''No Artificial Ingredients'': Reflections Unplugged

By N.A.I

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781465331595

Book preview

"NO ARTIFICIAL

INGREDIENTS"

Reflections Unplugged

N.A.I

Copyright © 2010 by N.A.I.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval

system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

69918

Contents

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

CHAPTER 1

USED

WAR

LOST AND FOUND

BREAK TIME

COMFORT IN TRUTH

BREAKING THE SILENCE PART I

PRETTY

CHAPTER 2

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE A NUT

CHAMBERS

EMMA

BROKEN LINEAGE

DELIVERED

TIL MESS DO US PART

COME BACK TO ME

CHAPTER 3

TODAY IS GONNA BE GOOD, SHINY & WARM

FOREVER IN THE DETAILS

HE CHOKED ME

REMEMBERING

REVELATION

SAME DIFFERENCE

ESCAPED

CHAPTER 4

I WANT A MAN

WHY YOU SUIT ME SO WELL

WITNESS

NO MORE

FINALLY

CHAPTER 5

PULCHRITUDE

THE MAGIC OF RELIGION

BREAKING THE SILENCE PART II

CELLS TO CIRCLES

DEAR MOM

MORE THAN ENOUGH

WHEN WE MET HE SMILED

VEGAN OATMEAL RAISIN COOKIES

REALLY

EYE

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR BIOS

CRISES REFERENCE LINKS

FOREWORD

Abundance. Faith. Simple pleasures. Life and death, despair and hope, disease, uncertainty, joy, friendship and an abounding love of the Creator began to take root as a whole in our lives. We knew that our souls were in search of something more. The need for something more, more meaningful and more fulfilling—desires of our souls—a common theme revealed during our getting together. The fellowship was filled with laughter and sometimes tears. Tears for all of our struggles and joy, tears that simply told us that getting together needed to happen again and again.

We were bound as sisters. Across the miles and four states with memories of growing up, getting grown and continuing our journeys. Carrying children on our hips and dreams on our backs. Bound as friends. Bound as tightly as women, mothers, grandmothers, sisters and friends can be. But there was still something missing. Something that we wanted to share with ourselves, our sisters, each other, our children and the world.

That something was ourselves, our journey, our stories. The stories of our souls and hearts. And while some of us were hesitant and plagued by fear and circumstance, we all wanted in and knew the soul that brought us together had a story to tell. A journey to share.

No Artificial Ingredients was birthed in the heart and mind of a soul, one soul, her name Soul. On an early fall morning, I got a call from her. She was my friend and her call to me wasn’t a surprise. We had checked in with each other daily and often three to four times a day. Her passion though on this particular morning was heightened and more intense with a certainty and conviction I hadn’t heard emanating from her voice, her soul in awhile.

I was getting ready for work—A job that I loathed, but a job indeed. Dawn had not yet reached the horizon and I knew I was still safe—and wouldn’t be late so I continued to listen. Our conversations were a continuation of the conversation from yesterday and earlier and this day was no different. I got it. she said with conviction. I listened. No Artificial Ingredients, that’s it. I was lotioning my body sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark. Really? I replied. God spoke to me and I’ve chosen the name. No Artificial Ingredients. I still didn’t know what was being named. I only knew my friend as creator, writer, poet, performer, designer, mother and full of wit had a name. Why this name? I asked. I need you to write five reflections. You have until December to complete them. Bye.

She hung up the phone. I held the receiver briefly glancing at it with confusion. The sun had come up giving a ray of light through my blinds. I called her back. What do you want me to write about? I asked. Whatever you want. Your sister’s death, anything you want, she answered. I responded with confirmation and got off the phone.

I had to get to work and needed some time to think about what I would write. For months, I hadn’t the first clue of why I was writing, but being a lover of words and books and as an editor and writer, I jumped at the assignment. I learned a few months later that our friend and sister, was asking us to join her in writing a book. The book would indeed be entitled, No Artificial Ingredients. During one of our many conference calls to talk about our reflections, the stories, the lessons, deadlines, the editing process and more, she shared why she wanted to name the book No Artificial Ingredients.

It’s a book about life. Resembling our joys and struggles. Stories of our mothers, children, lovers, husbands, careers, broken-hearts, joy and all. It’s a book that gives meaning to the why of why life is the way it is.

No Artificial Ingredients is raw and compassionate—filled with humor and the stories of our souls. Stories that transcend race, gender and time. Timeless in its purpose and meaning. No Artificial Ingredients gives individuals free reign to dream and find their truth—to tap into the core of their being. A place of quiet reflection. A place that ignites and protects the longings of the soul.

Jill Wallace, Editor

March 30, 2009

PROLOGUE

Kisha Lea

I’m in the fight of my life. Stayin’ prayed up, watchin’ my steps, doubtin’ my intuition. Trusting no one. Sharing everything. Scared to lose. Ready to quit. Mad at the truth, the lie was comforting. Begging for strength. Breaking chains, breaking down. Running fast, slowing down, just long enough to cry, make sure no one’s lookin’ then take off again. I’m strong. I’m afraid. I’m tearing at the seams; I’m ashamed of my weakness. Beautifully human? Maybe. Ugly? Only with the protection of justification. Bad energy is contagious. My excuse is dangerous. Your opinion? Irrelevant. I GOT THIS! I’m bullet proof.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Thank you Mama for the gift of creativity. Thanks Daddy for planting the seed of courage and leading by example. Thank you God for a colorful vision.

The team that supports this book is amazing, electric, courageous and chosen. The united efforts went above and beyond the call, not only to ensure the book’s success, but in hopes that the charity would grant access to someone else’s freedom. Karma. Mia, Qiana, Sonya and Tele, Dang I love ya’ll. Together we went to places we weren’t prepared for at first—We laughed and cried through the challenges until we found perfection in our imperfection. Auntie Dovie thanks for holding my hand and loving me unconditionally and helping me decide when I was stressing between round toe wedges or peep-toe pumps.

I was blessed with an incredible leadership team. Zee, my Project Manager, thanks for keepin’ us on track and for your faith that stood taller than our many obstacles. For putting a check mark after each milestone—until we finally pressed send. Esh, thank you for stepping up whenever, however, by any means, and for offering your magic touch. Thanks cousin for sharing your brilliance—your level of commitment kept me driven. To my girlfriend Jill, thank you for countless hours of editing and encouragement. We ate cherry popcorn til’ our fingertips were red, while dissecting words, then bouncing them back and forth. Thanks for your strong will that kept you pushing, after I had fallen asleep. NAI Heyyyy!

I love you Chevelle. Thanks for holdin’ me down in my mission to start a movement that uplifts. Shakil, Jalen, Mykyo and Eyislea, thanks for lending mommy to the project. Actions have consequences! To everyone who supported us along our journeys . . . thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Soul . . . you did it girl!

Kisha Soul Lea

CHAPTER 1

Eye

Ayisha Courtney

Take a look at me. I am a complex woman made up of many emotions, thoughts and experiences. Some that I am proud of and some I wish I could erase. Some that explain the past and others that represent what you see now. See me and understand the pieces that complete me. Love what you see because I am here to stay.

I am a Surprise

I am Life

I am Brown

I am bald

I am spoiled

I am a little sister

I am daddy’s little girl

I am the last one

I am limber

I am quiet

I am smiling

I am messy

I am pretty brown eyes

I am shocked

I am confused

I am unsafe

I am lonely

I am sad

I am angry

I am lost

I am make-believe

I am moving

I am alone

I am struggling

I am trying to fit in

I am feeling fat

I am feeling ugly

I am shrinking

I am a new she . . .

USED

Zelda Corona

Leaning back in the purple vinyl lounge chair, the IV circulating Chemotherapy drugs through my veins, I ask, Was it worth it? The question running through my mind like a digital message center. I start to absorb my environment. My chair in the middle corner surrounded by four other purple vinyl chairs. I am the only patient sitting in this area of the room because I arrived early today.

I look at the peppermint and lemon drops in the candy bowl on the edge of the nursing station, grab a couple pieces and pop them in my mouth for nausea. I need something while I sit for six hours waiting for the chemo drugs to flow through my veins.

Looking around the room, the question runs rampant through my mind again. Was it worth it? Was it worth going through several weeks of chemo, while simultaneously receiving radiation treatments everyday for months? Was it worth having radiation penetrate my chest and upper back until my insides became raw?

Was it worth having radiation turn my skin three shades darker, my chest looking as if I had a map of Africa tattooed on it? Was it worth not being able to eat for two weeks because the pain I felt when I swallowed was so excruciating, that after the first bite, I braced myself like women do before a birth contraction? Was it worth fainting two times, awakened by frightening screams from my mother and my friend as I lay on the carpet in the middle of my bedroom floor? Was it worth having to spit every minute of the hour for two weeks straight, having to carry a towel around everywhere I went?

Just to think, the original diagnosis of Thymoma was in fact Lymphoma, disclosed during an one-on-one with my oncologist. Was it worth it? Being told that I would have a full recovery, only to learn six months later that I was being diagnosed with Bone Cancer because the world renowned physician who created