baby, the bread is rising

I wrote this blog Sunday, July 11, and have been waiting for the opportunity to plug into the multimedia universe and post it.  huzzah!

tonight I spent almost two hours tearing my hair apart.  ripping it from itself from the knots into which it has tied itself.
the processes of my hair… are … to me … an incredible thing.  It has been as long as it has since I have taken a brush or a comb to it.  Maybe last fall I might have taken a comb to it.  and before that maybe the previous spring.  and before that maybe the previous fall…and back then I had short short short hair.    a different story.  A month ago, I bought myself a brush…and a comb…of the sorts that I could believe in…the sorts that I thought were “well-made” of “natural” materials.  a sort of self-pampering.  in preparation for the process on which I considered embarking.
My hair has become knots.  My hair has been extensive knots.  My friends have called them dreadlocks.  and beautiful.  I relate.  I just let my hair do what it does when it wants to.  No need for me to control it.  because it is … was… uncontrollable.  I could no longer separate the strands enough so that I could truly braid it.  all I could do was tie it back in a bun.
I considered just accepting the dreadlocks forever and loving them.  I considered shaving my head (although I did fear sunburn).  and I considered attempting to brush my hair out.

Last night at the encouragement of my friend Adriane, I rubbed my head with extra virgin olive oil and wrapped my head in a bandana.  We had not decided I would definitely brush it.  We were getting prepared, just in case.  Adriane said to me, “Your hair is pretty beautiful as it is”  and don’t I know it.

Today I had a day of friends and conversations, of air and ice cream, of computing and then.  I took my bandana off of my head. I took my brush and comb outside with me and I sat on a sycamore vegetable box and began the process.  Charlie reheated leftovers and brought me a shot of tequila and talked to me as I ripped and tore my hair apart and out.  as I winced.
I am lucky to live with this sensitive character.  this Charlie who keeps me company and talks to me and listens to me and doesn’t think it’s gross that I have this big pile of hair sitting next to me when I am finally done.
I tell Charlie that I think my mom always thought that me not brushing my hair was me not taking care of myself.  me not valuing myself.  but I always thought that it was more the other way around.  Me not brushing my hair was me recognizing that my hair is just a part of me, not me and I am more than my hair and my appearance.  recognizing that there are more important things in my life than the “quality” of my hair.

Slash I am feeling very happy and excited.  I no longer think that I will “have to” shave my head if I ever want to have hair again.  and I still have the old dreadlock.  the big long one.  that one’s not going anywhere.  and I think I will french braid my hair tomorrow…it is getting so long!  It was last cut two years ago!!
I feel a little freedom.  as if the fate of my hair is no longer set in stone.  there are possibilities for me and this scalp of mine.