climb high and higher on the tide of your flow, wanna climb as high as the sky, trippin' on the beat behind your beautiful words. I'm in Track 4, believing in time travel. Si, creo en los viajes en el tiempo. Let's go! Vamos!

Track 5 picks up tempo...cause ya'll gotta get up off her back. Jump on the ride...like me..one time...bet you'll be hooked on Rabee...como mi! Le gusta su sonrisa? Yeah, yo se! (sonrisas)

Me encanta esta foto! Es fabulosa, si? Su sonrisa...like Track 6 demands one focus on the beat, on the flow, on the instrumentals, yeah on those sticks, so I try to stick and not fall off the world in the white of perfect teeth and electricity of tantalizing beats....

Did I say I loved this picture! Even sitting on its side! Smile so bright it lights the skies!

Track 7 jams the instrumentals, tambien! Feels your blood and surfs your bones with an electric pulse, make you wanna stand and ride the tide all afternoon in the beauty of this Atlanta Thursday. Yeah! Shoulders flowing from side to side, lado a lado, gettin' it, 'cause I'm lost in the beats, which clearly states the name of this amazing mad CD. Go to MySpace and listen and purchase it, my darlings. You will find yourself in a precious retreat with the showstopping talent of Rabee!

Now you done heard. Take the word to the streets. Share its ferocity, its truth, its beauty with whomever you meet. Bless someone like she has blessed me, like I'm blessing you. Love's a circle. Step in, listen and relax. Let your heart spin its own truth on the panorama of A Golden Life that is yours and mine, minus our judgments and false perceptions.

The Golden Goddess reigns in numerous manifestations....

Somilia Rabee and her music shine with a love that connects us all...

Who is Somilia Rabee? Come, take my hand, slip inside and see...

I had the good fortune of meeting Somilia Rabee on a beautiful July afternoon. On her concert tour, she was passing through Atlanta, on her way to Montgomery, AL. And as the Goddess would have it, our paths crossed, and I was blessed when she accepted my offer to appear on my Blogtalkradio.com/theSiren show. As she gifted me with her new CD, sound unheard, I invited her to guest star on my blog, right here, on A Golden Life.

Again, she said yes, providing me with divine answers to my questions and delicious pictures.

Without further ado, my darlings, I give you, Miss Somilia Rabee, artist extraordinaire....

***

1. Who is Somilia Rabee?

Just a human being trying to survive in this crazy mixed-up world. Doing it my own way, not taking no for an answer and claiming what I want.

a. What does your audience not know about her that would charm their hearts?

My other passion is for serving people, my mother, a stranger on the street, a customer in my store whatever and whenever..some of the positions that have most impacted my life have been those where I worked with mentally ill patients, adjudicated youth, at-risk youth and incarcerated women. Ultimately I would like to start an organization to teach people from these communities and many others about business development and management.

2. Are you from a musical family?

Listening to music has always been a big part of my family's tradition but not so much creating it. I do have several relatives who are visual artists though.

a. Is your family supportive of helping you pursue your dreams?

Absolutely. I was always marching to my own beat, so they don't expect any less from me as an adult. When I told my mom I was leaving my job at the Department of Transportation to do music full time, she kind of gasped but soon got over it after I reassured her that I have to follow my heart and my dream and that I have a plan to actually bring it to fruition. She couldn't really argue as she did the same thing herself around my age.

3. When did you know you wanted to be an entertainer?

I'd say by 7th grade. I was a class clown and loved the attention and making people feel good. I knew I had a knack for it, and by my freshman year was doing stand up at a local comedy club open mic.

4. What inspires you in the work of Herbie Hancock, Phoebe Snow and Lauryn Hill?

Herbie Hancock made some crazy music on the keyboard. I've always loved jazz fusion (often these groups were headed by keyboard players Bob James, Chick Korea, etc.) and Herbie Hancock just got nuts with it..I feel that same energy when I jam out on the keyboard..just like you wanna go nuts! Phoebe Snow has a really amazing voice but sang beautifully without all of the trills and going up and down the scale etc. Lauryn Hill is just dope! Amazing singer, amazing mc, producer, musician, woman, activist, mother and I'm sure much more. I wish she would come back...

5. Who are The Heath Brothers?

The Heath Brothers are a jazz group out of Philadelphia. They were very popular during the late 70s and early 80s when jazz fusion was really developing as a genre. I actually used a bassline from the song "MellowDrama" as the foundation for one of the songs on Beats, Sounds, Life.

6. How did you come about such a smooth, tantalizing flow in your music?

I'm not sure..this was my first digital production and I kind of just went with what sounded and felt good to me. I was just learning the programs and was limited in my abilities as well and I think sometimes that simplicity creates a sort of continuous groove..kind of like riding a low wave that's safe and comfortable but feels really good.

7. What is your creative process?

It varies...sometimes a phrase or sentence will come into my head and I'll write it down and create a piece around those beginnings. Most often, I am either tooling around on the keyboard, guitar or one of my virtual instruments and just come up with a chord progression or rhythm, melody that feels good and right like..ahhh this should be a song. From there I flesh out the arrangement...you know, adding a bass line here, a guitar solo there, or whatever components you choose for that song. It's like a painter with a palette of colors and a variety of mediums, canvas, oil paint, acrylic, you choose whatever seems right at the moment and just build from there.

8. How has your first tour been so far?

Crazy! Truly a journey from day one! Most exciting event? Having an opportunity to see New York at its most vibrant...I've never visited in the summer and in a matter of a few days saw Q-Tip in Central Park, an amazing musician that I know from Chicago, folks dancing, skating, playing drums, hustling and just being so alive..it was pretty amazing. Most challenging? I was really sick one day for several hours. I'm living out of my car and so that's where I had to lay. I was vomiting about every twenty minutes and it was particularly hot this day. I had to keep the windows up though, as I was parked in a neighborhood with all kinds of people going by and I didn't want to make myself vulnerable..it was the worst!

9. Where would you like to perform if you could perform anywhere in the world?

I'm thinking UK ..touring with Lauryn perhaps.

10. If you could regale one person with your silken sounds, who would it be and why?

Alicia Keys..I had an opportunity to meet her once and mentioned that I'd really like to play music with her sometime. Her response that she looked forward to it was genuine. If I could, I'd lavish her with my sounds in the hope that she would do a project with me.

11. What messages do you convey in your music?

Love is a common theme throughout everything I've ever written. I feel that is what I am..all of us are at the core. However, because of our fear of ourselves as love defined that fear manifests itself into all of the crazy scenarios we encounter with people throughout life. So in that context, I always write about love and its many manifestations. Beyond that, my message is one of equality, responsibility, and empowerment..realizing yourself as a part of the universe and beyond.

12. Describe what you have learned from your years with Electro Hip Hop, the HEARD and Kansas City?

Hmm, I guess that I am capable of making a good living doing something I love, but what that requires is not something that you or others easily manage. I can only be responsible for myself, make moves for myself and I suppose that is what being with those groups have taught me.

13. Have you always lived in the Chi?

No, I was born and raised in Kansas City, KS and MO, lived in Iowa, Florida, Virginia, South Carolina, Utah and Jamaica for a couple of months.

14. How do you download and meditate?

Download..a nice bike ride, stroll along the waterfront, watching a movie. Meditate..sitting or lying quietly with no sounds except the electric buzz of the energy around me, playing guitar, biking.

15. How do you get in the zone before a show?

Usually just hang out and do it up with friends at the gig before I go on. The voice saying "Ok, let's do this, you have to do it hard, you gone do this!" is inside me all the while, pumping me up and getting me comfortable to get up there and entertain the people that came to see me. I am also really big on rehearsing...the more of that I've done the more comfortable I am and the less I have to prepare myself mentally to get in that zone..I'm already there you know.

16. Are you a spiritual woman?

Very much so, although I'm not into religion as far as "following" it, I do find it interesting, but I feel a very deep connection with the everthing.

17. What is your next project?

After the tour I'll decompress in Chicago for about a month then head to wherever I decide to live next. Wherever that may be, I'll set up my studio and get to work on the full-length album and managing Bad Girlz Productions.

18. Do you plan an overseas trip any time soon?

I feel and see myself overseas very soon though I haven't made any official plans. I believe it is a part of my near future.

19. When did you start your beautiful locs?

I had locks before, cut them and spent several years bald. I started growing my hair back in 2001, and I guess officially started locks in 2003.

20. Who blessed you with the enchanting name, Somilia? What does it mean?

My mother gave me my name..my parents were a part of the Nation of Islam when I was born. They wanted to give me a name that reflected their beliefs and so when my mother saw the name in a newspaper article she was reading about the country she knew that was me. I have tried many times to find the meaning of the word "Somalia" and have yet been unable to find anything more than explanations about the country itself. However, my middle name, Rabee, is Arabic and means, spring.

The Golden Goddess

El 19 de agosto

Con amor

Love and Reverence for THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE

For days now I have been sitting down to pay homage to the beauty, the light, the intelligence,

the audaciousness of one dynamic

young woman, Miss Staceyann Chin, author of the rave

memoir, THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE.

Why has it taken me so long to do something as easy for me

as breathing---writing this blog entry?

Every time I venture to surf the net to learn something about this extraordinary woman, I discover something I did not know before and I pause to internalize the juicy new tidbit.

Staceyann is mesmerizing in herself and the machine that is her support system is bodacious!

Not only is the book on my desk, worthy of gift-wrapping to myself, as a reminder that with so little, one can do so much, but also it is there as a veritable gift to present to anyone I love!

I learned Staceyann had a website from one of her friends on Facebook. Yes, this is a young woman who actually, socially knows Ms. Chin...except now that Staceyann has ascended the blockbuster ladder, this person is no longer privy to her. Never any mind though! The young woman advised me to go to http://www.staceyannchin.com/ if I wanted to learn more about Staceyann.

What a blessing in itself!!!

Simply, I hope my author's site is half as engaging as Staceyann's when I finish with it later this week! But don't take my word, as a Jamaican woman informed me about the health benefits of a particular orangey spice at the DeKalb County Farmer's Market earlier this week. Go to the Internet and meet Staceyann for yourself!

On my virtual visit, I saw beautiful images of Staceyann and her extended family, which sounds peculiar, even in writing, considering she writes poignantly about growing up, drifting, wanting to belong to a real family, not a fragmented one, who sometimes, in the case of her "supposed" father, Jimmy Chin, who blatantly stated that he couldn't be her father since he was never intimate with her mother.

On her site, she became real for me, as real as one of my sisters or friends. There was audio. I sat under the music of her poems, recited in her beautiful bird-like voice. I wanted to leap up and call her, let her know that I understood. Her words showered me in a presence I could only feel! I was baptized and dipped under piercing emotions elicited from her poem, "Catching Myself," in which she writes about praying for babies she has never met and not wanting to walk down the road (of life) alone, without the love of one's own babies. Likewise, I do not want to continue walking down the road of life without a significant lover: a woman to laugh with, to make love to in the oceans of the world, to travel with, to make breakfast together in my parents' kitchen, to whisper with through the night and sleep entwined in the morning light, to articulate my secrets to, to be strong with, to cuddle our grandbabies with. I think of my silent poetic pen and begin to rumble with my own ruminations.

Wow!

On her site, I discovered her SHOUT OUT BOX! Yes, you could actually leave a published note for Staceyann and her visitors to read; so I leave a message, inviting her to come to Atlanta and stay with me while she reads across the city! I leave my personal email, too.

Her blogs, albeit ONLY four, are entirely fascinatingly rich meals of glimpses into her world. In "Falling for Bob Marley, in her simple, poetic, inimitable style, she writes of Marley's message of love and the reason why she decided to leave Jamaica eight years ago, amongst other things. I discovered in "No One Cared If I Kissed Girls" that she engages in worldwide workshops on "writing the self" and poetry workshops and that she has found being Black in America is almost as problematic as being lesbian in Jamaica.

Diosa, Goddess, I loved her statement: "So when I discovered that I liked the smell of girls more than I liked the taste of curried goat and rice and peas (with lots of gravy), I promptly decided that relocation was in the charts."

That is bravery in action, to pack up, lock, stock and barrel and leave the familiar to be one's self, to love without the threat of a self-righteous machete singing at your ear and without corrective rape for lesbianism. How many of us would fly out of our homeland on a self-imposed exile, a journey whose story we cannot fathom, to be ourselves?

I'd like to think I'd be able to do it; pero yo no se! (The only complete Spanish sentence my sister Chicken can say.)

I visited Amazon.com, to get a picture of her memoir to share with you, and I received a gift of my own! There was Staceyann, bright and bushy-tailed, articulating her book's journey and for 2:32 minutes, in video footage, she sold her book!!!! This young woman has taught me much since I came across her book's title in a publication I no longer remember. I learned that she appeared on Oprah, and as an out lesbian, she was sharing, and proudly, her trials and tribulations and triumphants with the world! Her presence reminded me and other lesbians that it was fabulous to be us! If by chance one of us forgot, which I try not to do, even when I am hiding, at some inopportune time, when I think to admit so would be to incur instant attention, negative attention. But that is in my own head sometimes, so I correct my erroneous thinking and move on!

That Staceyann has become an ICONIC performer since she has been in New York for eight short years. Her presence reminds me how much more I can do, how I should ferret out fear in my life, and live! Sometimes we think we face fear and giggle, leaping forward doing what we do! But there is always so much more that can be done. And I intend to do all that I can do before my Sisterlocked head hits the pillow for the last time!

To see her perform on her website is enough to make you want to grab a mic and hit Centennial Park, stop the Wednesday music gala and slam the gathering with poetry, like Theresa Davis and Queen Sheba and Lakara. Publish your life and concerns right there in the park, in the heart of the ATL. Dance in a colorful sarong, let lose your hair and shake your butt and be elated for the beauty of breath and love and freedom!

I love Chin's statement: "I cannot conceive of a life in which I am not a traveler."

Truly, I understand! You learn so much traveling, nationally or internationally, hell locally, when you reach out to others and see their faces, hear their voices, eat other foods and listen to other music, and abide in another way of being. I am feeling the travel bug myself.

Anybody want to go away with me for a day, a weekend, a week, a month, a lifetime? (kisses)

Oh my! The title of the memoir...

To use the other side of paradise, the side that was wealthier, as a metaphor for going somewhere else or being someone else was absolutely beautiful! Staceyann illustrates this in her video on Amazon!

Miss Chin is a FULL-TIME ARTIST. The winner of slams from Chicago to Denmark, she is the author of "Hands Afire," her first one-woman show that ran for ten weeks at the Bleecker Theater in the Summer of 2000.

In my locs, now, I can yet hear her words: "I want to erase the straight lines so I can be me."

Amen! Hallelujah! Peace and blessings! Light and love! She makes me want to dance!

Reading her memoir, I came to love her and the world about which she writes.

I find myself missing her Grandmother. I know I'd be "one of we," if I were in Jamaica.

I miss Delano and wonder how he is fairing in Germany, wonder if he has a German wife and half German and Black and Chinese babies, handsome babies.

I wonder who is lucky enough to be Staceyann's woman, her wife. I wonder how life has changed for her after the publication of the book. I hope she is amassing more wealth, to do all that she wants to do!

I wonder about her beautiful, wandering, French-speaking mother. I'll bet Staceyann is fluent in French by now.

I wonder if those Jamaican boys who almost raped her in that nasty bathroom at school ever recognized their transgressions and forgave themselves. I wonder what that Jimmy Chin is doing. Racquel? Wonder what Auntie Ella, with whom Staceyann spent that first magnificent summer that showed her what life else where could be, is doing? I am even curious about her Aunt June and her tiresome behind.

The memoir boasts a style and voice that forges to the forefront in this generation of writers! It is a feast of a meal! I am FULL! I have supped in Sorrow's kitchen; I have laughed at the grown little girl unafraid to tell you what come pon her lips; I have screamed at Miss John and her bad-azz crew; I have wept at the near-rape, and I have applauded with the others when Staceyann delivered the graduation speech.

I am pleasantly tired...so I will retire to the arms of my office sofa and get up in a little while to make myself a pot of peppermint tea.

The air conditioner is the only sound I hear, aside from the clicking of this keyboard.

Although I am not on my way to Hartsfield International to join my beloved friend, Anita, who is flying to Africa, to Senegal, for a nine-day celebration with her sister, I am happy. I am blessed. I yet live a Golden Life.

The Golden Goddess

August 13, 2009