In Question

I think today's events showed that i'm still angry.  
"Angry," used lightly in this case.

Were these events a call for rationality, for inner calm?  
But then again, what degree of rationality can be justly applied to this identity of mine-- one molded by a history with little appeal.  

Inspecting the delicate balance that exists in being African American, these days.  

Is there a parameter, is there an amount of sensitivity appropriate?  Do claims of "post racial society" invalidate the injustice I feel and see before my very eyes?  Or, are these things I "see," "feel" allusions?  An attempt to create a cause, to regard the past as a cheap glue--binding an African American community that wishes less and less to be united?

Change, time: blurring the lines and importance of Black solidarity.  Blurring the sureness within myself.  Or, have I to fallen prey to the facade?   Are they still bringing me, us, down without even trying?  

The anger, the questioning, new chains?
And yet, anger is a choice all my own.

Paris

It would be beautiful to run to Paris
In solace
out of sight
and write
To feel the words fall from my mind
And settle on parchment
delibrately
but with such gentleness
such care

Dinner Thoughts

O’ the bitterness that sears.
What sadness, what gloom to be misunderstood.
To be muted by contempt, tears welling, sitting across from, side by side, pompous, yet minuscule, minds.
O’ the pain that sears.
To hear their subtle degradation of a people bequeathed with inequality.  Of lies in tones of truth, believed by many, detected by few.  By one.  Their pasts, seated upon cushions of ivory.  Of homes in the Vineyard, of days on the lawn.  Standing tall beside your tale of modest but sturdy foundation.
A cushion, tufted and comfortable, but nay.  Nay you be called unaware as they.  Eyes open to the inequalities and injustices, yet, words stuck.
The somber friend, reserved.  The sad friend.  Fiery bursts.  So angry, so bitter?  No, so sad.
I want to know the words, the better words.
To slay the ingrained, and well spoken, arguments of those sitting daintily upon their pillows of ivory.
Let me not polarize.  Nor let me harbor contempt.
But, let my words flow with fluidity and smite the ignorance as it falls from their lips.

Sunday, 11:01 p.m.

A Night Piece

Atmosphere matters.  What permeates the air, matters.  Sucking in gusts of whatever surrounds, one neglects to consider the consequences.  We are plants.  We grow and wither.  We thrive and shrink once in touch with extremes.  Certain atmospheres are jolting. We don’t understand.  We hold out, waiting for something to give, improve.   But truthfully, an atmosphere is an innate part of any established environment.  The fixtures within may change.  The atmosphere, rarely so.  Atmospheres choke.  You leave one that breathes life and upon entering another, gasps prevail.  Questioning, why this altitude?  Where to grasp?  Where to find solace?  I tell you, not in this atmosphere.  To flee, you understand, requires strength.  Strength few have.  Instead, it is customary to tolerate, to wait, to wish, to wait.  You ask, what will fill the thoughts of others when I disappear?  Happy in my disappearing, happy to never be seen again.  It is interesting, I think, because in most cases, you were never really seen.  It is not you who disappears from their sight.  It is a waif of yourself, a flailing plant.  But, only you know that.  So you run.  Looking for somewhere to place roots, ever fearful of “the grass is greener” and the falsehoods such a phrase entails.  In quiet, you are again struck by a voice.  You’ve heard it all along but now, in your tiredness, you choose to listen. With its sweet words, relief touches the air. You move forward, tentative but alright.  You breathe, you feel, your roots seize ground.  You look about and are astonished.  Heaven, is it?  A, mirage, you think.  What beauty and grace.  How is it so?  Has it been that long since these eyes have seen free?  No, not long at all.  You’ve simply been covered.  Covered by low hanging clouds.  Entrenched in nomadic sorrows.  Tired of being everywhere and belonging nowhere.  But, now you see dust rise.  A clean dust, sprinkles of life.  It soon settles, as does your gait.  You feel happy.  Clear mind. It is here that your atmosphere is most improved.  Where impairment has ceased.  Not hardship or pain, mind you, for it always comes.  Rather, your heart has loosened its clench. You no longer fear the jeopardy of existing in a place not your own.  You can feel, think, and breathe in this atmosphere.  No longer must you run.  In fleeing what was comfortable but contorted, you have reached enlightenment and peace.  In fact, once you ceased resistance and acknowledged what truly was, it happened almost naturally.  You have been allowed to embrace that which is naturally felt.  Never easy to find, forever beautiful.  This atmosphere.

1:07 a.m.

Perfect Love, Perfect Peace

Inner peace and inner health create the center of a balanced life.  For those of us wrestling with discomfort and spiritual tumult, it is important to look within and identify what we most fear.  In combating these elements do we free our minds and fall in touch with the rhythm of our souls.  

Why not begin with freeing acts of love?

There is no fear in love; perfect love casts out fear.

1 John 4:18

Honesty Hour: Beauty and Ignorance

Beauty is a word that describes the more desirable aspects of life.  Kind, clear, soft, open, honest, loving, free, happy—all of these words come to mind when I think of the word “beauty.”  However, in today’s society, beauty is often pinned to physical characteristics as opposed to sentiments and values.  These accepted physical characteristics are further restricted to certain parameters—slim figure, European features, long, flowing hair, light skinned, pretty eyes, mixed, exotic—the list goes on and on.  Very rarely is beauty attributed to the more earthy ideas—kinky hair, darker skin, or a curvy body shape.  My question is this:  What have we allowed to dictate our idea of beauty? Can we blame the European conquistadors who invaded native lands and shoveled an entirely new lifestyle down the throats of indigenous peoples?  Can we blame the slave masters who used differences in complexion as a manner of weakening and controlling what was already viewed as a weak race? Can we blame music artists who perpetuate these one-note ideas of what an attractive person really is?  Or, should we be blaming ourselves for feeding into the foolishness and living knowingly in its trenches?  In an effort to keep this article concise, I will reduce my opinion to a few simple ideas:  If you’re ignorant enough to reduce beauty to a particular skin tone or nationality, then, simply put, you’re ignorant.  If you’re ignorant enough to bypass someone because they aren’t light enough for you or exotic enough for you then, simply put, you’re ignorant.  If you’re ignorant enough to overlook an entire race because you view them all as uneducated then you are, simply put, ignorant.  If you’re ignorant enough to say via actions alone that while a black mother raised you a black mother will not raise your children, then you are, simply put, ignorant.  Granted, you can’t help what you like.  However, when you focus so intently on pursuing what the media coins as desirable that you become blind to the beauty around you, the loss you incur is monumental.  The purpose of this blurb of thought isn’t to convict or condemn anyone.  Instead, I implore you all to think about why you pursue who you pursue and if in doing so, has anything been given up or compromised.  Think about it.

Powerful Words

"I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes...Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world - I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife."

Zora Neale Hurston