Beautiful Uptown

It wasn’t the blur of her leopard print skirt

Or the lower East side blaring taxi yellow sweater,

I was crucified by the intensity of her regal features

As they nailed me with their direct stare

Through chocolate colored eyes that blinked

Like hammers

Their inquisitive, yet dismissive, questions

Unanswered.

I looked away, ashamed to have imposed on her space.

The Can’t Cant

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I cant. I cant. I cant.
I am afraid to say breathe. I’m afraid to reach out. I’m afraid for my friends. I’m afraid for my people. I’m afraid for my tribe. I’m afraid of the police.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I cant. I cant. I cant.
I’m pulling on my leggings. I’m pulling on my hoodie. I’m pulling on my black clothing. I’m draping on my colorful cape. I’m standing up with you.
I can. I can. I can.
I am. I am. I am.
Black lives matter.

Hands up! Don’t shoot!

Black lives matter!

I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!

Black lives matter!

My brothers! My sisters!
‪#‎blacklivesmatter‬

The reign of blood

Stop the Hate

Stop the Hate

I ride with my brothers and sisters of all races and creeds;

To rear up their own steeds in unified protest;

To ride the momentum of waves of grief

Heeding the cries of mothers for their stricken children

Comforting tears of fathers for their lost legacy

We beg our inheritance returned from the barrels

Of the guns, drugs, and forced disintegration of segregation

Of caged familial relationships in the name of

Law enforcement in a police state.

Oh, Lady Justice! Raise your blindfold!

We beckon you to turn your marble eyes

Towards those who insult your intention!

We call out in solidarity for your scales

To balance the inequality that takes our skin

And uses it against our fellow Americans;

Our future! Our could-have-beens:

Strong leaders, bold teachers, smart cookies, fast learners,

Good parents, good people, good workers, good earners

Had they not been vilified by unjust practices

My blood, as theirs, is caught in the web of deception

Colored every nuance of brown, every color of tarnished brass.

You’ve stolen my generation’s heirlooms

Away from the breathing world

Crammed them into the darkest days of greatest sin,

The murder of my brethren; their only “crime” is having more melanin.

Thinkful Gratitude

When I was younger, I never felt as if I had enough of anything. I felt greedy for attention, lusted after riches, begged, borrowed, and yes even stole to acquire more. I felt that if I could surround myself with things I saw others be so happy with, I would finally be happy. That carried on into my first marriage where I used things as substitutions for the love that was absent from my life.

As I grew in age, I began to understand that no amount of material goods would give me what I was looking for in my heart. That new pair of shoes, new car, new pan, new…anything would never fill that void. Even though I still hadn’t discovered what exactly that void was, I knew my needs weren’t being met by my buying things. I moved away from that behavior.

I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t enjoy a good shopping trip, but I’d rather focus on the company I keep instead of the goods I may get. I try to shop only when I need something like food or a pair of pants, for example because I’m less likely to just randomly spend money I don’t have. But, overall, I don’t go shopping with the sole intention of purchasing something. It has to be pretty spectacular (like my goldfish shirt or my hugger shirt) to necessitate me buying something.

Original Art by Maximus Decimus Meridius (aka Maxine the Magnificent) Watercolor and ink 5"X7"

Original Art by Maximus Decimus Meridius (aka Maxine the Magnificent)
Watercolor and ink 5″X7″

My evolution made me realize that my emotional needs weren’t being met, so of course I attached myself to a man who was emotionally unavailable because he matched me at that point. Matched me enough for me to realize that the absence of emotional connection was what I was missing. I started to reach out emotionally to those I trusted to test the waters of truth in myself. I found rejection from him but I found acceptance from a few others which kindled a small flame in my heart.

I broke from that shell in much the same way as I did the other, I evaluated, realized, understood, and moved on to the next stage. I’d realize material goods are nice, but they are not where love is found. I realized that connection is as important to the growth and understanding of myself and others but it wasn’t enough. But what was I missing?

By the time I reached my third “stop” searching for love, I was broken. I had nothing of material value. My mask of makeup had been stripped away. My body had been violated. My spirit was barely breathing. I had but a basic foundation of self. A rudimentary understanding that there was something far more than what I had. I longed for whatever it was. I was disconnected from my body, mind, spirit, and self. I was lost and I knew it.

The next five years allowed me to find what I’d been missing. Out of all the crazy weirdness, I found myself. I’d hidden under the covers of degradation, humiliation, anger, hurt, fears, shame, guilt, and most of all, self-loathing. Through the unconditional love from my friends who saw me, nurtured me, loved me, cleansed me of my clutter, helped lift me up from cowering into standing, I learned to be me.

I felt like a toddler. I took uncertain steps and with coaxing, love, and laughter, I stepped into the sun of Arizona, born of the Phoenix, almost literally. The Painted Desert showed me colors that I knew existed but had never seen before as Stephanie and I passed through the landscape. The smell of Christmas that Flagstaff has all year round filled me with a sense of giving, but Shanna gave me the gift of acceptance of myself. She showed me love every step of the way. Carrie sealed me with a sense of naked belonging. I didn’t have to wear a mask of any kind around her. She adored me. I adored her. We sang the songs of unity, all of us. I learned to rise from the ashes in Arizona.

My testing grounds are my battle grounds I stand on now. I don’t have to justify myself to anyone. I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself. I do anyway, but I don’t have to. I can say no without explanation. I can say yes without reason. I can protect. I can serve. I can pull pranks. I can be everyone I’m supposed to be but on my terms. I’ve had to strip away everything in the ashes of my old life to rise again, but I am quite happy being who I am now.

When I look around at the world through these child-like eyes of mine, I see such beauty that sometimes I weep with joy. I see the smile of a person towards one of their own and the light of gratitude flashes brightly. That’s the light of love. Gratitude. Where there is love, there is gratitude for every little gift given, every glance, every ribbing and inside joke. There is thankfulness in each breath when a loved one is ailing. There is thinkfulness.

There is relief then peace when gratitude is found and met in one’s life. Every day that I’m mindful, I can be thinkful (misspelled on purpose as a hybrid of thankful and thinking): I am grateful for the quiet music in the background. I am thinkful for my visit. I am thinkful for my computer to write this. I am full of gratitude that I’m loved. I am just thinkful that my needs are all met, my body is rested, warm, and full.

Each moment I’m grateful is one that allows me to notice things differently than others because I’m tuned to the gratefulness in my life. It’s similar to breathing in love, breathing out gratitude. In a way it’s like looking for the silver lining in everything, whether perceived as good or bad, like my Uncle taught me so many years ago. Gratitude is the silver lining.

Homogenized television

At the store we stopped by on our way to my Mama-in-law’s, I saw a diverse snapshot of people. An inter-racial gay couple who were both very tall, an Italian mother and her daughter, a few white employees, a mixture of humans milling about the aisles selecting last minute purchases for their Thanksgiving feasts. Every person I saw greeted me with smiles and warm wishes which I firmly returned to them. I felt so alive with happiness that I wished I could hug everyone I saw. I even commented this to Ben (my husband) as we got into our car and finished our journey. I felt amazing.

My beautiful in-laws are avid fans of local station news/sports/weather and keep the litany in the background all day long. The same newscast at noon gets a tad of refresher before being the 6 o’clock news and then the 11PM news. In between these news segments/shows were, what felt like hours of commercials. This is where I noticed something keenly off.

There was not a single local ad played on the station that had any people of color. The homogenized version of society was played out with white families, white men, white children dancing around with extra money in their hands to go pay homage to the golden calf shopping centers. Occasionally there would be a non-threatening black woman with VERY natural hair to demonstrate how very black she was (it felt this way…cartoonish in appearance to make her feel safer?) but not a single black man appeared in any of the local commercials. In fairness, the national ads (Straight-talk phones, for example) showed a knowledgeable black man with no sense of humor, but not any of the local ads had many black people at all.

Every show that was on the station had all white characters, many without even a “token”. I said out loud, “That can’t be right.” As the evening progressed I heard comments referring to the “needy black folk” as only those, “Who probably didn’t want to work anyway,” followed by the subsequent “Amen corner” rolling with the praise Jesus commentary.

Before you think I’m judging, please understand where I get this visual. My Uncle was a bit…shall we say…passionate about his faith for quite a while. He would attend church 7 days a week, sometimes twice a day. As kids, my brothers and I found it completely reasonable to want to tag along. We witnessed some incredible things while traveling to the back hills churches in Lake of the Ozarks. Speaking in tongues, rolling in the aisles, snot blisters the size of basketballs, and afterwards, the best food brought out by the church ladies (Nobody to this day has ever surpassed Myetta Baptist Church’s gooseberry cobbler).

But what always amazed me about those churches were the amen corners. They said Amen to everything the preacher said. If the preacher said they were all sinners, the amen corner agreed. If the preacher proclaimed they were all beating their kids and that was okay, the amen corner nodded their assent to their transgressions. If the preacher said that the fires of hell would make the pews burn off clothes, the amen corner would start stripping. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but they just simply agreed, sometimes without thought.

That’s what sitting in this living room felt like. Another comment flies past, “Always with their hands out. They should work.” A nod and a grunt of assent follows. Every local channel I surfed through and edited was whitewashed to the point where the diversity I saw in the grocery and at the theatre and at the gas station was absent.

It felt like the local channels were purposefully and methodically pointing fingers at those “needy blacks” that take and don’t give. It felt alarmingly wrong.

Another story that was shown on the news that involved “those people” was about a little boy whose mom and dad had been drug addicts at one time. Ready? The dad was black and the mom was white. The little boy had pale skin like his mom. Comment: “He must have a different daddy because he don’t look black.” “Amen. Amen.” The story talked about how this family used to be takers but now they were saved and serving others, isn’t that nice?

The only mention of Ferguson was a short 30 second blurb that talked about the march from Ferguson to Missouri’s state capitol. Then it was back to local sports.

How can anything change when people are not shown the “real world?” How can people realize that their behaviors are not out of bigotry (in the case that I am sharing) but of ignorance. It’s perpetuated by their everyday lives being reflected to them in whitewashed versions of reality. It creates such an obvious wedge that I believe, as an outsider, it’s no longer even noticed.

I get that change is a personal thing, but when there is such an obvious spin on the negativity of change being perpetuated by the ridiculous “reality” of shows, you may as well just be listening to one song over and over until your ears bleed. No matter how much you enjoy listening to “Peace on Earth”, until the tune changes, the song becomes as tired of a litany as the obvious erasure of any other race on Southern televisions.

If I can see this in just one living room in the Deep South, how many other people are doing their own “Amen corner’s” affirming that they are doing the right thing? Reaffirming that their belief in the stereotypes is justified because they once knew a person who knew a person and we all know how that ended. (No, actually I don’t. That isn’t the world I live in).

How many other families are camped around their tribal fire (aka the television) learning that to be anything other than white is an unforgivable sin? How many children of any skin tone other than “white” are learning their “place” (that sounds so bitter and cynical) by watching their own race, their own skin be erased until they are…less than’s? This is not acceptable.

Please remove this ignorance from your vocabulary and transform it into the education of your mind to the people you live around each day. Plug into your community instead of the media whom lies to you each day. Remember that the further we are from uniting as one people, the easier we are to divide and to be conquered. The farther divided we remain, the more ignorance is allowed to breed and the longer the cycle continues.

Please, for the love of humanity, do not let the ignorance continue. Let’s not repeat the murderous rampages of the 1960’s of peaceable men doing noble things. Let’s regard the possibility of peace among humans with reverence, not complacency. Let’s learn from our outrage that change is necessary. Change can only happen when we stand united as the people we are in our divine glory of humanity. Change is possible. We ARE that change, together; me and you.