On Wednesday, November 26th, my oldest daughter became a teen-ager. That means thirteen years ago, I was alone in HUP hospital for about an hour before my mother, sister and her father came to show their support. Alone, for about a hour --about to give birth-- to my first child. But I wasn't scared as much as I was excited about starting a new chapter in my life. I remember not caring about who would show up, as long as the doctors and nurses were all capable of properly handling the birth. I asked the doctor (the one who would later give birth to my daughter) at least three times about his credentials. Personally, he seemed sort of amused at the questions but I was serious as all get out --and he answered every one. I wanted nothing to go wrong, and if (God-forbid) anything had, I needed to know that everyone involved were all on their "P's & Q's."
She was a healthy child, nursed until the age of one, co-slept until the age of six and after watching Earthlings last December, a vegetarian.
November 26th and she's a amazing young lady. Kind-hearted, intelligent, creative, funny, stubborn, willful, (I think you get the point.) For the last thirteen years, I have pumped into her what I grew up knowing nothing of. Nature, education, God and confidence, family, self-respect, self-pride, self-love.
Today, I celebrate her birthday. The day I gave birth to my dear daughter. I spoke to my womb today and remembered not being certain of what lay ahead but knew that I would always do whatever I had to in order to protect her. And I have kept my promise to her.
Happy Birthday, Greatness!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Donnie - Turn Around & Cloud 9
I have three copies of The Colored Section. This album is satisfying. See for yourself.
Donnie- Turn Around
Donnie- Cloud 9
Donnie- Turn Around
Donnie- Cloud 9
Cee-lo- Bad Motha
As my friend would say, "TOOT-TOOT". "BEEP-BEEP".
"You can't handle me ___, I'm too much." - Cee-LO
Bad Motha.
"You can't handle me ___, I'm too much." - Cee-LO
Bad Motha.
Saul Williams- DNA
Saul is...Saul. Every time I listen to this video, I am convince G-d is speaking to me. Feel the Beat!
Grace Jones- Corporate Criminal
Grace Jones is Back. Check out her new video, Corporate Criminal.
Grace Jones is the master of entrance & exit.
Grace Jones is the master of entrance & exit.
Friday, November 21, 2008
The day before she must turn in two projects for school, my oldest daughter comes home from visiting with a friend and is down for the count --swollen throat -- headache -- fever --body --aches -- and extreme fatigue --everything. I notice something is wrong with her as soon as she walks into the house. She doesn't look at me. She doesn't say anything. There is no smile, no energy, no cheer. There was none of that usual not quite thirteen "pep in her step". Instead, she reeks of "I don't want to be bothered", and her eyes and cheeks seemed to be being pulled down towards the ground.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I just don't feel well."
"Can I get you anything?" I ask following her to her bedroom. I manage to remain far enough behind her, as not to violate her personal space, but not so far so that when she goes to shut her door, I am not able to push it back open.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I turn and walk out of her bedroom, leaving her door slightly ajar knowing this is not over.
I head towards my bedroom as my youngest daughter hands me her bright pink book bag and wait for me to tell her what to do next. It's like that between she and I. She doesn't make many moves without being first directed -at least by me.
Going through her folder is a joke because almost everything needs to be thrown away. Trash, paper, trees.
On the very top of a pile in her homework folder was a white piece of paper that screamed:
Memo: Your child has been exposed to Group B Streptococcus
I'm thinking, "You've got to be kidding me, right?"
But, NO. I continue to read the rest of the memo and discover the date of exposure was just two days ago. The paper continues on to tell me what Group B Streptococcus is, how people are infected, the symptoms and a list of things to do, if I think my child may be showing symptoms.
I'm sure this is what has my oldest daughter on her hind, and why she appeared so vulnerable when she first walked into the house. It makes much more sense now. I walk back into her room, sit down on the floor right next to her and tell her the news. She doesn't care. She just wants to sleep.
I let her.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I just don't feel well."
"Can I get you anything?" I ask following her to her bedroom. I manage to remain far enough behind her, as not to violate her personal space, but not so far so that when she goes to shut her door, I am not able to push it back open.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I turn and walk out of her bedroom, leaving her door slightly ajar knowing this is not over.
I head towards my bedroom as my youngest daughter hands me her bright pink book bag and wait for me to tell her what to do next. It's like that between she and I. She doesn't make many moves without being first directed -at least by me.
Going through her folder is a joke because almost everything needs to be thrown away. Trash, paper, trees.
On the very top of a pile in her homework folder was a white piece of paper that screamed:
Memo: Your child has been exposed to Group B Streptococcus
I'm thinking, "You've got to be kidding me, right?"
But, NO. I continue to read the rest of the memo and discover the date of exposure was just two days ago. The paper continues on to tell me what Group B Streptococcus is, how people are infected, the symptoms and a list of things to do, if I think my child may be showing symptoms.
I'm sure this is what has my oldest daughter on her hind, and why she appeared so vulnerable when she first walked into the house. It makes much more sense now. I walk back into her room, sit down on the floor right next to her and tell her the news. She doesn't care. She just wants to sleep.
I let her.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Power
Have your power ever been taken away from you? If so, what are you doing to get it back?
As a child, I would freeze up when a man molested me. I couldn't move...I just couldn't move. And this fact followed me until about three years ago, when I falsely accused someone very dear and close to my heart of making a sexually inappropriate comment to me. I remember him making the comment, and my body going into "freeze" mode. About a year and a half ago, we were able to reconcile but if he had not continued to pursue this issue, I would have always thought of him as a pervert.
I was not one of those children who tried to fight their perpetrator the entire time a assault was taking place. I just went to that place in my head. The same one you hear so many victims of a rape or sexual molestation say they go. I knew everything that was happening to me, but my body would not move. The man who tried to rape me, was the only man I fought. I can't tell you why, but I remember moving my legs to the left and right and then bending them so that he could not spread them apart. He was extremely drunk so he finally gave up and I walk back to where I was sleeping.
The victims of sexual abuse normally fall into two categories. Those who fought back the entire time are the ones who never gave up their power. They are the victims who after being violated take up self-defense classes, or get their permit to carry, or begin carrying mace & pepper spray. The individuals in the other categories are the ones who did not fight back and they do things like feel more comfortable with extra flesh on their bodies, or begin to have lots of sex with different people.
The ones in the second catergory carry around the fact that they have allowed another human being to take their power away from them. I carried this until yesterday. I will never allow another person to take what is rightfully mines again. I have always had an amazing spirit, always strong-willed, always intelligent, always creative, always powerful...except in this one area. Where no matter what, I could not will my body to move, I could not will my mouth to yell when a man was molesting me. And up until yesterday, I could not will my mind to see that I have been given my power back in that area.
Damn...my power. I gave it up and never realized it. When I heard my therapist say that, I was immediately healed. So much began to make sense for me. What I've allowed over the years, what I've participated in, what I didn't say. All because I have never plugged that hole up.
Never EVER Again!
As a child, I would freeze up when a man molested me. I couldn't move...I just couldn't move. And this fact followed me until about three years ago, when I falsely accused someone very dear and close to my heart of making a sexually inappropriate comment to me. I remember him making the comment, and my body going into "freeze" mode. About a year and a half ago, we were able to reconcile but if he had not continued to pursue this issue, I would have always thought of him as a pervert.
I was not one of those children who tried to fight their perpetrator the entire time a assault was taking place. I just went to that place in my head. The same one you hear so many victims of a rape or sexual molestation say they go. I knew everything that was happening to me, but my body would not move. The man who tried to rape me, was the only man I fought. I can't tell you why, but I remember moving my legs to the left and right and then bending them so that he could not spread them apart. He was extremely drunk so he finally gave up and I walk back to where I was sleeping.
The victims of sexual abuse normally fall into two categories. Those who fought back the entire time are the ones who never gave up their power. They are the victims who after being violated take up self-defense classes, or get their permit to carry, or begin carrying mace & pepper spray. The individuals in the other categories are the ones who did not fight back and they do things like feel more comfortable with extra flesh on their bodies, or begin to have lots of sex with different people.
The ones in the second catergory carry around the fact that they have allowed another human being to take their power away from them. I carried this until yesterday. I will never allow another person to take what is rightfully mines again. I have always had an amazing spirit, always strong-willed, always intelligent, always creative, always powerful...except in this one area. Where no matter what, I could not will my body to move, I could not will my mouth to yell when a man was molesting me. And up until yesterday, I could not will my mind to see that I have been given my power back in that area.
Damn...my power. I gave it up and never realized it. When I heard my therapist say that, I was immediately healed. So much began to make sense for me. What I've allowed over the years, what I've participated in, what I didn't say. All because I have never plugged that hole up.
Never EVER Again!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
To be Young Again
To be young again.
I've heard the phrase a thousand times and it has always failed to impress me. To be young again for me and many other children would mean that we would live in the shadows of poverty while dancing in our rodent infested homes. Sharing our last scraps of salvageable food with cockroaches and leaving as early as daybreak in order to avoid our drug addicted neglectful parents who had been partying all night long and where ready to rest.
Parents like mines who were each in their own worlds which never included me or my younger siblings but who still remained worthy of our love for no other reason than, they were all we knew. Where the people rot from the inside out and roofs made of tar leak rain into the houses of many families whenever there is heavy downpour. Where you grow up distrusting the sounds of pleasantries and people smiling. And wonder how does a man get from here to there if his boat has been destroyed before birth, his walks upon nubs, and the nearest bridge is located in the outskirts of the city, where fruits and vegetables grow & thrive in abundance.
I use to wonder about that as a child, whenever I caught glimpse of a beautiful piece of fruit that was clearly taken care of. Why do people take care of fruit but leave people to rot? But the broken glass bottles which have become a permanent part of the street, the smell of urine, and the crying of neglected hungry babies is my answer. And I learn to appreciate it, because it is the truth --raw and uncut.
I am a fine piece of fruit, worthy of an award, and a newspaper article in today's daily news, picked for consumption and placed on display only when I am at my ripest.
There is that sense of wonder & imagination about being young that causes feelings of nostalgia but that feeling only lasts as long as it takes one to round the bend. I do remember running across train tracks and placing my ear down close to the track to see if I could pick up on the sound of a train approaching, but this particular train station had long been out of service. And although all of the children in the neighborhood knows it; it doesn't stop us from trying to listen for a sound that we know will never come. It's like that when you live in poverty. Almost everyone ears are tuned in to the frequency of the wind, hoping for the sounds of change. Which never comes. Old battered long forgotten cars and their parts now occupy these tracks....oh, and crack addicts, wino's and homeless families. At first they all look alike --but over time you can tell the difference between those who are homeless and those who have addictions. It's in their eyes.
I must admit the age of innocence skipped me, and anyone who knows me intimately would confirm that I was caught smoking Winston cigarettes not once but twice as a child. They were my grandfather's, Tex, favorite brand. And I would be in my teens long before I knew there were other brands of cigarettes because whenever I walked to the neighborhood grocery store for my grandpop, I never had to ask. The man behind the counter knew me, he knew my grandfather, and he always had a fresh pack of boxed Winston's ready for me.
The man behind the counter, was also the store owner who knew all of the neighborhood children by face, or their selection of hoagies, chips and sodas. All which he sold for just a dollar and fifty cents. God, bless his soul.
To be young again for me would mean watching the world pass by at such an amazing speed that my mind never fully caught on to adulthood even though I craved becoming a woman more than life itself. An example of this would be the time I resorted to walking around in my mother's creme colored high heeled shoes for weeks on end, until one of the shoes made its way out into the middle of the street, in front of our home, and became a victim of a "hit & run."
With me and my sister being the only witnesses, we were subjected to an intense hour of good cop-bad cop with my mother playing the "good cop" and my stepfather playing the "bad cop".
"Did you have anything to do with its death?"
"Where were you and your sister this morning at ten thirty?"
"Am I a suspect?" I ask.
"Well, you were the last one seen with the shoe."
In my mind, I know they are telling the truth, but I remain quiet. Hoping that at any moment my lawyer would come walking in, present himself and put an end to all further questioning. But within ten minutes , I am found guilty ---all without proper representation and I am sentenced to an ass whopping by wooden paddle. I do my best to stand tall as the paddle makes contact with both my legs and butt. I also make sure to look my mother in her eyes as she tries her best to break my spirit with the paddle, even though we have long ago come to the conclusion that I am too stubborn to cry when taking a beating. Once again, I confirm this statement by not crying and my spirit remains intact. The only thing my eyes reveal is the fact that I would like this beating to come to an end so I can go outside. Plus, the hits come at a much slower speed than if she was using a belt.
I'm beginning to sweat and smell myself. I smell like brown sugar, unwashed underarms, the city streets and perspiration. As I make a vow not to move, the clothing begins to cling to my unwashed skin and I am reminded that I haven't showered or bathed in about three days. It will be another day because I never wash after a beating.
I take the beating in silence, and hope that this is grounds for an appeal.
To be young again. The aftermath of a disaster for many. The sum of zero for others.
I am a woman of many desires but being young again is not one of them.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Reading Of Dear History
I read lots of books and articles and essays and poems and blogs and songs and ideas and dreams and names to my children. And for the most part, I can not get my youngest son to be quiet and remain still enough, so that I can get through a short story or two, but tonight something happened as I was reading that has never taken place before.
Tonight I read them Saul Williams, Dear History, no one moved.
My normally active, rambunctious son sat still and not only allowed me to finish the poem but two of the others that followed it. Never before has anything like that happened. My husband didn't have to try to get him to remain in one spot. His oldest sister did not have to coax him into sitting besides her as I tried to rush through the remainder of a story. It was peaceful, still & the energy in the room was unlike any of the energy that we normally have during reading time.
Below is an excerpt;
Dear History,
For too long have I pondered your meaning, memorized dates of battles, years of servitude, decades of injustice, named eras after movements, mourned the extinction of species, cursed founding fathers, worn vintage suits and cloaked myself with references of your hold on me.
I have walked through museums wondering how it is that greatness had lived and died all before my time. Parts of me feared becoming great because..."
http://clutchmagonline.com/newsgossipinfo/saul-williams-dear-history/
I could not help but wonder about the effects of Saul's letter on my children tonight. What kinds of seeds did I plant tonight, what kinds of seeds were begin deposited into their fertile growing minds? Because there was defiantly something that took root as I read Saul's poem to history. I heard it in the silence --and saw the flicker in their eyes -even felt the warmth that circulated itself all throughout my room.
They heard something that remains hidden from me and my adult eyes. Especially Pharaoh. He, a toddle full of youthful energy moved not a bone or made not a stir -and I read over three pages. If I could have, I would have continued to read forever. Just read into my mouth grew dry, get a drink and begin again.
Read until walls & barriers were knocked down and replaced by bridges. Kept reading until the Congo began to overflow with love & peace.
Ceasefire.
I hit on something with tonight's reading. Something that can not be explained but had to be experienced and something that had to be acknowledged & appreciated --just like peace. I saw the electrical force fields of energy that moved about, enveloping them individually. I saw what they heard, what they felt, what they understood, what they believed, what seeds were deposited.
I saw THEM as I read them the poem. If I scared easily, I would be frightened because something was in my home tonight. I watched as words controlled the tempo of tonight's poem, instead of the usual story. I watched as passion and enthusiasm made its point. When I came to the end of the poem, no one spoke a word. No one. Not even my youngest daughter, who always has to give her take on the character, or tell me that she did or didn't like it. She just got up out the bed, walked over to me and gave me goodnight loving. That's it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Anonymous
To All,
My blog is now closed to Anonymous Users because of some person making a fool of themselves. You will now need to log in to leave a comment.
Thank you!
My blog is now closed to Anonymous Users because of some person making a fool of themselves. You will now need to log in to leave a comment.
Thank you!
Start Venturing Out of Your Comfort Zone
I have gotten so comfortable in reading my books in classic literature and listening to my wide variety of music and speaking my opinion and loving until I destroyed the core and dressing in all colors of the rainbow and traveling extensively and dancing naked and cooking naked and being friends with every animal plant flower tree mountain known to man and sitting in my backyard watching the sunset and standing outside in the front of my house watching the sunrise and dancing in the rain and washing my hair in rain water and making love and massaging the bodies of my children & husband and writing love letters to people that I have loved and watching marriages fall apart and watching new lovers join forces and waiting for the right answer and thinking and pondering and caring and analyzing and figuring out and accepting and praying and mediating and doing.more.of.the.above. that I have forgotten to live life.
Oh yes, I am a master of rising up to the challenges of... heeding the call of... discovering the key to... that I have forgotten how to live. I don't know how to live how to let go --why to let go.
My comfort zone is to think my way into peace, and I have done that. My room is filled with all kinds of ancient Greek literature that I have read and digested. Books by philosophers and some of the world's brightest minds. I am comfortable here.
If I were to die tomorrow I have arrived but if I don't die tomorrow, I desire to go further.
I'm stepping out of my comfort zone. Buying books by about traveling and songs about Bach and people and colors and health. Add some more of life to me...at least for a while. Stop hiding from people and dealing with people. Letting others know that I am alive and flexible and friendly and funny. Walk into some of the world's most populated room to outshine everyone (I always do that.) But I have to get out first. I have to engage others and venture out of my comfort zone. Be even better than I am now.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Dance
It's important for people who have overcome neglectful childhoods to take the time and learn how to dance.
About three/four years ago, Mr. Joanne Helton gave me a twenty dollar bill and demanded that I head to the mall directly after school and purchase Leanne Womack's, I Hope You Dance. She wanted me to listen it on a daily basis because it would do wonders for my soul in the long run.
Is there a song that you listen to whenever times get difficult? Would you care to share it with others?
I took that music cd home and put it on repeat until I knew every song on the cd. About a week later, Mrs. Helton noticed that I was dancing a bit more around class and whenever I was interacting with others. Pleased my soul to know that she noticed.
It's important to learn how to dance with people. It's required if you are someone who normally takes things personal. I went through a brief period of always assuming & taking some of the --smallest-- childest things personal. But as I grew wiser, I saw that none of this shit is personal. People (for the most part) are not out to get us. We are no longer running from the "bogey man". Most of the people we encounter now-and-days are just doing what is needed to survive. Nothing more. Nothing less. There is no conspiracy...just life.
It's important to know that!
Part of learning how to dance is learning how to pick a fight. Praying before you engage in battle & warfare (I am a FIRM --WILL.NOT.BE.MOVED. believer in mediating and praying before warfare.) Laughing hysterically, manically & out loud. Agreeing as much as you disagree. And most important stop taking everything every wrong every hurt every disagreement every broken promise every "s/he didn't say hi to me" every dirty look so personal.
You're safe now & free to dance as wild & free as dreams are.
Dance past and beyond the stars soar right up besides the sun feel the warmth of its heat ignite the fire within, fore, the sounds of the universe are plentiful & ripe always in season the same can be said about man.
About three/four years ago, Mr. Joanne Helton gave me a twenty dollar bill and demanded that I head to the mall directly after school and purchase Leanne Womack's, I Hope You Dance. She wanted me to listen it on a daily basis because it would do wonders for my soul in the long run.
Is there a song that you listen to whenever times get difficult? Would you care to share it with others?
I took that music cd home and put it on repeat until I knew every song on the cd. About a week later, Mrs. Helton noticed that I was dancing a bit more around class and whenever I was interacting with others. Pleased my soul to know that she noticed.
It's important to learn how to dance with people. It's required if you are someone who normally takes things personal. I went through a brief period of always assuming & taking some of the --smallest-- childest things personal. But as I grew wiser, I saw that none of this shit is personal. People (for the most part) are not out to get us. We are no longer running from the "bogey man". Most of the people we encounter now-and-days are just doing what is needed to survive. Nothing more. Nothing less. There is no conspiracy...just life.
It's important to know that!
Part of learning how to dance is learning how to pick a fight. Praying before you engage in battle & warfare (I am a FIRM --WILL.NOT.BE.MOVED. believer in mediating and praying before warfare.) Laughing hysterically, manically & out loud. Agreeing as much as you disagree. And most important stop taking everything every wrong every hurt every disagreement every broken promise every "s/he didn't say hi to me" every dirty look so personal.
You're safe now & free to dance as wild & free as dreams are.
Dance past and beyond the stars soar right up besides the sun feel the warmth of its heat ignite the fire within, fore, the sounds of the universe are plentiful & ripe always in season the same can be said about man.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Have a Story? Share it!
I listen to other people because we all have our own unique story.
A perspective so unique and entirely ours we should always give praise to the creator. In the years before we take our final bow and see what else is out there, beyond the physical, we make some great strides and also spend a lot of time learning valuable lessons. People tend to refer to them as mistakes.
In the meantime, I've met wonderful people full of interesting thoughts, powerful ideas and who had the kindest of hearts. And most of mankind have not found favor with them.
For example, I am friends with a man named Jack. We meet up at our local library about 3 times a week and talk politics, people, and positivity. He believes in aliens, God and the need for major corporations. Whenever we talk or discuss things, he refers to me as a liberal, which still to this day amazes me. Me...a liberal! However, I am convinced that HE (although he downplays this) is a genius. He downplays his intelligence but there is no doubt he could hold a conversation with everyone from Einstein to Marx to Jesus and still shine. He is extremely intelligent & very gifted. He has to have an IQ of about 160 or so. And he is the most encouraging, interesting, humble person I have ever met. I am amazed at the things that comes out of his mouth and at the same time how humble & completely down to earth this guy is. I take away something each time we speak.
Every person is of interest and of heart and of talent and of a way to find a way. We fail to take the time to get to know the greatest of us unless they come forward with degrees, rank and power. And that's okay too. Everybody is of interest. But not everyone is as interesting and unbelievable as, Jack.
A perspective so unique and entirely ours we should always give praise to the creator. In the years before we take our final bow and see what else is out there, beyond the physical, we make some great strides and also spend a lot of time learning valuable lessons. People tend to refer to them as mistakes.
In the meantime, I've met wonderful people full of interesting thoughts, powerful ideas and who had the kindest of hearts. And most of mankind have not found favor with them.
For example, I am friends with a man named Jack. We meet up at our local library about 3 times a week and talk politics, people, and positivity. He believes in aliens, God and the need for major corporations. Whenever we talk or discuss things, he refers to me as a liberal, which still to this day amazes me. Me...a liberal! However, I am convinced that HE (although he downplays this) is a genius. He downplays his intelligence but there is no doubt he could hold a conversation with everyone from Einstein to Marx to Jesus and still shine. He is extremely intelligent & very gifted. He has to have an IQ of about 160 or so. And he is the most encouraging, interesting, humble person I have ever met. I am amazed at the things that comes out of his mouth and at the same time how humble & completely down to earth this guy is. I take away something each time we speak.
Every person is of interest and of heart and of talent and of a way to find a way. We fail to take the time to get to know the greatest of us unless they come forward with degrees, rank and power. And that's okay too. Everybody is of interest. But not everyone is as interesting and unbelievable as, Jack.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
They Can Not Bring You Down Unless You Give Them Permission!
They Can NoT Bring You Down Unless You Give Them Permission!
I stay far away from people and have never been one to apologize for it. I rather spend time alone or with a few close friends. I will make exceptions for parties, gatherings or any kind of huge event.
I've been visiting a few blogs lately, and there are some folks pretty upset about the fact that black people have supported Obama. And quite frankly, I do see their point. Obama has not given African Americans any kind of promise as far as what he is going to do to address their core issues. Obama failed to step up and defend his pastor when the media criticized him, and he said nothing when his wife was being burned to the stake. All of these are reasonable concerns but this is not what this post is about.
It's about you watching the words and spirits that you allow into your soul. Now and days, those with the best intentions will hinder you if you ever begin to think for a second, they know more about you than you do. In your quest to overcome, you have probably come up with your own set of valuable tools & ideas about what's important. You've, nine times out of ten have been paving your own way for a while. Please believe, this will never change. People have a way (I am not certain if they do it on purpose or not) of trying to convince you what is best for you.
Fuck them! Including & especially me, if I ever try to pull an I-know-you-better-than-you-do.
If you're like me, you've knew that you were destined for paradise before you ever had a glimpse of it. You smelled peace and caught a whiff of joy when you lived amongst the street sewage. You've felt the winds of change approaching from the west and have been tuning out the sounds of gunshots for far too long. Keep that spirit. Keep that eye that have been able to penetrate into the souls of every person you have ever met.
Being alone is NOT the same as being lonely!
Learn to tell the difference between the two for your own benefit.
Remember, only by the Grace of God, Creator of the Universe, you have been able to come this far. There will always be (especially in this highly opinionated country) someone trying to bring you down. Someone who doesn't want to see you succeed. Or someone who thinks they know what's best for you. Always!
What are you going to about it? What are you NOT going to do?
The Choice is up to you, my friend.
As Kanye West says, " They're will always be haters, that's the way it is. Hater ni--a's, marry hater Bitches and have hater kids."
*Note to Readers* This blog is geared towards people (especially children) who have and are trying to get themselves out of extremely abusive situations. We have an unique perspective about life. With that being said, this is not a post about bashing people including the blog owners I made mention of above. I have a harsh way of phrasing things and will eventually learn to taper this by reading blogs, essays and comments written by others that I deeply respect.
The bottom line to this particular post is that we live in a highly opinionated society BUT there isn't another soul that knows what is best for you.
Remember that!
I stay far away from people and have never been one to apologize for it. I rather spend time alone or with a few close friends. I will make exceptions for parties, gatherings or any kind of huge event.
I've been visiting a few blogs lately, and there are some folks pretty upset about the fact that black people have supported Obama. And quite frankly, I do see their point. Obama has not given African Americans any kind of promise as far as what he is going to do to address their core issues. Obama failed to step up and defend his pastor when the media criticized him, and he said nothing when his wife was being burned to the stake. All of these are reasonable concerns but this is not what this post is about.
It's about you watching the words and spirits that you allow into your soul. Now and days, those with the best intentions will hinder you if you ever begin to think for a second, they know more about you than you do. In your quest to overcome, you have probably come up with your own set of valuable tools & ideas about what's important. You've, nine times out of ten have been paving your own way for a while. Please believe, this will never change. People have a way (I am not certain if they do it on purpose or not) of trying to convince you what is best for you.
Fuck them! Including & especially me, if I ever try to pull an I-know-you-better-than-you-do.
If you're like me, you've knew that you were destined for paradise before you ever had a glimpse of it. You smelled peace and caught a whiff of joy when you lived amongst the street sewage. You've felt the winds of change approaching from the west and have been tuning out the sounds of gunshots for far too long. Keep that spirit. Keep that eye that have been able to penetrate into the souls of every person you have ever met.
Being alone is NOT the same as being lonely!
Learn to tell the difference between the two for your own benefit.
Remember, only by the Grace of God, Creator of the Universe, you have been able to come this far. There will always be (especially in this highly opinionated country) someone trying to bring you down. Someone who doesn't want to see you succeed. Or someone who thinks they know what's best for you. Always!
What are you going to about it? What are you NOT going to do?
The Choice is up to you, my friend.
As Kanye West says, " They're will always be haters, that's the way it is. Hater ni--a's, marry hater Bitches and have hater kids."
*Note to Readers* This blog is geared towards people (especially children) who have and are trying to get themselves out of extremely abusive situations. We have an unique perspective about life. With that being said, this is not a post about bashing people including the blog owners I made mention of above. I have a harsh way of phrasing things and will eventually learn to taper this by reading blogs, essays and comments written by others that I deeply respect.
The bottom line to this particular post is that we live in a highly opinionated society BUT there isn't another soul that knows what is best for you.
Remember that!
First Black President
Originally, I was not all that interested in voting this year until Saul Williams came to Arizona. I went to see him perform live in concert one day and speak at a local college the next day. When he finished his speaking engagement and we were dismissed, I had second thoughts about voting.
I'll admit, I'm not very fond of America and the energy that it gives off to it's people but I decided to register anyway. Everyone is my household followed the presidential debates together and Obama grew on us all. I am not afraid to say if a Republican appealed to me, I would vote as one. But I am not a staunch Republican or Democratic.
I finally registered to vote in Mesa, Arizona, outside of a Tattoo Convention when I was trying to come up with images for my back & sleeve. My voters' registration card came in the mail about two months later and I sat it on the shelf of my bookcase.
On November, 4, 2008, I used it to vote for Barack Obama.
This is what I wrote on November, 4th;
I bathed, applied my make-up and picked out my most business-like attire. Afterward, I put my son into his finest threads, went to pick up both of my daughters from school and gave my oldest daughter the pen so that she could cast our vote.
All the while, I stared at all of my children thinking of them as the next Obama, Oprah & Condoleeza. The next generation of possibilities & insight. Sending positive thoughts & healing to the hearts and minds of my grandchildren and great-grand.
We walked over to the booth, my oldest daughter picked up the pen, looked back up at me, and I said, “You know what to do.” And she did. We have been talking about this moment for a while now. We’ve watched every presidential debate together and even prepared the speech she had to give to her class mates on the reasons she thought Obama would be the better president together.
It was her time to shine and my time to sit back and watch her. It is Obama’s time to shine. There are so many people who fought very hard for this chance. They died believing in the future.
I ride on that wave of hope, faith, courage, determination & desire today. I hope you do too.
I dedicate this day to Ms. Tubman
B. 1820 - March 10, 1913
I met every word of it too. As a child, I thought I would never live to see a black person be President. Even when Al. Sharpton & Jesse Jackson ran for office, I knew they would not win. I'm rejoicing in the fact that I lived to see such a day.
You see, I am a writer & dreamer. That is what I do. I take faith and combine it with action which produces rainbow colored results. I encourage and inspire the souls of young twinkling stars who have short arms but a long reach. When I am cynical, it never lasts long because the creative "muse" in me, takes control once again and direct my thoughts towards the sun. Ideal & I are One! I am all that I need to be, all that have ever been needed. When I look in the mirror, I see God. I see life and the music I listen to reflects this and the tattoos I wear on my body and the jewelry which adorns my inner soul and the poets I give an ear to and the books I digest and the man that I have married and the people I call my friend and the salads I prepare for my family and the incense that I burn and the sage that I use to rid my home of evil thoughts & spirits and the things I require from my children and the mistakes I have made and the people I have bent over backwards for all reflect my inner being and the way I see life.
I am who I am!
"Always will be always was, the center of a perfect circle, I am your soul" - Cee-lo
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