The Eve of 28

In the week on the eve of the year twenty-eight

Courage was found at the bottom of my plate

 Though my belly was full with denial so delightful

 The crumbs of my esteem were no longer just a trifle

 

 Took a shot full of pride

 Ate a slice of humble pie

 Braced my body and my mind

 For a meal sans the lies

 

 See, my appetite returned

 When the truth almost burned

 Turned it down just in time

 Drank some melody, splash of rhyme

 

 And at last there I was

 With a full spread of purpose

 Set the table

 Placed the dishes

 No longer feeling worthless

 

 Said my grace and sat down

 Took a breath

 Donned my crown

 For the feast of life’s supper

 Began with me as my lover

 

 

 

Big Homie & The Bible

Shout out to the oh so fly Big Homie in the sky.  Above. Beyond. Erywhere.

 

I appreciate You.

 

I wish I could remember to thank the Guide more often as opposed to only when my mind sees fit. I’ve definitely felt very connected this past year but I want to remember to express gratitude for the gifts I’ve been given and the lessons I’m learning not only in my joyous moments but from my time in the depths as well.  I know the strength with which this new perspective has led me in the new year is a blessing and I feel the need to get my praise on. So, I do.

 

 

I believe everyone’s Walk is different. For me, it started in the Catholic Church. As I got older, I quickly learned that was not the space for me. There are some truly beautiful rituals and aspects of the service but, as I moved from adolescence to young adulthood, I began to understand what didn’t work for me and why I should leave. The rigidity, warnings of fire and brimstone, opposition to divorce, condemnation of the Kids, the list goes on.  For me, the cons outweighed the pros. That's not how I wanted my relationship to be.  Shout out to the community service and growing evolution of the papacy but it just wasn’t for me.

Much of what constituted “the cons,” for me at least, came from what I believed to be their interpretation of the Bible and the perspective that it was this impenetrable word of God. I think there are some beautiful lessons in the Bible about ways to live your life and how to treat those with whom you share that life but there are also some passages that give me pause. Mind you, I haven’t read the entire book through so I’d rather not speak too heavily on the text of a document that I haven’t fully ingested. Yes, I grew up in church and am familiar with a good portion of it but I know real biblical scholars and those who simply know it like their ABCs – I am neither. I’m working on it, though.

In the meantime, I will say this:  It is frustrating how some, so fervent in their belief about the truth of one verse, respond to one who’s not as familiar with the source material, like myself, presenting a contrary verse in that same Bible with “You’re taking it out of context,” “You’re not looking at the big picture,” “That’s irrelevant in modern times” or a similarly dismissive and reductive phrase. If the entire book is truly God’s word, how can you pick and choose what’s written in stone and what’s disposable? Is it according to opinion? Perspective? Whose opinion? Whose perspective? How do we determine who on Earth is qualified to interpret God’s word?

 

Like I said, I think there is a great deal of beauty in the Bible but I do believe it is the word of man. Yes, men who were oft inspired by God but men nonetheless. As humans, we come with the Ugly as well as the Beauty. I think we have to sift through the words to try and determine what was inspired by God or a place of spiritual enlightenment, the Beauty, and what was inspired by man’s own self-serving beliefs and motives, the Ugly.

 

Then again, who am I to say what defines beauty and what doesn’t. There are so many spectrums in life and, as we grow, we learn to see those of both beauty and ugliness. They have several traits and characteristics, which can sometimes overlap.  It’s messy. Maybe I’m over thinking it. I’m not sure.

 

Sometimes I wonder if it’s fear that’s prevented me from reading the Bible in its entirety. Maybe I’m afraid that it would provide some much needed clarity, or worse, even more confusion. Yet, I still I like to think of it as a guide—certainly not all of it but a great deal. Thus, it troubles me that some use a guide as a weapon.  Especially a guide, one of many by the way, that’s a representation of, or at the very least in association with, Big Homie.

 

I’ve been shown such an abundance of grace and an indescribable amount of mercy for nearly 28 years that it’s difficult for me to believe God would use such a powerful tome to punish people for who they are, bind them into chains when their souls long for freedom, or otherwise condemn the creation for being created. Especially when, in that very same text, there are so many stories of hope and inspiration.  There are so many lessons about honesty and sacrifice. There is such misery and heartache yet such wisdom and love.  But, that's just me. Again, I’m a novice.  I need to examine the whole picture before I delve into color and design choices.

 

I just have so many questions. Why are there no books written by women? Were they removed? Were they barred from submission? Are the Apocrypha for real for real? I’m glad I believe in the splendor of curiosity because, Gracious Crown, the mind can wander!

 

I don’t think it was necessarily curiosity that killed the cat…but if you see a bunch of folk runnin’? It might be a good idea to check your footwork.  Molly… You in danger, girl.

 

Let me go look into some stuff…

 

Peace & Light. 

Perspective

For some strange reason – well, not so much a strange reason as much as a blessing – December of 2015 became a month of transformation for me.  Something so simple dawned on me, in the form of a new practical application of the idea of “Perspective.” How we see things.

I realized that, to a great extent, we are in control of our own happiness.

It sounds simple and I think, in some way or another, I’ve preached this secular sermon to friends and family alike but, last month, something just clicked. I don’t believe we control every single thing in our lives. If that were the case, folks wouldn’t be dying in these streets, hungry, or homeless. However, I don’t believe that Big Homie has usurped our choices either.  Even when things happen in our lives that truly are beyond our control, we can choose how we react to them.  We can choose how we see them, and we can choose to see the Silver Lining. Word to Jazmine. Even though I’ve always been a Silver Lining type of brotha, it wasn’t until last month that I really started to put those thoughts into action and daily perspective.

 

It’s always been very easy for me to encourage others, as there are a lot of people I genuinely believe in and, for me, it’s very easy to see the light that shines from within them. I can say, with my whole heart, that I believe every word of encouragement I give folks. “There is purpose in all things” or “Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to” are not just vomit-worthy self-help mantras. I believe that shit. I really do. So, finally, I had to confront myself about waiting for the other shoe to drop when it comes to my own life. It’s not that I expect things to go sideways for Self but I think, over the years, I’ve resigned myself to the “fact” that happiness - true happiness - is a beautiful construct but not necessarily something that would make its way into MY life.  And THERE, right there, was my issue. I was waiting for happiness to come to me. Nah. No Sir, no Ma’am.  That’s not the way it goes.

 

Sure, I’d worked hard in and out of school, making my way into young adulthood without any major episodes of fuckery but… What was I really doing? I remember feeling magnificently alive, in the creative space that was Art School, to feeling ridiculously immobile, while stuck in the doldrums of unemployment, only to discover those doldrums were nothing compared to the misery of getting into another 9-to-5 when you know damn well that ain’t your jam, jelly, or butter.  Ahh, but that 9-to-5 is in your field! That word.  FIELD.  Ugghh. As if putting myself in my “field” would be life’s sirens’ song to the sailors of happiness. N O P E.  Pop a “K” in, word to Leslie.  Again, that’s not how it works. Happiness isn’t some destination or something that happens when you make the “right choices.”  Sidenote, the “right choice” is a whole ‘nother story bee tee dubya.

 

No, happiness requires honesty with Self, and that can take a while. I’m still working on it but as I’ve revealed more of me to me, I find that he’s been quite receptive. He’s actually rewarded my honesty and one of those rewards has been this new perspective. See, y’all ain’t think I’d circle back but ya boy laced up his ice skates and Surya Bonaly’d right back to my point: Perspective. December. We back.

 

So, last month, the winds of change were blowing especially wild and free and I began to see things differently. It started with excitement to go home for the Holidays and get a respite from LA. In the excitement, I began being more productive with my creative endeavors. Part of that honesty I mentioned earlier involved me admitting how much I want to sing. Not to family. Not to friends. Not to anyone but myself. I had to keep it a hunnit and speak my truth even if it was old news:  I. Want. To. Sing. Whose permission did I need? No one's. 

 

"I stopped asking for permission and started giving notice." - Lisa Nichols. MESSAGE.

 

I’ve wanted to sing since I was five years old. I want to write stories. I want to share them. I want to sing them. I want to create sounds. I want to share sounds. I want to give to Music what Music has given me for so long. Love.  Pain. Honesty. Life.  I want to share my perspective and help change the world even if it’s in some small way. I want to do my part. Art. 

 

Then came recording.

 

You see, in Art School, you can create whenever you feel like it.  I could check out a studio, sing my heart out, mix up sounds, edit, and mix to my heart’s content with such lovely and reckless abandon. Time? Nah, who worries about that? Just create and share!  After moving back into the “real world,” I was reminded of that “real world” perspective. Things cost money and some of those delightful things include food, shelter, sartorial situations, libations, transportation, and all that jazz. So, as a young adult, I got stuck in the dreaded practicality of life. While I still wrote and kept track of my ideas, I didn’t record or create as much as I had the years before—in art school or other wise.  Don’t get me wrong, you do need to be able to support yourself—especially in this climate—and I’m more fortunate than many to have a job that’s never late with a direct deposit. Amen? Amen. That said, you cannot let the practicality of life extinguish your freedom as a creative being. There’s more than one way to brew yo’ tea. Thus, I began incorporating my creativity into the practicality. 

 

After work, I’d record. On the weekends, I’d record.

 

There’s nothing like being away from your purpose, then returning to it, to remind you of who you are.  It was the best December ever, aside from Sara Bareilles’ gorgeous track from The Blessed Unrest. I made so much headway on the work and went home feeling great about the end of a rough year that had me so much in my head I got sick of me. Okay, not really. I love me some me….but it took me  a while to get here.  Anyway, I got some much-needed time with my family and friends. My People. ‘Preciate ya, Chronos. It was during a conversation with one of my favorite Living Ancestors, Godmother, when I, as they say, “got my whole life” and watered the seeds for the flower of perspective with which I entered 2016.

 

First off, my Godmother is BOMB.  She is absurdly profound without being condescending. She’s a killer soprano. She’s one of the genuinely warmest spirits you’ll ever meet in life… I won’t bore you with the tales of her excellence. I could…but I won’t. So anyway, we’re talking about any and everything, as we do, and she begins telling me about being open to receive what the Universe has to give. We talked about not blocking your blessing by expecting it to come designed according to YOUR blueprint. It was then, that I shared what I learned thus far in December. I heard my voice say aloud what I’d been feeling for a while: “To a great extent, we are in control of our own happiness.”  I found ownership of my life in a phrase I’m sure everyone from Iyanla Vanzant to Deepak Chopra has said in one way or another…but I shan’t assume. Love Iyanla, bee tee dubya. “NOT ON MY WATCH!” Anyway, I don’t know if that realization was as earth shattering to anyone else, as it was for me, but it brought me here to 2016 with a perspective of positivity, for myself, that I usually reserved for others.

 

I’ve always believed in the power of perspective but I feel like I’ve truly embraced it this year. I am challenging the way I see my highs, my lows, and how that sight effects me.  I don't want to be defined by my situation so that may mean looking at my situation differently from my mind's default. Am I where I want to be? No, but there is beauty in the Inbetween – word to Stacy. I can find joy in taking steps to get where I want to be, even if that changes with time. 

Finding the silver lining everyday is hard. It always has been and always will be. Sometimes, I fail. But for the first time in a while, I’m truly seeking it out.  I have to remind myself to do it…but I am doing it.  This doesn’t mean I don’t see the pain. My silver lining is about truth. I have to be honest. We’re dying. Unjustly. Prematurely. There’s so much darkness. Not the beautiful darkness of my people but Death. Destruction. War.  Famine. Poverty. Folks in Flint can’t even drink their water.

But there’s also Life. Love. Art. Laughter. Kindness. Compassion. Sympathy. I’m learning to practice what I preach. When you encourage others, listen to what you say. Listen to what others say to you. Help somebody while you’re analyzing what you’ve heard. See the world in different ways. Share what you’ve seen. It’s all perspective and only you get to decide how you see the world. From there, who knows how you could move, where you could grow, and who you could meet. 

 

So, here I am: New Year and on the Eve of 28. I have a lot more work to do but I’m excited about it. I’m awake. 3rd Eye peeled, heart open. Allat. I’m up. Like Sister Mary Clarence said: “If you wanna be somebody and you wanna go somewhere, you better wake up and pay attention.” LOL. But for real, though.

 

 

 

 

 

The Hate-05

On my way out for work this morning, I thought to myself: “ One of these days, I’m gonna be happy.” It’s a phrase I’ve found myself repeating in my mind on and off this past year.  Sometimes I’ll thrown in a “legit happy” to differentiate what I believe to be “true happiness” as opposed to the smile and the “I’m blessed and breathing” I throw in people’s faces so they don’t inquire too much about my life. You know, in fear they might see me a little too clearly.  The truth is: I AM blessed and breathing. I find the best lies have grains of truth in them or at least some small morsel of truth you can convince yourself into believing is there because....well, once you believe it yourself, you’re no longer lying to others—you’re just sharing. So yes, I am blessed and breathing. I have my health, shelter, family and friends back home I love and, since moving to LA this past February, I’ve had the opportunity to live in the same city as my sister, aka my partner in crime. Saturday breakfasts and weekend movies galore!  Happy, happy, joy, joy: blessings abound! Then, it happens. My other truth starts to grab a hold of me—the honesty that’s hard for me to take sans a melody.  The HATE.

Growing up, my Mother always said: “You don’t hate it, you just don’t care for it” as if “hate” were some forbidden spell that shan’t be cast. Now, as a twenty-something trying to make sense of it all, I can’t help it. Abra kadabra: I hate LA. I hate my job.  I hate myself for being a cliché and saying I hate LA without giving it a real chance. I hate that I made such a rash decision in moving 3000 miles across the country when one of the things I HATE about myself is the time it takes me to make a decision.  I hate having to tread the line between being a good brother and taking care of myself by not forcing good ole me to attend the several events of my sister and HER people, which I often guilt myself into believing are MY people but then I head just around the river bend, over the river, through the woods, and realize: Nope. Those are, in fact, HER people and I don’t owe them my presence. Then, another U-turn as I’m struck by the family values that the ‘rents instilled and I accept that I do owe HER my presence. Then, here comes the hate again. I hate trying to reconcile these realizations with how I feel.  Mind you, all of this mental traveling down the I-Confused and the Hate-05 takes forever and the traffic is a nightmare.  Above all, I hate that more and more Black folk are being killed in the street without justice and I’m stuck in the doldrums of my mind seemingly more concerned about my own happiness than my contribution to the Black Lives Matter Movement. I’m the worst. 

To make myself feel better—or perhaps it’s how I really feel, I’ve lost track—I remind myself that we’re better contributors to the world when we’re happy. I believe everyone is divinely appointed to something…or multiple somethings. I believe that true happiness can be found when you discover that divine appointment, your purpose, and you actively try and fulfill that destiny.  Maybe you learn your appointment isn’t what you thought it was. Maybe you learn it’s exactly what you believed it to be. Either way, I think you will end up making the world a better place when you’re on that path. I truly believe we all have a purpose, whether it’s written in the stars or on a bus ad, it’s somewhere. Find it and tell someone what you found…Oop, just when I was about to get on my Shea Moisture African Black Soapbox, The Hate abc’d its way into my business again.

You see, I hate myself for chasing an adjacent dream; having identified what I believe to be my purpose and still pursuing opportunities that are in my field but not what I really what I want to do because they look good on paper.  I hate myself for seeing the ink smear, realizing the words and figures I’ve spent years crafting don’t even look that good on paper…. and still, I’ve been doing the same thing over and over again…for like ten years. Sidenote: I love the ellipsis.  Super side note: I LOVE Imogen Heap’s Ellipse. Okay, back to the hate. I hate that even with all of this knowledge, I still stay in toxic environments because it seems like the right thing to do. I don’t want to leave someone else in a lurch. I would put another’s needs before my own because, in my mind, that’s the right thing to do.  That’s being a good person, right? Staying when you want to leave because someone needs to be there… Even though, you’re pretty damn sure they’d be aight. Maybe it’d be easier if I weren’t an artist? Maybe it wouldn’t? I don’t know. Or do I? Nope, stop it. I was ‘bout to make three rights and end up at the freeway entrance to the I-Confused again.

I just want to be happy because this sh!t is for the birds.  At the same time, I want to be a good person; I must—not because I’m better than anyone else but because that’s all I know. That’s the type of man my Grandfather was, that’s the type of man my Father is, and that’s the type of man I want to be:  A good one. And those futhamuckas made it through the STRUGGLE with a smile and a wave at times when, even with all that’s going on right now, it was a hell of a lot harder for a Black man to make it—like KKK encounters and getting jumped by a bunch of white dudes at a military school hard. Surely, I can deal with these Westside blues and my day gig, fulfill my purpose, and keep it moving with my moral compass intact, right? Ai yi yi, Zordon. I’m sending prayers up and out for every damn body. “I know I’m not the only one.” Word to Sam.