Archive for December, 2010|Monthly archive page

i ain’t going to let you go that easy…

In Uncategorized on December 27, 2010 at 7:09 pm

It is the end of the year and I am feeling hopeful. It is December, I am living back home in Minnesota which is having a particularly snowy and cold winter. Yet we have just passed the longest night of the year and the moon eclipsed and heightened the power of the absolute darkness.

The night of the solstice I was in my bed early. I hear a knock on my door. “Junauda, are you awake? There is a lunar eclipse?” It was my sister, Hosana,  who is amused and stirred by very little. In this moment she is excited and remarking on the way the sky’s light is so strange. I notice that the sky is overcast and lavender and thick with clouds promising more snow, but filled with some kind of magical significance. After she leaves my room, I lay back in my bed and start to move through my mind, awake dreaming.

In my heart lingered all of my yammering anxiety.  About money, what I am doing with my life, my desires for me in this lifetime. Am I failing? Am I going to fulfill any of what I want for myself. Am I ridiculous and/or crazy and/or weak-willed and/or repressed? (and a little too fat and raggedily dressed?) Can I follow through on the shit that I say I want to do? (do i ever finish shit? follow through on my ideas? is that what I do? come up with good ideas and let them rot in my journal, in other people’s ears, in the back of mind?) (aaaaarrrrgggghhhhh) (fuck!)

Overwhelmed, I picked up the self-help book laying near my bed and started reading it. This book that has been holding my head up lately. A sweet and gooey read that reminds me to forgive and love myself. Accept myself. Trust myself.


My mind wandered into an idea that I must set my intentions. Speak my heart to the universe. The Moon was in a powerful state. I read that while it eclipses it magnifies its power three-fold. And the vibration felt like it. In my spirit I saw a fertile ground before me, dark and rich.
I am there alone in my lavender, moon-filled room and I start having this conversation with me asking myself, not just what do I want, But what the FUCK do I want? I mean come on Junauda? You afraid to tell me? Who are you hiding from?

It all starts pouring out, these little pieces of me all over the room. all up in the piles of laundry on the floor, in the stack of books everywhere, in the dusty and abandoned alter, in the wine glass with the 3 day-old congealed, crimson libations, my half-written letters and postcards, my journals. I poured my heart out and I realized how grateful I am for my existence. I realize I am ready. Shit. I am ready. My life is beautiful and full and dope and magical. I live a very miraculous and magic existence.

portuguese love


I ain’going to let you go that easy. You got to say you love me too. I ain’t going to let you go that easy, i am about to give it all too you…

My mother visited me in Brooklyn in 2008. It was the only time I have had my mother to myself. I have always had to share her, It felt like that. This was important to me, I got to be with her alone and we were both women. In fact she was staying in my home with me, which felt so GROWN. So one night after being out all day at the Met and drinking wine and walking through Central Park, she asked me if I would put Fire and Desire by Rick James and Teena Marie on her Ipod, a device that she seldom uses or even 100% understands how to use. I step into the other room and shortly I hear a voice that is heavenly in shear passion if not in key and pitch, soaring clumsily towards Teena’s gut-wrenching riffs..”you turned on, you tuuuurrned on, you turrrneeeed on, My fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiire!!!!!!!!” I came into the room to see my mother curled up in my futon, head set in ears having a moment with Teena. It was so deep to see my mom, feeling the music like that.

Teena Marie was a genius and her voice invoked so much sweetness and fun and soul. I am glad she was able to share her gift with the planet, my mother and me.

Rest in Power,

Teena Marie.


by junauda petrus