Week 15: Sunday Service Announcements

“Lord, please take this pain away,” I cry out. “Do you hear me? Please take it away. I can’t go through this again.”

The other day, I had to pause and give myself permission to simply exist. It made me realize how we are programmed to believe we are lazy for not burning ourselves out to meet a meaningless quota.

We’ve been conditioned to believe a lot of things our alarms have been waking us up to. Crawling out from our shadows to find the way to the light, we broke the curse. What should be congratulations are replaced with disappointing statements like, “You’ve changed.”

Baptized by the blood of Jesus, my sins all washed away. How could you think I would be the same, is that why you haven’t changed?

Curating Sunday Service Announcements this week reminded me of just how much I’ve given myself permission to change, and I want to invite you to do the same.

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Rejoicing the depths of erotic.

Rachel Leeke

When I write, words seem to crawl out of the palm of my hand.
The paper is a landing for their fall below.
It means something to craft with attention and care
in a world that often stomps and snuffs out.
In weightless pleasure arm paper and pen move as one.
 
Writing is a conduit. A way for emotion to outrun my will to keep it in.
Where I am my most vulnerable, my most powerful self
Creativity runs free
I create worlds and then burn them down.
Everything fits on a page that can be crumpled and tossed away.
 
I sit with desires and feelings
in a space Audre Lorde, described as
the erotic.

“In touch with the erotic, I become less willing to accept powerlessness, or those other supplied states of being which are not native to me, such as resignation, despair, self-effacement, depression, self-denial.” -Audre Lorde

The erotic is a place the world can’t touch.
It offers a rejoicing found in the pews of church
or the playground of bed.
My fingertips find the greatest self-pleasure: truth.
And there is undressing where masks are removed and defenses are dropped.
There’s a nakedness required to feel so free. 

The truth tends to brush against soft spots unfamiliar with its touch.
I deepen my breath
It ignites my core.
And dip my finger into a process just as sweet as the discovery.
Like a book I explore
cover to cover
admiring the curvature of my spine.
There’s no shame in my emotions flipping like pages in the wind.
 
I write from the edge of an event horizon.
And used to be afraid of falling in.
Until I reached into the dark
and found my own hand. 

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CRUCIFY THE MIDDLEMAN

Tabitha Blair

A Testimony Of Release From The Religious To The Spiritual

This is my story…this is my song.

I praise ONLY The Most High Creator all day long.

But that wasn’t always the case.

I was born and raised into the indoctrination of Christianity.

Where you can’t get to Heaven unless you accept White Jesus as your Lord and Saviour.

He was framed and hung up in each room of our house with John 3 muddascuntin 16 and Romans 6 bombaclottin 23 subtitling his subterfuge to my spiritual ascension:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

John 3:16

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Roman 6:23

Being the daughter of the Head Deacon in our Baptist church — my Daddy had us in, around, in between, above and below the WORD.

I read the New International Version Bible front to back 4 times by the time I was eight.

I remember because I got an award every time I did so.

Then I was rewarded for reading each chapter with written NOTES to wax theologically with my Daddy till I was about 12 years old.

Bless my Sunday School teachers’ hearts — but they weren't prepared for my AUDHD questions.

At 8 years old I was questioning how Jesus could be white if he was born in AFRICA?

Like — not even a likkle mix up tan brownin like me?

Make it make sense!

Why did God go through all that trouble spelling out 613 laws for da Hebrew people dem if the New Testament was gonna throw it all away and return to idol worship of a prophet?

God seemed reeeeeaaally adamant in the Torah Tanakh (the “Old Testament” of the Bible) that He didn’t want no other gods worshipped.

Just HIM.

But all I kept hearing bout is Jesus Jesus Jesus.

The Sunday School teachers couldn’t come up with anything logical to any of my valid questions.

Even basic geographical questions resulted in answers based on faith and supposition.

By age 11 — the contradictions between the Torah Tanakh and the New Testament became too offensive to my intellect and my intuition.

By then I had read enough history books written by the colonizing Caucasity Audacity to recognize the hijacks at hand in this revised spiritual book.

A book, I learned, that was weaponized by said colonizers to control those who conceded to spiritual conformity to avoid being killed.

But everyone wanted me to obey this religion where I HAD to talk to a white man’s representative of God to get a hold of the blessings and forgiveness from our Creator.

Sounded too Caucasionally corporate to me.

Kinda like that made up 10% monetary income tithing rule that wasn’t there in the Torah Tanakh either.

As a neurospicy AUDHD child — I was not keen on obeying anything that wasn’t explained with rational reasons.

But I soon learned my genuine thirst for knowledge and truth was seen as rebellious acts of demonic disrespectful disobedience.

They thought I didn’t want to believe in God when really our Creator was the only one I KNEW to be TRUE.

Me and the Creator have always been good.

Ok, MOSTLY good — I was mad at TMH (The Most High) for a while for giving me a white narcissistic mother who couldn’t braid my rassclot hair or help me navigate the racial hate I received — till I was reminded that I chose her to gain access behind enemy lines.

Besides that — me and God been fine.

It’s the alleged allegorical illegitimate Caucasian SON that I was giving the bombastic side-eye to.

People be using Jesus as a get-out-of-accountability-jail card yet somehow still feeling entitled by his bumbarass blood to hypocritically condemn others for doing shit they also be doing behind closed doors.

Anytime it came time for me to forcibly pray out loud in the circle— I’d pretend I was too shy.

But really my Soul never felt right praying in Jesus’ name.

I’d do it to avoid getting in trouble — but I’d apologize to TMH later.

Even still, I was afraid to officially denounce Jesus.

Like — what if I was wrong and I just hadn’t found the right teacher to make it make sense?

That Hellfire fear-mongering that Christianity pushes really had a grip on my Spirit.

Especially during my teens when my spiritual gifts really started to blossom.

People called me Oracle.

I would astral project to find answers and guide those who had spiritual blocks they needed removing.

I was a prophetess who saw the future and interpreted dreams.

I practiced energetic healing akin to reiki but more so extractions of demonic energy.

I pretended to do it in the name of Jesus for my Christian fam but I was only really conversing with TMH Creator who MADE me and GAVE me these gifts.

Otherwise — they would have called me a demonic witch.

Now I just prefer to be referred to as a Bush Woman.

Meanwhile — after my sister died when I was 18 (she was like a mother to me) — I spiraled into a twisted low vibrational alcohol abuse that had me living in the darkest places and spaces where legions of demons dwelt.

I done walked through the valleys of the shadows of death.

Stayed in dem alleys and smoked a shit tonne of cigarettes n blunts with em — fucked up on whiskey and wine.

That’s when I found out I couldn’t escape or ignore TMH.

I got me some badass Angels that are commissioned to stay with me.

To slay with me.

I had put myself in so many precarious life threatening situations that should have had me joining my sis in the ethers.

When I hit a particularly rough n rocky bottom — I thought going back to church would do me good.

But my soul felt ill at ease again in the services.

The sermons were sad excuses of self-help literature with very little scriptural meat — and the call to the altar was filled with dramatics that made my hyper-discerning spirit shudder.

Music was poppin tho.

My empathic soul could feel the sorrow of these mobs of misled members — who kept throwing more money into the collection plate hoping Jesus was gonna bless them with an unrealistic return on their unrepentant investment.

I felt lost and confused about what to do.

I prayed to TMH and I heard my Ancestors urging me to REMEMBER.

I needed to UNLEARN everything and hunt for the TRUTH about EVERYTHING.

It wasn’t even bout Jesus no more.

I needed to find out what the white man was trying so hard to hide from us.

I was fed up with the lies.

I went on a quest to relearn what we all had forgotten — but remained in our DNA.

I sought out black scholars/teachers in geography, science, history, art, math, language, agriculture… YOU NAAAAAAME IT!

A lot of them turned out to be Hebrew Israelites.

I immersed myself knee deep in the religion and culture happily cuz it allowed me to still keep the parts of the bible that felt like home: The TORAH — while I got to reap the benefits of the spiritual alignment of lunar cycles.

Better yet — I was shown more books, scrolls, maps — PROOF of a far more sinister GERMANIC plot on our destiny.

And it made me ANGRY.

I told my family not only did I NOT believe in their precious Jesus — I repeatedly said FUCK JESUS if they brought him up.

I was on IG strong trying to wake everyone up with my research, my knowledge, and the awakened GOD ENERGY spirit within me.

I was returning back to myself and I burned with a passion to help.

But I found out many people don’t want to wake up.

They don’t want to remember.

They don’t want to LEARN — they want to be TOLD what to think.

They don’t want to be held ACCOUNTABLE — and they sure as hell don’t wanna change their ways.

But we sure as hell LOVE to COMPLAIN about shit we could change.

We ain’t learn nothing from our Ancestors in the desert.

Still worshipping idols — still afraid to break free from psychological chains to prosper on our promised land of milk n honey.

We been comfortably captive for a long time, waiting on Jesus to save us — when our CREATOR gave US the ability to save OURSELVES.

You were created by TMH in the IMAGE OF THE CREATOR.

You are given the POWER to create life and death — heaven and hell — for your dominion with your UNIQUE GIFTING.

This is my story…this is my song.

I pray you REMEMBER and restore your POWER all the day long.

May The Most High be with you always.

I’m not here to debate — just here to help you remember:

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Lord, please take this pain away.

Jacquie Verbal

Lost in my thoughts 
guilting myself for a lost direction
the only thing that brings me back to reality 
is the pain in my hand from my fist being balled so tight
the tension in my shoulders from them being raised to my ears
and my jaw 
God my jaw has been clinched tight 
navigating these thoughts. 

Maybe I should reach out to see what’s going on, but will I be met with honesty?

“Lord, please take this pain away,” I cry out. “Do you hear me? Please take it away. I can’t go through this again.”

They say God gives the hardest battles to the strongest soldiers, but I unsubscribed from being a strong soldier. This pain is familiar; I know this feeling because I’ve felt it many times before. After the hurt and the betrayal, it’s that rough patch between no longer extending care and still battling the lack of closure.

That period of grief.

Grieving the potential of what could have been, grieving the loss of what no longer is, grieving the discomfort that comes from stepping into the unknown.

This pain stabs me in my heart
People see me
but they just don't know.
Protected behind a bulletproof stage
the table with chairs built for me 
sixty days of endured pain
sixty days I prayed to God to bless a young nigga
I pray to see this all pay off
wondering how it will feel 
the day the things I once grieved set me free
on that day I think I might fly away. 

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Prayer Hotline

I pray you write like it’s your religion.

I pray you have more erotic experiences in your life, single or not.

I pray you remember who you are.

I pray you give yourself the grace and rest you need to restore your power.

I pray you pray for your blessings and believe they are coming.

I pray you keep your faith even when it might look foggy.

I pray you allow yourself a chance to try something new for the first time.

I pray you learn to transmute that grief into your power.

I pray you give yourself the nurture and care you want from others.

Amen.

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