North Carolina Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green drops blessings like ripe mango into our laps. Walls breathe a heavy sigh of relief as she shreds the puny narratives we have about who we are and our power to reanimate and reclaim our medicine... our magic. She calls forth specters who resemble our own shadows and reminds us that we can, that we have no choice but to reknit ourselves back together with the medicine that never left us. It sits at the back of our throats waiting for release. It burns. It illuminates.
She says...
“Medicine is dark and thick like blood”
She asks...
“Where does your creative medicine intertwine with your work?”
She ponders...
“How do you court your muse?”
She chides...
“An anorexic muse is a dying muse”
She proclaims...
“Medicine informs the muse, the muse informs the medicine. It is a sacred symbiotic relationship”
Thank you Mama Jaki. I feel like I left my body several times during our conversation. Thank you for spoon feeding me back myself when I was 5 years old, wise and believed in my own magic..
And so it is on the dark side of the moon.
She says...
“Medicine is dark and thick like blood”
She asks...
“Where does your creative medicine intertwine with your work?”
She ponders...
“How do you court your muse?”
She chides...
“An anorexic muse is a dying muse”
She proclaims...
“Medicine informs the muse, the muse informs the medicine. It is a sacred symbiotic relationship”
Thank you Mama Jaki. I feel like I left my body several times during our conversation. Thank you for spoon feeding me back myself when I was 5 years old, wise and believed in my own magic..
And so it is on the dark side of the moon.
Show Notes
North Carolina Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green drops blessings like ripe mango into our laps. Walls breathe a heavy sigh of relief as she shreds the puny narratives we have about who we are and our power to reanimate and reclaim our medicine... our magic. She calls forth specters who resemble our own shadows and reminds us that we can, that we have no choice but to reknit ourselves back together with the medicine that never left us. It sits at the back of our throats waiting for release. It burns. It illuminates.She says...
“Medicine is dark and thick like blood”
She asks...
“Where does your creative medicine intertwine with your work?”
She ponders...
“How do you court your muse?”
She chides...
“An anorexic muse is a dying muse”
She proclaims...
“Medicine informs the muse, the muse informs the medicine. It is a sacred symbiotic relationship”
Thank you Mama Jaki. I feel like I left my body several times during our conversation. Thank you for spoon feeding me back myself when I was 5 years old, wise and believed in my own magic..
And so it is on the dark side of the moon.
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