I Must Marry a Chameleon

Wise women know that life comes in waves. Wild women are wise enough to ride them.

For this wave in particular, it is the contemplation of a mate. Not yet the full measure of seeking or planning, but simple meditation and contemplation on the concept. What is a mate? What is a mate TO me? What is a mate FOR me? Is it a rite of passage I must participate in? There's been so much talk in the media lately about this notorious "42%" [the Black Woman's new favorite/dreaded number], and after my initial fist pump and then utter frustration over this belabored subject, I asked myself the most important question I believe every black woman must ask themselves regarding the issue:

"Have I found one I want to keep?"

For me, the answer is unabashedly NO. Though I see jitters in my future, I tell my nerves to stand down. It's still early. Bells and whistles must silence themselves momentarily as I pause to contemplate and meditate on the idea of "mate." I think I've come to at least one conclusion...

I must marry a chameleon.

It tickles me just to write that because its much more complex than it seems. Women are such breathtaking mosaics that I must close my eyes to type this as I absorb the full girth of the thing.

I've been reading the most phenomenal book on the nature of women that my fingers have ever sifted through. The most delightful hills of pages that my soul has ever danced through regarding my own nature. "Women Who Run With the Wolves" by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes is THEE book every woman has already read... in her soul. But there are treasures yet undiscovered that are revealed to women in various stages of life AND in the pages of this book. One of the most tangible yet intangible issues Dr. Estes points out is the dual nature of women. Duality. She says,

"Anyone close to a woman is in fact in the
presence of two women; an outer being and an interior criatura, one who lives in
the topside world, one who lives in the world not so easily
seeable."

Indeed! And every woman I know has let out a soul-holler at this well known yet unacknowledged fact. We know it. We feel it every night when our heads hit our pillows. There is one within us that lives underneath. While there is one everyone sees with their eyes, there is also one that seems to play 'devil's advocate' to our daily lives and yearns for "we know not what." It is vitally important to be in touch with both of these women, because they both make up an entire us. A complete and whole woman. But how does one find a mate that can traverse these worlds with us?

I must marry a chameleon.

Mating is not so much as 'time-spending' as it is life-creating. I believe it is my physiological and spiritual purpose in the world to bring forth life. I believe we are created to create. Therefore, I view my dating/marrying life decisions as a sort of 'matching up;' creating a situation in which the best life force can be brought forth from two symbiotic life forms. (Too much? Ok. Take 2...)

Love-ing is when God first blew breath into man. We two, together, form that breath and breathe it into another thing in this earth, be it animal (child), mineral (career) or vegetable (earth).

So the idea of 'mating' is not simply dating. It is more akin to imprinting. But I am two women living at once, so then what? Sometimes I feel like a poet. Sometimes I feel like a simple southern gurl. Sometimes I wanna go to the sports bar. Sometimes I want to only hear, see and feel art/life. Who will come along for it all? Folly would be to bind with a one-dimensional man and expect both the women inside me to be fed equally. Therefore...

I must marry a chameleon; for I myself, am a chameleon also.

So how does this come to be? What is the avenue upon which we must turn? What type of man must we open our eyes to? Dr. Estes says it best,

"The mate for the wildish woman is the one who has a soulful tenacity and endurance, one who can send his own instinctual nature to peek under the tent of a woman's soul-life and comprehend what he sees and hears there. The good match is the man who keeps returning to try to understand, who does not let himself be deterred by the sideshows on the road."

"So, the wildish task of the man is to find her true names, and not to misuse that knowledge to seize power over her, but rather to apprehend and comprehend the numinous substance from which she is made, to let it wash over him, amaze him, shock him, even spook him. And to stay with it. And to sing out her name over her. It will make her eyes shine. It will make his eyes shine."

Shine On,


Zarina Dawn.

The Cusp of Knowing [1.10]

Even the most splendid pen runs out of ink. She had endured half a decade of literary winter and creative desert, in huge contrast to the lush half decade of plenty. And no matter if it were Bic or Mont Blanc, she just simply ran out of ink.

Her mother once told her, "You aren't gonna wear yourself out, you gonna rust out!" So maybe she hadn't run out of ink; maybe she simply allowed her soul's salve to dry up. Pity. Because rumor had it that she was a real talent. Sacrilege. Because it was cruel neglect of the Divine. Blasphemy. Because who could doubt God's promise?

Whatever the circumstances, her pen stood still for almost 5 years, when once she couldn't keep it from bleeding upon her journals, her books, her homework, schoolwork. Even her napkins were not safe. Now she waited for the numbness to wear off. To be inspired. By something. 5 long winters. Harsh winds. Drought. Barren lands. Only small buds every now and then that petered out prematurely. No jewels on the dew of daybreak. Just a struggle to make it all make sense. To understand. To make the puzzle pieces of life fit together from moment to moment. A constant sheet of gray. This was her introduction to her 20s. She was on the cusp of knowing.