A Lamentation - Day 1

Sleep comes slowly if at all when a heart is pierced.

And what thoughts ramble through a listless mind robbed of rest?

Maybe that is the entire goal,

To rob us of the creativity that has us survive in spite of it all.

To convince us that we are powerless,

as they siphon our power to uphold their devious systems.

Look how grand we are even in the face of oppression.

They can not bear the thought of our grandeur if we were totally free.

More importantly, they can not profit from our genius.

White supremacy is the enemy of progress

How many of the world’s answers are burdened under its boot?

What liberatory advances live weighted down,

In American Ghettos, Caribbean Shanty Towns, African Refugee Camps?

What new worlds sit dormant behind the words “I can’t breathe?”

The problem is not us. It has never been us.

A Daughter's Tribute

 Written for and spoken at the homegoing service of my Mother Esther M. Brown on 3/21/2020

I have written many things for and about my mother Esther Brown over the years, but this was by far the most difficult. How do I encapsulate the way she impacted my life in just a few words. I’ve stopped and started writing 4 different tributes trying to do so. Then I decided to keep it simple and meaningful, the way she would want it.

My mother was my first example of personal style, grace under pressure, and poise. She showed me what faith looked like in practice, teaching me not only the power of prayer but the prudence of faithful action. She encouraged my curiosity and intellectual pursuits. She supported my spirit of adventure and drive even when I know it sometimes scared her. She always allowed me an opinion, even when she didn’t agree with it. And she was the one who taught me to love words. A gift that opened the world to me.

I think the thing about her that shaped me the most as a developing person, was that she allowed me to share what I was learning as I discovered the world, with her, without condescension. In that, she taught me one is never too old to learn or too young to teach; And to value everyone’s contribution. I love her more than I can possibly express or maybe ever showed. There was never a day I doubted her love for me, not one. And every good thing I am today is because she was the one chosen by The Most Beloved to guide me into this human experience called life.

I love you Mommy. It was an honor to be loved by you. And I find such comfort in knowing that you and dad now sit together in the cloud of witnesses rooting us on. May you both rest together in the presence of the Most High until we meet again.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

"I believe that we're more than the worst thing we've ever done. I believe that Grace is power. I believe that Love is Justice. And I believe that we have to judge how we're doing by how we treat the poor, the incarcerated and the condemned." ~Bryan Stevenson

This quote by Bryan Stevenson from his interview on Super Soul Sunday has stuck with me ever since I heard it almost 3 years ago. I find it brought to mind so much more frequently over the last year. To me it embodies the spirit of the teachings of the one known as The Christ, and I find myself striving to align with it more and more. Though American “Christianism” would have folks believe otherwise, Jesus was always on the side of the poor, the disenfranchised and the otherwise marginalized during his time on earth. And one cannot in good conscience claim to be a follower of Christ and negate this most important example he left for us. As Advent approaches, let us who would claim Jesus in this season remember not just his birth, but also his life and the words he recited from the book of Isaiah in the synagogue, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free...”

THIS is the tidings of comfort and Joy the Angels proclaimed! The great and wonderful news that Christ came to be the first born of many siblings who will always work to set the oppressed free! Now THAT’S a carol worthy of singing from the rooftops. If you are one who celebrates Christ this season, I encourage you to reflect on who he really was and strive to show this example of him not just at Christmas but year round.

Contemplating Diaspora

I am contemplating the diaspora today. Contemplating my place in it. Considering how though my heritage is Caribbean, I identify as a Black America and what that means to and for me. I am considering how I feel every sting of the words of derision that some first generation, American born Africans and Caribbean/West Indians lob at Black Americans even though I too am "kinda" first gen myself. I'm feeling the pain of how so many first generation black Americans I know try to distance themselves from the consequences and circumstances of Black Americans while simultaneously attaching themselves to the rich history of black contribution in this country. I am contemplating how the Caribbean heritage of many of our Black American (S)heroes gets shrouded in the narratives of their lives so that some black Americans don't even know that the black American giants they quote and praise have Caribbean/West Indian roots.

I am contemplating how the world gets to adopt African American culture without consequence but some black Africans/Caribbeans/West Indians cry "Appropriation" when Black Americans dare to try to connect to a culture that was stolen from them by slavery and colonization. I am thinking about how slavery affected this country and the Caribbean and how one sustained and informed the other but, there are some in both diasporic iterations that ignore the affects of slavery on the Caribbean as we engage these discussions around reparations. I am thinking about how systemic racism built on the legacy of slavery affects us all and somehow that is not enough to push some of us towards common ground

Like I said, I am contemplating diaspora today and my place in it. Whenever I am in this place, I think of this interview of the great Hugh Masekela. Though he is speaking of continental Africans in this piece, it always strikes a deep chord with me. The last line of this interview for me describes the situation of the diaspora and the African born and raised miles and generations from our continent of origin, especially Black Americans. It speaks to this place that we occupy that has somehow deemed us neither American nor African enough. And though it has been quite a few more than 20 years since our forced estrangement, I feel the sentiment still applies: "20 yrs from now when they ask your children who they are they're gonna say: They say we used to be Africans long ago."

She Knew...

I started getting breasts at nine. I was a full C cup at 12. I’ve had these hips since I was 13. The butt was hereditary. So I’ve had it all my life. But my face was a “baby face” well into my 20’s. And my giggle still that of a school girl. There was no way an ADULT could mistake ME for one. But still my mom made me wear a girdle once I turned 13 and always insisted I wear slips through most of my teen years, because a butt that jiggled and silhouettes of thighs meant you were “fast.” She made sure to introduce me as her “baby” in spaces where there were new or unfamiliar men around so they understood I was a minor. I was NEVER allowed to spend the night at anyone’s house but family, and there were some family I couldn’t even spend the night with. All these oppressive but well meaning attempts to keep lecherous men at bay. The onus was never on us as girls, but how does a mother protect her little girl in a world that doesn’t even value her?

I begrudged some of the more restrictive parts of my upbringing, but the older I get, the more compassion I find for my mother’s decisions. My dad gave me my independent spirit, my belief that I could do anything I wanted in this life, and his very presence on the planet gave me a sense of safety. My mother knew what it was like navigating this world as a black woman and did her best to shield me from its horrors so that I could freely believe the messages my father gave and see only the limitless possibility of being an independent black woman. 

But she was always willing to stretch when my strong will pushed the boundaries of her comfort. She never wanted to hold me back, but she knew too much to be completely comfortable when I dared to operate outside of the oppressive norms. So she yielded to my free spirit by expanding her container each time I pushed at its walls, but she never could completely give up the container, because she knew. 

She knew that this world would never value me as much as she and daddy did. She knew that the messaging I received outside of her container would try to feed me lies about my self worth and undermine all the things they had taught me to believe. She knew, so she did her very best to protect me for as long as she could. Her protection seemed like limits back then. I see the intentional love behind her actions now. She Knew...

A Christmas Memory, A Christmas Wish

Today I thought about the year I became clear that Santa was mythology. I was 8 and had been pretty sure it was all made up for about a year, but I didn’t wholesale abandon the belief, just in case. I kept on believing because I wanted to receive. 

That year, the year I turned 8, not too far from Christmas time, my parents moved us to a new neighborhood. The expense of a new home caused financial restraints that prompted them to reveal to me that Santa was indeed a thing of lore and that I may not get all the things I wanted for Christmas that year because the true purchaser of the gifts would be them. They trusted my intelligence and that I would understand that this great new house we were living in was far more important than any of the things on my list. And truthfully, I did. I loved my new room and I was completely ok with not getting everything on my lists, because I had something that I didn’t realize until much later in my life was more important to my mental health. I had a place and space of my own to explore my thoughts and engage my imagination. And I had a trust in my parents that based on past years when they played Santa that they would make up for any slack in future years. I was grateful.

So, on that Christmas morning, I decided to sleep in as opposed to getting up at the crack of dawn which was my usual practice. I figured I didn’t have as many presents to open. So, I might as well get some rest. LOL My mom had to come and wake me up. To my young heart’s surprise, my parents had some how managed to get me everything I had asked for on my list to “Santa.” I was more than excited since I had resigned my self to not getting it all. To this day it is one of my fondest Christmas memories. Knowing that my parents had sacrificed to make my holiday dreams a reality meant more to me than the thought of a Santa visit ever had.

As I was pondering this memory, I considered the approaching year. I will be embarking on some new endeavors and launching into some new territory in 2019. I will be walking into places that my faith has prepared me for, but my intellect has not yet completely grasped. But what I do know for sure is that these new opportunities are space and room to explore my thoughts and engage my imagination. And for THAT I am extremely grateful. This childhood memory reminded me of the power of resting in gratitude. It showed me that just like my earthly parents, the Universal Parent knows I can handle this next level of truth, and it reminded me that my response will dictate the joy of the expected outcome that Spirit has for me. You see, believing in Santa and getting what I wanted as a child for 7 years had taught me to trust in the power of belief. And my parents revealing the truth taught me that my parents loved me enough to have considered my desires and work to fulfill them for all those years. It is a lesson that both my earthly and Universal parents would reinforce time and again over the years. 

I have always had people in whom I believed and who believed in me. I think that is the reason why I am a “believer” beyond anything other. If this is something you’ve never or rarely experienced, then trust and belief can be a hard stance to maintain. I completely get it. So, my wish for you this Christmas is that you experience the power that lives in the place of belief and that you feel contentment that comes from a trusting relationship. And know that if no one else believes in you, I do! 

My friend Andrea calls me an eternal optimist. I call myself a pragmatic optimist. I know that the only way we make it as a species is together. And if that is true, and I believe that it is, then I must believe in you! I have to believe you will rise to your better nature; You will achieve your highest height. And that no matter how high you do or do not go, that you will tap into that same spark of human ingenuity that lives in us all and survive and thrive. 

I know everyone can’t hold that space and I don’t expect them to. We’re not all made for the same purpose. The world needs the realists and the pessimists to balance it all out. But, I’m a believer. I believed in Santa. I believed in my Parents and I believe in YOU. That’s my lane. I’ma walk in it and hope that by doing so it helps you to walk in yours. 

Merry Christmas! And Happy Holidays, whichever you observe! Trust and Believe!

Contemplations on Time

 

 

 

"Too young to be unhappy. Too old to waste my time." ab/kc (c) 2012

I wrote this line in a poem I wrote to commemorate my 39th birthday. It's been coming to mind a lot lately. The deeper I get into my 40's, the truer it becomes. If there was any advice I would write down and pass on to folks in their 20's it would be a slightly paraphrased version of this: "Life is too long to be unhappy and too short to waste your time." Live out loud and live it to the fullest. Don't let inconsequential people waste your time and cherish every moment you get with the people who matter. Because one day you wake up and you're 45 and you wonder "How the heck did that happen?" because you still feel 25 in your heart but your knees tell you something different. LOL!

All of the recent deaths of folks in their 40's has caused me to feel the fullness of my mortality. And that feeling motivates me to as fully, as large, and louder than I ever have before. Tomorrow is not promised and time really waits for no one. I always get real contemplative this time of year. My birthday is less that 2 months away and so I start recapping the personal year that's passing and evaluating how I will embark on the year to come and the themes I will take with me into my personal new year to propel me forward. I haven't formulated them all but I know the quote from my poem above and the words of James Taylor below will be guiding thoughts:

"walk on if you're walking even if it's an uphill climb.

And try to remember that working's no crime, just don't let 'em take and waste your time." ~ James Taylor