Love Is Part XlX

Becoming Home

By 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼𝓈 𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 🌹Published 2 months ago • 12 min read

🎶 Bag Lady - Erykah Badu 🎶

Peace and Love my beautiful readers. I have a special gift for you, from the deep and current workings of my very own soul. For 5 years I have carved out spaces to document the lives of others. Do you realize that my “Love Is Series”, is a modern day Bible? An immortalization of brilliant beings—worthy of being seen, captured, and remembered.

On November 3rd, 2025 — I was scrolling through Instagram when I stumbled across a post by @whatsculture and it was a slideshow of Carrie Mae Weems’s “*Kitchen Table Series*”. My heart dropped. I have never seen and felt so connected to a set of photos depicting a life and story I have never lived— yet every fiber of my being screamed “I understand this. She is me.” I had many thoughts and feelings about her photos. They made me weep. Made me feel exhausted. Increased my desire to love and be loved. Helped me appreciate the agony of heartbreak. Made me feel like I needed to get my sexy swerve on in a silk robe. I’ve never felt so connected to a feminine essence because I am usually only inspired by men. Primarily the revolutionaries due to my militant mind. Huey P. Newton, Malcom X etc. I don’t have many feminine idols and I’ve always carried guilt around that. Only Frida Kahlo has impacted my heart and my art. So it wasn’t until this moment, seeing this woman express in such a raw and artistic way, that I became a woman inspired by another woman to create.

This is my version of her “Kitchen Table Series”. I’ve been journeying through Asia trying to find myself through food, language, isolation, reflection, nature, worship and prayer. My intention is not to recreate her photos or mimic the exact essence of her series. It’s about continuing her conversation through my own lens. A 6-day spell of witnessing myself in real time—inviting the divine into my creative process. This is MY expression of Black Womanhood. From ancestral voice to contemporary transcendence. A visual journey of a woman becoming home. Beyond the kitchen table.

Day 1 — The Threshold — 11/6/2025

Silent power, anticipation, a soft reclaiming. A gentle moment of being truly present for the first time, in a long time. Gratitude. The Initiation.

“Arrival”

Through traveling I’ve learned that as humans, expedition is natural. Exploring offers grand wisdom. On the other side of that same frequency is grounded-ness. Home and community. Two things I’ve never truly known because my life has been about constant motion and going at it alone. I can’t stay in one place for too long or bound to one person with the intention of longevity. I’ve never felt a sense of belonging. Most days I don’t even believe I’m supposed to be on this planet. Instead of searching for home, I’ve decided to just become it.

Every day I wake up surprised that I’m in Bali, Indonesia as if I didn’t intentionally plan to be here in January while I was in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I made a vow to myself that I will journey across the world to distant lands in search of a place to ground myself to write my book. 13 chapters. 13 lovers. 13 phases of me.

What I’ve discovered is that the book did not end in America. It was only the beginning of the first few chapters of my adolescent life. I’m a whole fuller woman now, in the midst of the next portion of my tale. I have to live, so I can write.

Beloveds, I am tired. This journey has revealed to me that healing is not linear. Life doesn’t immediately get better just because you pack up all your things, say goodbye to all your loved ones and exit the experimental matrix. No. You don’t just hop off the plane and suddenly become brand new. In this life, it doesn’t matter where you go because nothing will change until you do. The proof of evolution is you. You can try to run near or far! What you’ll soon discover is that wherever you go, there you are.

So who are you?

“The door waits like a question. The air trembles, thick with knowing. My hands are full of keys I forged from endings. The house exhales — walls remembering my name. I hear echoes of the woman I used to be, humming behind the window glass. I am both the *leaving* and the *returning*. The *wound* and the *wonder*. The prayer that finally answered itself. Behind this door is everything I prayed for, and everything I must become to receive it.”

Writing prompt: What am I leaving outside this door? What version of me is ready to enter?

“I am leaving fear at my doorstop. It is not welcomed inside the abode. I release doubt, lustful ways, insecurities and the pain of my past. I am leaving behind the mirrors of Kansas City, as the reflections are now just projections. I am leaving behind the version of myself that would hide and play small to make others feel comfortable and worthy. I am releasing the old narratives and revamping my life by rewriting my own story.

“The version of me that’s ready to enter is the one that is ready to receive. God please, let everyone and everything take care of ME. The version that’s ready to surrender — to walk with the lion to my left and the tiger to my right. The puma guards my back, and the panther leads the way. My goons are the big cats, protecting me so I don’t become life’s prey.”

I am the **Voyager** and the **Voyage**.

Day 2 — The Desk — 11/7/2025

Calm creation. A woman between intellect + intention + intuition. Writing as spellwork. A moment of being reminded that the divination is derived from within. She discovered that her magic wand, was her pen. The Incantation.

“She Wrote Her Way Out”

My voice has changed. Being an immigrant on foreign lands with many people that do not speak my language or that struggle to, has taught me how to listen & pay attention. Which has always been hard for me to do because so much of my youth was spent being silenced. Silenced by my parents who didn’t see me and that had no desire to parent me. Lovers who were afraid of my power. Friends who were envious of my rapid growth. School, jail and government systems threatened by my rebellious nature and bravery. The world has tried so hard to silence me. To shrink and mold me. I have had to fight for my peace. I have had to strive to extract the mighty voice inside of me. I have learned how to write when I cannot speak.

“Ink is my confession. Paper, my altar. Every word, a spell I cast to remember who I am. I write until the room begins to listen. Until silence folds itself around me, tender as forgiveness. I have learned that language is ceremony — each sentence, a small resurrection. The desk is my devotion. Every page I fill brings me closer to the woman I am still becoming. I am spelling myself back into existence.”

Writing Prompt: If my words were letters to God, the ancestors, or the unseen parts of me — what would I ask? What would I confess?

“I would ask my ancestors “Where do I come from?” I envy the people around me who are deeply aware of their history and culture. Being a Black American woman, I have struggled to discover the truth of my bloodline. My family is filled with alcoholics, drug addicts, crooks, and criminals — men and women unwilling to discover who they are, let alone where we come from.

“I grew up in Vegas— in a melting pot of culture. My friends were Hawaiian, Hispanic, Belizean, Guamanian, and any kind of islander nationality you can think of. I’m talking straight F.O.B. They had their own languages, traditions, food and music. They had so many things that belonged to their people and I always wanted to know what that felt like. To belong. To have pride in where I come from. To know the history of my bloodline. In my life, I have pulled from all cultures around me and made them my own. I study their languages. I have reverence for their lands. I nourish myself with their foods. I listen to their music, learn their traditional dances and practice their ritualistic ceremonial prayers. Yet still, there is always something missing. The essence of my own blood. The longing to discover who I am, through the ways of my own ancestors.

“To Allah, I would confess my sins. I would ask forgiveness for my thoughts of revenge, for my acts of gossip and gluttony, and for the adulterous paths I once walked. I would confess that I am aware that I am not perfect but that I desire to navigate through life with a pure heart.”

I am the **Messiah** and the **Message**.

Day 3 — The Bed — 11/8/2025

Surrender. The moment before transformation. Rest / recovery / vulnerability / liminal grace. The Integration.

“The Weight of Rest”

“The bed remembers more than it should. The shape of longing. The ache of dreams unspoken. The hush between heartbreak and healing. I lay myself down like an offering — between what was and what might be. Here, I am unraveled, unmade and undone. Here, I remember how to breathe without armor.”

I’m in a phase where I have to re-learn how to rest because I didn’t understand the assignment the first time god granted me the opportunity. I moved to Atlanta back in 2019 after an awful breakup. Fun fact about me: whenever someone breaks my heart, I pack up and move — a new house, a new state, a new country. It’s a naughty little habit of mine. I did it with only $200 to my name and two suitcases filled with books and a few articles of clothing. Moved right into the hood with no car, no job, nothing to my name. For half a year I lived that way and I spent every day resting or walking around trying to learn the land. I resisted the rest. I didn’t surrender to the peace god gave me because I felt guilty for not being able to stand on my own two feet. It wasn’t until 2020 that I realized that God was trying to mold, a new me. To show me that faith is trust.

I share that with you all because I’m in that same phase again. Except this time, I am heeding the vibes and answering all the calls from spirit. Due to my graceful surrender, I have been truly held, carried and provided for. Beyond anything I could ever imagine. I eat two large meals a day and multiple servings of cold pressed juice or coconut water. I go to the beach and listen to the waves. I hang with the locals, we go into ceremony. We pray. I rest. Without guilt. My nervous system is so worthy of a break.

I come from a family of women who run from their fullness and truth by burying themselves in work. Keeping busy so that they don’t have to look in the mirror to see what needs healing or revealing. I am the opposite of all of them so being in my presence is a constant trigger for most of my family members. I spent my whole life trying to unlearn their patterns and reprogram my own mind while softening my heart at the same time. This shit ain’t for the weak. I’m steadily climbing mountains, reaching for the highest peak.

Writing prompt: What am I allowing myself to rest from?

“I’m allowing myself to rest from the work force. I’m a bo$$. Been that, will forever be that. For the past 10 years my massage career ruled my world as well as the modeling/entertainment industry overall. I used to think my worth was determined by how much money I made or how brilliant my art was. I didn’t realize that I was just performing and serving. Never allowing myself to rest, receive, be pleased or fulfill my own needs. I was living and doing everything for everyone else that in the process, I forgot about me. I’ve always felt like I had to prove myself. Always operating in my masculine yang/action oriented energy. Never softening and balancing my yin. I haven’t worked in 4 months and I am truly, genuinely at peace. Thank you god — for gifting me a life of ease”

I am **Softness** and I am **Strength.**

Day 4— The Bathroom — 11/9/2025

The alchemy of tears and water. Death of an old self. Grief / cleansing / baptism/ purification. The Inception.

“Where Grief Became God”

“Grief runs down the drain like history. The water hums the hymn I never learned. My skin begins to shimmer, soft and new, like the morning light is washing through. Every drop a small forgiveness, every breath a kind of song. I let the sorrow leave me slowly—it had been here far too long. The water made me remember, the remembering made me whole. I rose again in silence, baptizing my own soul.”

Bali forced me to die — to face everything I tried to run from, bury, or hide. I had to conjure a different kind of strength: to be greeted by death and still win.

I recognize that there will always be work to do because evolution is never ending. I also can have enough grace for myself to see that with every ending comes a new beginning. Each time I find myself looping through patterns, I pause and I do something different. Every time I find myself entangled with someone who reminds me of someone I once outgrew, I ask myself — what is the lesson here? What archetype is this person revealing within me? Moral of the story is, I am no longer a victim in my own tale. I take accountability. I view myself from a higher perspective then I come down to offer grace. Bali has taught me to be brave enough to look death directly in the face.

I am a master of change.

“No one teaches you that grief lives in the body. That it shows up in your throat, your knees, your breath. The shower became my confessional — where I stopped pretending I was okay.”

Writing prompt: What grief have I carried too long?

“It’s the kind of grief that hides beneath strength. The kind that comes from having to start over again and again — new homes, new names, new versions of myself every time something broke. It’s the grief of always being the one who transforms, who keeps finding light in the ruins, but secretly just wants to rest.

“The grief of soft versions of me that never got to stay. Indonesia made me see this. Bali asked me to stop surviving and actually feel what it cost to sit with my true self. It’s not a sad grief anymore — it’s an honest one. And I’m finally letting the earth hold it. I give it to the ocean. I gift it to the temples. I let my ancestors mummify me and reincarnate me into something new. That grief no longer belongs to me. There’s nothing left for it to teach.”

I am the **Illness** and I am the **Cure**.

Day 5 — The Veranda — 11/10/2025

Sobriety of spirit. Stillness before bloom. Offering / Grounding / Self-trust. The Illumination.

“My body recalls each and every fall. Still, I rise — no curtain call.  Bruised but here, I take my seat. The earth still steady beneath my feet. I feed the flame, I spill the wine,  I call what’s mine back into line.  No choir, no crown, no prophecy —  just me, and the God inside of me.”

“Ceremony”

There’s a moment before rebirth that feels like nothing at all. No fireworks, no tears — just breath and stillness. Sitting between who I was and who I’m becoming.

Much love to the beautiful Chiang Mai and the magnificent Bali for deepening me into ceremony. The temples in both places leave me in awe. Striking something ancient in my memory. The sculptures, gods and deities are so fascinating to me. Everything comes with profound symbolism and otherworldly energy. Guiding me along my path and redirecting me when I rebel against the tides. Sometimes spirit is gentle with me. Other times I get smacked in the face and thrusted down into the Earth to show me the creator is forever in charge.

Ritual has always been important to me. I never needed a spell book, a shaman or even an elder to show me the ways of prayer, ceremony and altar work. I just follow my intuition and heed the vibes of the moon cycles. I am always in tune with nature, for I am a wild woman. A priestess and a sacred beast.

In just 4 months I have transformed into something different. Tender, quiet, aware, peaceful, simple and more beautiful. I have discovered what is important and valuable. Hot water, food , community, nature.

There are times where I miss my kitten heels and my thigh high boots. My leather and fur coats that are extremely player coded. I miss dialing up my favorite photographers to set up photoshoots just because I felt creative on a Tuesday. I miss getting my makeup and hair done just because. I miss smelling candles at Homegoods and TJ Maxx. My new life, this new version of myself , has no need or desire to have or experience any of that.

Today’s work isn’t about reaching outward — it’s about returning inward. This is ceremony without spectacle. Devotion without audience.

Writing Prompt: What have I learned about myself from living in Bali ?

“Bali has reflected my own masculine energy back to me. My shadow as well. When I arrived, I was immediately terrified of the men and how pushy and aggressive they all seemed to be. Bullying me from the moment I got off the plane. The first thing I noticed was the patriarchy. The men are strong here. Protective and true gangsters. Bali is a gangstas paradise and no one can convince me otherwise. I’ve been denied entrance into temples because I am a foreigner. Everywhere I go, the men beg or cheat me out of my money. They judge me for the minimal amount of clothing I choose to wear, yet are curious about my scary tattoos and confused by the fact that I consistently veil my hair. I have battled the men on this island almost everyday over something. I don’t back down easily and I like to let my power be known to prove that I’m not a sissy.

“Then one day something in me shifted. I realized that the men, were a reflection of my own inner masculine. In my country, I had to overcompensate because the men around me didn’t always operate in yang energy. They didn’t properly protect, provide, or guide. So I had to become that — to thrive in business, carry the weight in my relationships, and be the strong force in my family. I’ve always had to be the man. I had to come to this land to learn how to become a woman. I now surrender and operate with a sense of obedience and reverence toward the men here, because I understand that they are trying to make a living to provide for their families. They are protecting their land and their people from the egotistical, greedy foreigners who come into their country trying to take and claim what is rightfully theirs.

“ I’ve learned that they even want to protect me — to show me the way. But if I fight, they cannot teach. I now know when to bend and when to bow.

“I’ve discovered something valuable. Hard times create hard men. Hard Men create easy times. Easy times create weak men. Weak men create hard times.”

I am The **Altar** and the **Offering**.

Day 6 — The Garden — 11/11/2025

Strength, embodiment, rootedness, divine feminine in bloom. Renewal, return to earth as self. Wholeness / Oneness / Truth. The Inflorescence.

“The Garden is My Witness”

“Morning opens its palms to me, as if even the sun has been waiting. Dew clings to my ankles like a blessing. The earth hums—low, patient, ancient. Every leaf a memory reborn, every petal a prayer fulfilled. I have learned the language of stillness, and now even silence calls me ‘home.’ I walk barefoot into my own light, soft, unhurried, whole. The garden is my witness— it has seen me die, and now it watches me grow.”

I have discovered that I know nothing. My journey has been so unusual and filled with many surprises. I believe that I am special. Not better than anyone else, but I’ve always known that my mind and heart isn’t like everyone else’s. My love hits different. My words ignite. My presence — my essence — carries weight. I’m walking alongside my destiny because I understand my own inevitable fate.

I am the peace amongst war. The deep breath between storms.

Writing prompt: What has blossomed within me over these six days?

Courage. Luminosity. Creative Alchemy. Rooted Strength. Ritualized Self-Love.

I have no fear! I’m a warrior. I have become physically more attractive because my inner world finally feels balanced. I believe that when our hearts are pure, we become more beautiful.

When I left America with hopes to expand *Love Is*, I had a feeling that I would meet someone to fall in love with. In just 4 months I discovered that the person I was searching for to give my heart to , was me. I have learned to caress myself with my own soul.

“The intentional creativity I put into this project blew my mind. I spent less than 10 minutes filming and photographing myself for 6 days to piece this whole story together! I’m super bad ass. I used to spend so much money paying photographers to shoot my Love Is stories. Whole time, I’M the photographer. I am the production team I’ve been looking for. You’d be surprised what you can craft with a vision and your iPhone.

“I’ve conjured up a sensei level of strength. Mentally, physically , emotionally and spiritually — I am ripped. I’ve become a warrior and the war. I’m a true soldier of Love.”

I am the **Rose** and I am the **Garden**.

I believe this may be one of the greatest pieces of work I have ever created. I hope that when you see me you are reminded not to give up. You can do it, because I made it.

Over six days, I moved through memory and light: from the threshold of my home to the creativity sector of my desk, to the softness of my bed. From grief to ritual into blossom. Each image, each poem, each movement is a spell of remembrance — an incantation to say: I was here. I am here. This is not performance. It is preservation. A cinematic archive of what it means to be alive, to be woman, to be spirit in flesh. To document oneself as both muse and maker. To become both the photograph and the prayer. This is my offering. My invocation. MY immortalization. My rawest creation. — Trashae’ Bradley-Hawkins