5/18/2023 0 Comments Nicholas popkey![]() ![]() There is nothing more humbling for me to see parents bring this awareness to transform their Autopilot to Bold, Conscious, and Decolonized (ABCD) parenting…most of the time (because life is real and perfection is not). Or, when you are trying to conform and perform parenting just to fit into the “good parenting box” that colonialism, patriarchy, and White supremacy demand you to. When you promised to never talk to your child like how your parents talked to you only to find yourself repeating those same words when you snapped at your toddler. These are the two invisible and sticky parenting roadblocks that keep unknowingly coming up in day-to-day parenting despite the parents’ values and intention. Parents of young children work with me to understand their intergenerational family trauma (I.G.F.T.) and internalized oppression (I.O.). Hi Nat, can you talk to us a bit about the social impact of your business? If you’d split your lips and laugh at it.We had the good fortune of connecting with Nat Vikitsreth and we’ve shared our conversation below. The kill, and the killers remain in remains,Īnd strapping the pavement in headlights, This is saying no to an impulse because you’re already happy. This is the last sip in the glass, the single cigarette per week. This is scratching your nose, when you get to the itch right away,Īnd the curl of the toes around the barstool, barefoot. The drip of the shower when you’ve just turned it off. This is when the kettle boils, when the microwave chirps, This a pen going dead and finding a new one. This is spinning a mug on the table so the graphic faces you. The one she doesn’t share with every customer. This is the little smile you get from the barista, Just watching the numbers spin, or the orbit in the world around you. This is filling your gas tank and not checking your phone, This is taking a picture because chance made something lovely. The space between wood grains and gaps in constellations. This is the variety of love between the heartstrings, This is the taste of coffee with your eyes shut. This is paging through a magazine with no priority of what to read. This is a sweet text message because someone crossed your mind. This is directing a delivery-man to the right apartment. This is a stack of books in the afternoon sun. This is the way the wind rustles the treetops. I am the deepening, the softening, the serpent. I am the thinking you do at the end of the day, If they were yours I would laugh as you doįlutter to a stop in a dying conversationĪnd lay open, sighing at the edge of sleepĪnd if this mind can be shelled by no other The one who doesn’t think begins to rise.Īre these lips condemned to belong to me? We slide down the surface of ourselves, putting trust in the wind and the captain to bring us home.įree of desires that make things complex, We fly as the time does and yet it creeps, each second fuller than the last, and the kiss of salt is a message from a planet that’s made of water, and we are fluid too, letting go of gratification and I’ll-be-happy-when. Not broken like the waves by the bow, but disintegrated, leaving behind a spray of images we had thought that we wanted, while the parts of us we need are put back together. We are magic, in the half-calm between broken waves, we are so tired we sleep as we lie awake, cutting through a sun-spotted mirror to the clouds, we are disassembled. Out here with no appointments, no prisoner to our moods. ![]() ![]() On the open sea, truly it is wide open-the land loses the battle to the horizon, and there can be nothing more than what you’ve taken with you freed from the chatter of quicksilver desires. ![]()
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