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"The Fog" I don't always share the personal side of my journey. I don't just mean on the social medias. I mean in general. With family, friends, artistic colleagues. I don't think it's so much out of fear or even reservation, but more so out of habit. I've gotten so used to tackling battles in silence that I forget how healing it can be to share moments of my journey aloud. So here's to sharing...
For the past seven years, I've experienced these moments periodically. For lack of understanding, I used to call it "The Fog". The name came from the feeling that there was a fog over everything. I never could figure out when it would come, what would be the inciting factor or what could make it go away. During this time it's usually more difficult than normal to think clearly, focus on a task and speak (like actually getting words out of my mouth). My processing is a lot slower than normal too. I'll find myself making a left hand turn on a red light at a six lane intersection. I'll find lit burners unattended with nothing on them hours later after somehow forgetting I was attempting to make a meal. During periods of "The Fog" often times I don't eat or sleep. Usually, I'll spend my nights working, organizing, journaling or creating. Oddly enough, I was always aware that the creation of some art would be the thing to bring me back to self. Along with the other things I never understood about "The Fog", I could never gauge how long I would be in it or what would get it to end. Since spending more time with myself and naturally, more time with "The Fog", I've come to understand it more. I've realized that I fall into a bout whenever I don't take enough time to stop and breathe, don't spend enough time in my home or homebase to recharge, or when I'm holding on to a secret or not speaking on my truth. Along with that realization came the discovery that it's less of a "Fog" and more of an "Awakening". I've realized that these periods force me to slow down, listen more, multi-task less, speak slower and take time with every action (especially the dangerous things like cooking or driving). In actuality, "The Fog" forces me to take time to be more human. Whenever it comes, I feel more in tune with nature and more in sync with those around me. Recently, I decided it wasn't some sort of illness, but more of a gift. A gift to truly be awake to witness the world around me. Now, I'm still learning about what these moments of "Awakening" are, but now I approach it from a place of gratitude instead of disdain. Over the course of this month, I'll share some journal entries from moments I experienced, "The Fog". Bear with me <3
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I am so grateful that I feel I've always have an abundance of love surrounding me. Lately, I have felt swallowed whole by my inability to be enough to warrant this love. Working to free myself from expectations of what love is supposed to be. Sometimes, that means letting go all together. Letting go has always come easy for me, except for when it comes to letting go of love. Once I relinquish, I know my freedom awaits. If only that weren't the hardest part. // OF US It's okay to let go.
We love Even though love is the antithesis of release. In love we let go of sanity, Better reasoning. We let free ourselves, Give up self preservation for any willful takers. All that letting go and still... We find struggle in letting go of love. I say, It's okay to let go. Let go of love. Go on baby, Let go// You've got your own life to live. To Our BoysTo all the little brown boys of America,
Who, to the eyes of the blind, Who to the eyes of many.. See beautiful copper tones That make our boys not so little anymore I love you. To all the little brown boys of America, Whose value neglect years of segregation, Years of marching, years of working for a change, Whom to the eyes of the blind, Whom to the eyes of many Hold the value of upside pennies Glued by gum to the sidewalk. I care for you. To our little brown boys of America Who hold the weight of our ancestors, Who hold the future of our people In their pockets, where to the blind Where to many, Guns, ignorance and danger will always reside I see you. To all the little brown boys of America, Lock down your love, Secure your beauty, Protect your brilliance Maintain you're royalty, Yes , hold high your heads. For the beauty in your skin must never be forgotten. For the beauty in your skin shan't ever be forgotten. For the beauty in your skin won't ever be forgotten. Find shelter in my love. RECLAMATION
I shake loose empty promises & fall back into my skin // It's the strength in remembering that the power lies within. I let go of the love that I thought that I was needing & realize that there's one... I've always been receiving. // The receipts in my smile & the glow of my skin I am truth. I am light. Absolute god(dess) within. JUNETEENTH  Yesterdays' Juneteenth was the best Freedom Holiday I've ever experienced. I've celebrated Juneteenth before and The Fourth of July, of course. But, something about yesterday hit different. Something about the rest of the world being more aware than ever of all the reasons we have to celebrate. Something about our ancestral lines connecting me to every brother and sister I passed filled me up to the brim ° I remember in my younger days coming home crying because of my name. I remember being called out for the roughness of my hands. I remember the jokes around my 4c hair. I remember getting made fun of all the time for the darkness of my skin. When I was celebrated for my beauty it came in the form of: "You're cute for a dark skin girl" or "You'd be cute if you were light skin". I remember my dad coaching me on the rebuttal trying to teach me the strength that I know now ° "The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice" . ° Yesterday, as I walked the streets bumping Tupacs album "Strictly for my Niggaz" on recommendation from my dad, I realized something. I am not even the berry. I'm the whole goddamn tree. I am the fruit that will nourish the earth in a way it's never experienced before. I possess limbs strong enough to carry the weight of all those who came before. My skin reflects the darkness my ancestors journeyed through in their quest to find freedom. My calloused hands were gifted as a reminder of the work my ancestors put in to build this Nation. I am Goddess personified. I am so proud to be Black.
I am so proud to be vocal about my stance on the movement. I am proud to be gifted the responsibility of fulfilling my ancestral legacy. I am proud to be me, Billie Krishawn. ARTIST STATEMENT
Our lives consist of a collection of stories. Those stories shape our behaviors, habits and personalities. Ultimately, those stories are a reflection of where we’ve been and where we’re going. As a Black Person, I carry the weight of all those who came before. As a Black Woman, I carry the silence of those who never got a chance to speak their truth. As a Black Woman in America I carry the strength required to push past the barriers intricately stacked against us. As a Black Woman from Washington, DC, I carry the history of my ancestors who built this land only to be washed away in the promise of something greater. My art is a reclamation; my promise to those who came before me that we will no longer be forgotten. Years ago in Africa, the keeper of stories was called, a “griot”. I am the self-proclaimed griot of my dear city, my dear Washington, DC. With each piece I aim to weave the line that connects us. May my voice be impenetrable like wind, my rhythm as dynamic as fire, my art infinite like water and my passion firm like the earth. SHORT N' SWEET
I savor the sweet music of tonight with the sway of my hips. My being blends seamlessly into your heart beating, keeping rhythm with your aspirations. Tell me, does my dance earn space in your destiny?  May 2017. July 2019.
Life has a way of sneaking up on you. Life has a way of seamlessly slipping in moments of unbearable joy and adorning it with moments of gripping hurt. So much has happened in the two years that have passed between these photos. In the spirit of sharing this journey with you, I figure this is a beautiful opportunity to share some of these milestones…so, here goes. In these past two years I have:
I know those are way more things than you asked for, but I really wanted to share. My career has so many glamorous perks, my life has so many beautiful thrills. With that though there are also so many difficult moments. Many days where breathing feels just as difficult as walking water. I am so grateful for all of the battles I’ve fought, for the friends that have helped warrior up when I didn’t have the strength, to the universe for always guiding me back to my power. Change is a petrifying thing, failure is inevitable and thankfully…hope is infinite. Thank you all for going on this journey with me, I have more love for you than the world’s got air. FRAGMENTS
Down days... Loneliness grows on my limbs like vines waiting to bear fruit. My breather plays out melodies no longer left to be sung. // My skin does remember though. Subtle pulsing beneath fingertips eager to claim stake in what has been theirs well before the beginning. Let my curves belt your praises, May my body dance a song written out just for you. My knees know the lyrics & this heart can keep tempo. You just have to promise me that this tune won't fall on deaf ears. 'Cause I don't have it in me to pick up half notes scattered from the ground. // 'Cause I don't have it in me to collect fragments of myself from the ruins of your absence. Remember... Pieces only have value if they have purpose. So... until you have room for me, I will simply remain here // Replaying the possibilities... Hoping one day this song will be more than just ||the melancholic melody of my mind. |
*Freelance writer: poetry, spoken word, playwright, screenwriter. Here to share the writing that frees me on a day-to-day basis. *
October 2020
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