To Dread or Not to Dread, That is the Question

I have been locked for 8 years and 8 months. I love my locks. I think they say something about both my strength and my vulnerability at the same time...this is probably only apparent to me. Even in my off-beat, self-indulgent, self-expression, there is the understanding that I am reaching out to the Universe, to God, and begging that the Almighty touch me. It is at once a statement and a prayer.



That is the most articulate way that I have to explain without non-verbals, like touch. This is not just a 'hairstyle'. It is a prayer. As my writing is a prayer, as my paintings are/were prayers.


9 years ago, I could not open a magazine or look at an inviting, smiling face, without seeing dreadlocks. It seemed that the Universe itself was willing me in this direction. Now, I do not feel that connection. I do not feel that pull. It is a prayer that while I cannot, truly will not say is unanswered---I will say that today it feels like a desperate plea. It seems to be a yearning that is still unfilled.



Much like the caress that never comes from a lover. That moment one hopes for when a lover, the one that you pray is THE ONE, opens the door/window/wall/whatever and lets you know that your loving, praying, cooking, sexing, crying, wanting and waiting is not in vain. That moment that lets you know that who you are is more than just 'OK'. That lets you know that they won't be the same if you leave. There is a longing unanswered when that moment does not come.



Although I love my locks, I still long for that moment. That caress from the Universe, that cradle of comfort, peace, healing. So selfish, I know but 'every living thing wants to be loved'(Shug Avery, The Color Purple). Although I will always yearn for that caress from the Universe, I no longer feel the need to carry a hairstyle to signal that longing. I just pray that this emancipation from the physical does not set me adrift spiritually or emotionally. One battle that I have to fight is that I think my locks are incredibly beautiful. I think they make people notice me. I cannot imagine what I will look like without them. And the thought of facing a humid summer without them makes me want to cry.




Peace,
Storm

..nappy headed hoes...

Just who is the nappy headed hoe?



It speaks for itself.


I have a blog entry on Indigo Storm discussing this issue further.

WTF, or Why your opinion about my hair matters

It is 2006. October of 2006. Why is a black woman's hair still such an issue?

I carry dreads. My locks are pretty long; they come to the middle of my back. Since they are long now, people compliment them. People stop me to tell me how beautiful they are. They make a point to tell me that MINE look nice and clean.
It is 2006.

I started my locks in 2000. I cut my shoulder length chemically 'relaxed' hair off and started my locks with about 2 inches of hair, which looks like an inch once twisted.

People looked at me like I was crazy. I expected some people to stare, but the worse group, by far, was black women. At first the reaction hurt me.

Sistahs looked at me like I was trying to cut their hair off. They reacted as if I was trying to take away their relaxers and make them go nappy. Brothers tripped too, but most brothers trip when they see a woman with short nappy hair. I could not believe it. THIS IS MY HEAD.

THIS IS MY HAIR.

WTF?

Not that it mattered anyway. I was ready for my locks. I was happy. I did not lock my hair to please anybody but ME.

So now, when I am shopping or walking, and someone stops me to tell me that they approve of my locks I really want to ask them if they hold an opinion on what the president is doing.

I want to know if they talk to their children about things going on in the world.

I want to know if they read.

I want to know what makes them think that I give a care what they think about MY HAIR.

I don't care!

I mean, OK, Thank You for the compliment.

But, I want SOMEBODY to walk up to me and ask me why politicians think black folk are a herd of homogeneous, brainless cattle.

Or, why is it that if a black woman doesn't fit a European margin of beauty she is only worthy of disdain.

I want someone to look at me, see the fire burning in my eyes and know that I am the real deal.

I want SOMEBODY to see the beauty that is me.

I want people who only care about 'dressing to impress' to impress me by shutting up.

Maybe I should walk around singing India.Arie's 'I Am Not My Hair,' even if no one gets it but me.


**The exception to this are those people who are locked, were locked, or whose lover is locked. I bask in their attention. People who have cut their locks often say I make them miss their locks. THAT is a compliment**

Peace.