Who is akka b.?
Hello. I’m not sure how I got here. When I was a kid I wanted to be an actress, a humanitarian, Laura from Little House on the Prairie, a mom, a Native American living on a remote island – and a very rich lady. A couple (or few) decades later… it turns out I actually am a Native American, but not living on a remote island; I have been known to “act”-out, but I don’t get paid for it; my name is not ‘Laura’, but some would consider my house little – and prairie-like. Guess what? I’m a MOM!! (It’s awesome). What else? Oh yeah… technically, I’m not a humanitarian, in the sense that I don’t travel to impoverished countries depositing food and medical supplies, but I am deeply in love with humans and… I did turn out to be a rich lady! Rich in place, people, timing, wonderings and wanderings, crazy ideas, big laughter, sweet tears and a willingness to love, no matter how ridiculous the opposition.
The writing thing happened the way the best things usually do – by accident. It was a private indulgence, until one day someone read something of mine and said, “I’ll pay you to do this for me.” Getting paid to do anything you love is an extraordinary gift. But to live what you love, is another matter entirely; one I’m working out everyday. What I do know is, living your love requires loving how you live, and living who-you-are.
Until recently, poetry was an aside to my day job. I launched The Drunk Love Heart blog in 2009, as a means to connect with others – defining relationship to Self and World through the painted word. It’s F##cking scary doing that by the way, getting “naked” in front of strangers. This exercise in Self-acceptance and exchange is a living art, it breathes, it dies, it’s born again, and it grows…
Poetry, for me, is necessary. It’s how I live. I really do talk to rocks and exchange wicked-love glances with handsome trees. I bargain with clouds and walk through thunderstorms. Saints and sages, feathers, candles and objects of sentiment adorn my walls and writing desk; evidence I keep of life’s potency. The words are an extension of this “evidence,” but at the end of the day, they are only words. Only a means, for a feeling to arrive and perhaps just a teeny tiny bit more understanding of how we came to be here and what it is, we came to be.
Thank you, for being here.
With all my heart,