no more bag lady for me cause times a wastin'

A couple of Friday nights ago (I have been working on this submission for a while), my Goddess Rising sistren and myself had the pleasure of seeing the untouchable and undeniable Goddess icon, Erykah Badu. All I can say is wow. She gave a thorough set of at least an hour singing almost all the cuts off the new album and many old favorites like Orange Moon, Apple Tree, and On and On. Angelika has challenged all of us to write about our favorite song of the night and because I can't choose one, it would have to be "Bag Lady" and "Me". How appropriate you say?

I was sick, tired, congested and stuffy from my flight back from NOLA 2 days earlier, the combination of stagnant recycled airplane and hotel room air, work at a conference surrounded by pharmaceutical drug pushers and looped liposuction videos, and running the streets, hit me but I wasn't missing Badu at Radio City. She is so sleek, sassy, sexy, sultry and smooth. She had on this funky black ruffle dress, not my favorite, but she worked it, sliding and gliding across the stage.

Since it's no longer fresh in my head, I won't struggle through a thorough review, all you need to know is that Erykah is a true artist and renaissance woman. I feel like I saw a real production. She sang and simultaneously did this angelic modern dance with these red stability balls, symbolizing two people in a relationship, pushing them together, rolling one away...basically showing their separation and union. Her dancing was so fluid and evocative; I wanted to join her; I was captivated. It was a highlight for me to be able to experience and appreciate her artistry.

So back to the point, my favorite songs of the night: Bag Lady! For fuckin' real! That has always been a favorite song of mine, perhaps because it's so unfortunately relevant to my life. It came out in 2000...in retrospect a time when I started gathering bags and carrying a heavy load. And all I've done since is collect more bags of all types, sizes, shapes and colors; picking up more than I let go. This song always resonates with me especially as I grow and develop; it's a constant reminder for me to "let it go" (yes, before you, Keyshia). Anyway, she ripped it; and for extra value the audience was called to sing the "ohhhhhh, oh wooooh, ohhh woooooh" part; and in case you didn't know this was an interactive production, she actually went into the audience and put cats on the spot! Comedy; there were some horrible singers! I was no better especially with my head cold really keeping me off key. But it was real and honest and a collective experience because we all have our bags that we are struggling to get rid of.

I've thought a lot about this lately because I've been traveling a lot and I always end up carrying mad bags, sometimes to the point where I'm a spectacle. This is even true at times with my daily commute...I'm aware of the physical as a manifestation of the mental.

I was traveling back home from DC last week and this gentleman who helped me at Union Station (bless his heart) told me I had a heavy load. I thought, "Dag, he noticed too!" I had a backpack stuffed to the brim, a LeSportsac duffel totally full and 2 bags in my hands. I pick up a lot of shit, ya know? How about mofos stop giving me more bags to carry? Maybe I just need to discard them as quickly as I pick them up...especially since they often don't match.

But it got me to thinking why I'm always traveling so heavy. Do I really need all of that stuff? Memories, hurts, disappointments, resentments, fears are useless unless we release them. They not only make my back hurt, but they apparently make my heart hurt too...merely from the weight of it all.

I drop shit off every day...throw stuff out, give it away to someone who can better use it, recycle things, to get it out of my realm and consciousness. It's a process. One day sooner than later, I'm only gonna have a cute yellow clutch under my arm and I'll be on the go, floating effortlessly like Erykah wants me to. No more reverence for these bags, I chose me.

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