what men aren't telling women

Cruising the web today and came across the following insightful essay on Zena's site that she reposted from the July issue of O, the Oprah Magazine. The essay was written by Chris Abani - an award-winning author / poet from Nigeria. It's probably one of the more thoughtful, revealing and well-phrased 'confessions' about how men think and view themselves in the context of a relationship...which is why I thought I'd share it with you.

Ladies: take note. Gents: any comments?

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That women are mysterious and unknowable is something every young man grows up believing. Men, on the other hand, never think of themselves as mysterious or confusing, and we are often at a loss as to why women want to figure us out. But since you asked:

When you say we don't really talk to you or reveal ourselves to you, we wish you knew just how much we have had to suppress about our desires, pains, fears, and vulnerability over the years to conform to the script of masculinity that we are given. Sometimes we don't open up because we are afraid of what we will find. We are also afraid that if you see who we really are, in all our flawed humanity (and not the flaws that annoy you, like being untidy or driving fast), you won't like us.

Men do communicate, often very directly, but women sometimes cannot accept how simple what we have to say is. We seldom play games—we aren't that sophisticated. If we don't call you for a couple of days after a date, it is because either we are afraid you will think we are stalkers (and we will call on day three) or we aren't into you. That's all there is.

We are as nervous as you are about sex; I don't care what you've heard. Your anatomy is a mystery that nobody bothers explaining to us. Even when we think we have mastered one woman's body, every body is different. We feel inadequate if we can't satisfy you in bed, and since no one has told us what to do with feelings of inadequacy, we project them onto you. Sad but true.

We are very insecure about how we look and what you really think about us, and we are excited when you do small, nice things for us like make coffee or come with us to the barber or just buy us a good book. We've been trained never to show this side to you, but it is there.

We are not subtle creatures. You might think that when you play with your hair in our presence, we know that means you like us. We don't know for sure. Men who do are bad men (sorry, guys!). And anything you've been told about playing hard to get is wrong.

We crave cuddling and hand-holding, maybe even more than you do.

We are desperate to please you because we know you are far sexier and more beautiful than you will ever admit to yourself, and we're confused (but extremely happy) as to why you like us.

Here's the thing: You rescue us every day in small, quiet ways, so why not in this way? Let us into your mystery, tell us how you would like to be loved, show us how to see you, really see you.

cheers,

k

i'm not a racist, i just play one on tv

Earlier this week, I listened to a spot on NPR about the tensions between Latinos and blacks in post-Katrina New Orleans. During the piece, the correspondent spoke with a Colombian entrepreneur living in New Orleans who shared some of her concerns about what might happen if Barack Obama was elected president. Apparently, she was convinced that if that occurred, black people would basically declare open season on Latinos, robbing them in the streets. She made sure to note, however, that she wasn’t racist.

Uh-huh.   Ever since it started to look like Obama actually had a chance of cinching the Democratic nomination, it seems like there’s been a new race-based controversy to pop up every week. Each mini-debacle sets off a heated flurry of opinionated responses from everyone that can form a loosely coherent sentence: from political pundits to the guy standing next to me at the coffee maker in the morning.

Instead of engaging in and being distracted by the fray, I’ve been trying to hold my tongue as much as possible, offering a few terse replies only if I’m directly asked what I think about the latest issue. But hearing this NPR piece sort of pushed me over the edge. There are some very disturbing trends that I just can’t keep from commenting on any longer. Namely,

"I’m not racist" The ‘I’m not racist’ disclaimer has become the modern-day equivalent of a cootie shot. All you have to do is say those 3 words and…voila! An instant invisible force field goes up around you, giving you carte blanche to say all manner of racist / prejudiced things without anyone being able to call you on it.

A long-held belief of mine that always raises eyebrows when I share it with others is that, ‘Racism should be kept in the home’. Could you pull your eyebrow down please? Let me explain. The reality is that, as tribal-minded people, we are always going to have some disparaging – and often humorous – generalizations about people from another (or even our own) tribe. Someone’s driving spastically in a Corolla? Gotta be an Indian (red dot, not feather). Someone dancing spastically on the dance floor? Probably a white dude. Guy overcharging you for parking downtown? Say it with me…Ethiopian. Woman screaming, ‘PICK COLOR!’ when you walk into the nail shop? Yeah…Chinese. Actually, she’s more likely to be Vietnamese, but they all look alike, right?**

Point is, we’ve all made or laughed at a joke that pokes fun at someone of a particular race, ethnicity, geographical origin, etc. And please don’t front and say you haven’t. You know you love Dave Chappelle as much as I do.

But I believe that if you’re going to say / do something racist, say / do it in the privacy of your own home (or car, ‘cause those bloody Indians are always on the move). I don’t doubt for a minute that some of my ruddy-necked co-workers probably eat their meals on confederate flag placemats and ask Jesus to, “Please bless David Duke, John Rocker, and Bill O’Reilly” every night in their bedtime prayers. Honestly, I really don’t give a hot one. Just as long as they put their ‘plays well with others’ face on as they close the front door behind them each morning and head to work with moi, we’re cool. A certain amount of tribalism is understandable. But when it crosses over to prejudice - meaning when an individual makes illogical and irrational judgments against whole groups of people based on these tribal stereotypes – that’s a huge issue. Which brings me back to the chica on the radio. To think that this seemingly educated woman believes that if a black man is elected President, it will automatically usher in the day where black people begin attacking latinos on the street, is not only racist and prejudiced, but also mildly retarded. To think that she can tack the words, ‘I’m not racist’ on the end of her statements and thereby excuse herself from admitting the fact that she really is, is a pathetic ruse that I, for one, ain’t buying. Sorry hon, your racism is showing.

“What you say ‘bout my mama Obama?”

Is it just me or has every black person you know all of a sudden become black pride enthusiasts or black nationalist watchdogs, ever vigilant and on the lookout for someone who might be saying something wrong about Obama in particular or black folk in general? Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely believe that we should call people on the carpet who are supporters and enforcers of institutionalized racial prejudice or those that are given a platform to spout hate-based propaganda with impunity. But a lot of people (especially my people) aren’t even taking the time to really evaluate what they’re seeing and hearing before they launch some passionate, uninformed attack against it.

Here it is 2008, and African-Americans are still sooooo worried about how other people see us, that we can’t even be honest and real about some of the f*cked up issues plaguing our community. We spend so much time listening out for the N-word, and chasing crackpot comments around from place to place, that we often fail to focus on creating fundamental change in our families and homes, and completely abandon the notion that it’s how we view ourselves that matters more than how others view us.

And now we’ve got the right Reverend Jesse Jackson giving Obama flack about calling for greater responsibility from black fathers!? Now if Jesse had a penny’s worth of sense, he would sit his philandering, irresponsible ass down and STFU, instead of jumping on the bandwagon of folks whose ears prick up every time they hear the phrase, “Black people need to…” coming out of somebody’s mouth other than their own.

Monkeys. The lot of them.

The politics of fear Which brings me to the latest brouhaha re: the cover pic of Barack and Michele Obama on this month’s New Yorker.

First off, I have to say, the sh*t is funny, in the same way that Dave Chappelle is funny. Even though the topics he makes fun of are ‘sensitive’, what he speaks is TRUE. Sad as it may be, there are people who REALLY do believe that Obama is a terrorist agent trying to infiltrate the White House, and the cartoon is a satirical, intentionally provocative slap in the face to those who hold that idea. Is the cartoon 100% appropriate? Ehhh, ok. It’s probably straddling the fence a bit, especially since there’s no corresponding article that could further explain the intent of the image. But the title of the pic is ‘The Politics of Fear’, which is the primary tool that hysterical anti-Obamaites are using to win devotees to their cause. As in:  - Be afraid of the big black man and his big black wife.  - Be afraid because he has a Muslim name and yet, your women secretly find him attractive.  - Be afraid of what the blacks might do if one of their own was the leader of the nation that has systematically denigrated them and other people of color for hundreds of years.  - Be afraid of seeing a picture of a President and a First Lady that look different than every other one you’ve seen in the HISstory books since your youth.  - Be afraid of a time when fear and hatred might actually motivate people less than hope and change.  - Be afraid of a time when the words ‘I’m not racist’ will have lost all their magical powers.  - Be afraid of having your real self exposed for all the world to see.

Yes. Be very afraid.

** Please note: these statements were made for illustrative purposes only. I’m not racist. :-D

P.S. – I plan to do my part to end racial divisions by marrying Jon Stewart. Swoon.

cheers, k

second-hand (gun)smoke?

so in most GA restaurants, it's no longer ok to smoke cigarettes, but now it's ok to smoke...fools?read on.... New Georgia Gun Law what are your thoughts on the issue?

cheers, buyaka! k

"There are some circles in America where it seems to be more socially acceptable to carry a hand-gun than a packet of cigarettes.” ~ Katharine Whitehorn

modern day miracle or ‘tranny mess’?

I’m trying to reserve judgement on this, but I can’t help but be profoundly disturbed by the story of Thomas Beatie.

Beatie, a 34-year old husband and soon-to-be parent, wasn’t always the man he is today. He was born a woman. After spending most of his life as Tracy, Beatie decided to begin testosterone therapy and to undergo surgical breast removal so that s/he could assume the role of a man.

You’d think that’d be shocking enough. But wait, there’s more.

Soon after legally becoming a man, Beatie married his current wife, Nancy. Due to a previous hysterectomy, Nancy is unable to have children. But the couple wanted to fulfill their dream of having a family together. So together, they decided that Thomas would discontinue his testosterone treatments and conceive a child via artificial insemination.

Uh-huh. You read it right. Beatie, who is legally a man, but still possesses the physical equipment of a woman, will soon become the mother of his own child!

Beatie is scheduled to appear on today’s Oprah Show, where he and his wife will share the details of their story, including the doctors who refused to treat Thomas during the pregnancy and their first failed attempt at having Thomas bear the couple’s child.

What disturbs me about the whole thing is…well, there are several things that disturb me:

1. Not that I’m an Oprah Show watcher, but since when did Oprah start covering stories that would be much more appropriate for Jerry Springer?

2. I’m all for medical and scientific advancements, but this story is just another one of many that makes me question: just because we are technically capable of doing something, does that mean we should?

Here you have a gal who decides that she no longer wants to be a gal. So, gal says to herself, “I’ll just go down to the local doctor’s office and sign up for lifelong injections of male hormones. And while you’re at it doc, go ahead and slice off those 'mams' – they’re kinda gettin’ in the way, and they don’t really fit with my new image.” Some time later gal/guy thinks to her/himself: “Oh, wait! I knew there was something I forgot to do before shedding my female self. Lemme put this man thing on pause for a bit and return to my regularly scheduled gender. I’ll just order me up some of that anonymous donor sperm, and during the commercial break for Star Trek, I’ll impregnate myself with it and set the timer for, oh…9 months or so. After that, it’s back to the boys club for me!” Yeah, that’s just a little too ‘Island of Dr. Moreau’ for me.

3. What is this child going to grow up like? I mean, we all have our issues with Mom and Dad, but can you imagine being this kid and having to process the concept that daddy is really mommy and mommy technically isn’t related to me at all?

4. And the most important question of all: Exactly what bathroom is Mr. Mom using these days?

What a world.

Read Thomas Beatie’s first-person interview in the Advocate (a LGBT webzine)

See the Oprah Show trailer

cheers,

k

money's growing like grass(ley) - prosperity pastors still under scrutiny

"...maybe your soul you'd sell to have mass appeal"~ Guru

Today is the deadline for six well-known ministers to hand over records of their spending to Senator Chuck Grassley, ranking member of the Senate Finance Committee. Two of the so-called ‘Grassley Six’ are Atlanta-area preachers: Bishop Eddie Long of Lithonia, and Rev. Creflo Dollar of World Changers Church International in College Park. Of those two, only Dollar has agreed to participate with the Committee’s investigation.

So just who is this Senator Grassley and why is he after these ministers specifically? Good question.

A Republican from Iowa, one of Grassley’s self-professed missions as a Finance Committee member is a “crusade to ferret out tax avoidance schemes and shelters”. According to the press release on his website, Grassley had received “complaints from the public” that prompted him to launch a more detailed investigation into six media-based ministries to ensure that money given to them has been “spent as intended and in adherence with the tax code". The other ministers being scrutinized are: Benny Hinn, Kenneth and Gloria Copeland, David and Joyce Meyer, and Randy and Paula White.

When this story first broke in November of last year, ‘god-children’ and ‘dirt-worshippers’ alike were all riled up about it. Those who supported the ministers called Grassley’s probe a modern-day witch hunt, just another way that the devil was trying to silence the Word from spreading among the people. Those who supported the investigation thought it was high time that these flashy ministers were taken down a peg or two and lambasted anyone who would ever follow their teachings as blindly faithful sheep.

What’s my opinion? Gee, thanks for asking.

I have to admit that I’m a bit biased. For a large part of my life I was Catholic. The priest of our parish always had a decent car and a decent place to live – all of which was paid for by the diocese. It just instilled in me the notion that the members of the church should provide the man of god with the basic essentials so that he can focus on his duties of religious study and service to the church. And why would a truly focused spiritual leader require anything other than the basics?

If you take a peek at the Bible, you’ll notice that the prophets of old weren’t big ballin’…they lived austere lives with the most meager surroundings. Many times, they didn’t even know where their next meal would come from, but they were always provided for (1 Kings 17:1-16). The kings (a.k.a. politicians) of the Old Testament were the ones living in luxury, and quite often fell victim to the trappings of excess. At which point, the wild-eyed, threadbare prophet would come in and admonish them from straying from their faith (2 Samuel 12:1-7). You see the same dynamic play out in the New Testament, where the Sadducees and Pharisess have taken on the role of the opulent leaders of the community, and Jesus and John the Baptist are the revolution-minded ascetics who dare to wake them from their spiritual sleep.

"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God” (Matthew 19:24)

Spiritual parallels aside, what’s really the crux of the matter is this: these ministers are the heads of very large, very visible non-profit corporations, and just like the executives of for-profits, they are bound by certain regulations that have nothing to do with Biblical principle per se, but have everything to do with ‘giving unto Caesar’. So when good ol’ Caesar (a.k.a. Grassley and his friends at the IRS) comes a-knocking and says they got some ‘splaining to do…well, what’s the problem with that? It’s no different than the SEC investigating the side dealings and intermingling of personal and corporate finances by the heads of companies like Enron, Tyco, and Worldcom. The heads of those companies bilked thousands of people out of their retirement funds and 401k monies, all because they wanted to keep getting richer on the backs of the people supporting them.

At least they weren’t doing it in the name of the Lord.

What’s your opinion?

cheers,

k

stuff black people like...i think

Ok. Once I got over the initial shock of discovering that I might actually be white, I realized that there was no way in hell I could let my mother know... I mean, it'd break her heart! So I figured I'd better try and redeem myself and set the record straight by giving you the skinny on what black people like, as only a black person could tell ya!

1. 1. Keepin’ it real – Coincidentally, this is the primary reason I’m writing this post. Of course – as Dave Chappelle enlightened us – some fools take that sh*t waaaay too far.
2. 2. Conspiracy theories – Every black person knows that AIDS was ‘invented’ (and why), and suspects that Biggie’s and Tupac’s deaths were probably orchestrated by the government. But really, can you blame us? With agencies like COINTELPRO and incidents like the Tuskegee Experiment as part of our storied American past, it’s better to be suspicious than syphilitic.
3. 3. The O.J. Simpson verdict – Ask any Black person where they were when the verdict was delivered, and they’ll tell the story with more breathy excitement than they recount the time their team made it to the Superbowl.



4. 4. Hookups – Paying full price is for lames. Whether it’s free music downloads, discounted rims, or easy access to the VIP lounge, we love being able to proudly announce, “Don’t sweat it. I got a hookup.”
5. 5. Reality TV – If this were the 80s, this entry might have been reserved for soap operas (or ‘the stories’ as my aunty calls them). But the 21st century replacement is reality TV shows. At first we used to watch them to see how long the token black person would last before being dramatically voted off by the other cast members. Now we watch to see how many steps they’re gonna set us back on the black progress scale.
6. 6. Hair salons / barber shops – Having been natural for the last 11 years, I don’t get to visit often, but when I do, I know I’m gonna get caught up on everything that’s ‘hot in the streets’. Sure you can get your wig shook there, but more importantly, you can get word-of-mouth news of the Diaspora. Plus, black barber shops and hair salons are single-handedly keeping Jet magazine (if not the entire Johnson publishing empire) in business.
7. 7. Gossip – Start any sentence with ‘Gurrrrrrrrl, did you hear about…’ Or ‘you didn’t hear this from me, but…’ and you will have the attention of every black person in a 10-mile radius. The best gossip is usually found while visiting #6
8. 8. Marijuana – bringing blacks and liberal whites together in peaceful harmony since 1964.
9. 9. Remixes – Many black artists have damned near made a career out of making one hot track and then flipping it 1,714 times (case in point: R. Kelly).
10. 10. Good hair – I’ll probably piss some people off with this one. But that doesn’t make it not true. A term that’s used to define black hair that has a naturally relaxed curl pattern, many black people’s desire to acheive the look of it has driven them to such desperate measures as: the texturizer, the wave nouveau and the jheri curl.



11. 11. Set claiming – If you’ve ever been in the club and heard shouts of: Guyana massive!, Zone 3! or WEST SIDE!! You’ve experienced the phenomenon known as ‘set claiming’. No matter how small the country, state, city, or neighborhood black people LOVE to represent their turf. MAC-TOWN fo’ LIFE!!!
12. 12. Tyler Perry – Honestly, I feel like if you’ve seen one Tyler Perry movie, you’ve seen ‘em all. But he gets much respect for: 1. keeping most of black Hollywood employed, 2. consistently churning out movies that (though they may be formulaic) present positive images of black people that make us laugh, cry, and yell at the screen, and 3. being the best modern-day rags to riches story we can point to.
13. 13. Gospel plays – Somebody’s got to be going to these damned things, and I know it ain’t white people. Besides, it’s where #12 got his start.
14. 14. Spades / bid whist / dominoes – Which one we love most is usually a pretty good indicator of what region of the country we’re from. In the South, it’s spades. Midwest: bid whist. West Coast: break out the bones.
15. 15. Sh*t Talking – May also take the form of ‘joneing’, ‘cracking’, ‘the dozens’ or ya mama jokes. You are guaranteed to witness the finest quality and most intense variety during #14
16. 16. The Bus Stop (a.k.a. the Electric Slide) – My high school Spanish teacher once showed us a video of people dancing flamenco, after which he lamented the fact that black people didn’t have a sort of ‘national dance’ that could be performed by all generations. One of my fellow students quickly piped up, “What about the Bus Stop?” Spend more than 1 hour at a black family reunion and you're bound to see them... Set it off! Which brings me to...
17. 17. Family reunions - I never really thought about it before, but found out this past summer that this is a uniquely African-American ritual. I was in a busy tourist locale with a couple of non-black friends, and there were lots of family reunion groups (in their matching tees) peppered about the place. My friends wondered aloud why all those people were walking around dressed alike. As I explained, they were genuinely shocked at the concept, and the fact that we even have t-shirts made to commemorate the events. Go figure.
18. 18. Claiming to have Indian (feather, not red dot) heritage – C’mon, you know that’s how you explain away the fact that your great-grandmother or great-great grandfather was so light-skinned and had 'good hair'.
19. 19. Barack Obama – has the same unifying effect as #8, without the smell or the potential legal entanglements
20. 20. Big booties – Every black man wants one, and (most) every black woman has one. Sadly, I’m still waiting for mine to show up.

So there! You see, I AM black. Well, mostly. Now would somebody give me back my afro pick, please?

cheers (bee-yatches!),

k

a shocking discovery

I was trolling through a fellow Atlantan's blog last week and happened upon a post she’d written about a site called, ‘Stuff White People Like’. “Oh this oughta be interesting,” I thought and clicked on over to check the site out. After about 5 minutes perusing the list, I made a shocking discovery.

I’m white.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had my racial identity called into question. More than one friend has suggested on more than one occasion that I may indeed not be as black as I think I am. My former roommate (a gay white Republican from east Tennessee) even dubbed me, ‘the whitest black girl I know’. I’ve always defended myself against these unfounded accusations by pointing out that I have nappy hair, graduated from an HBCU, and have actually seen and like all of Spike Lee’s movies (well except for Summer of Sam. That sh*t was just crazy). The most I’ve ever conceded to being is Filipino. But after visiting this site, which is clearly the foremost – if not the singular – authority on the subject of what white folks like, maybe it’s time I face the facts. See the list below for why I’m convinced. Oh, and don’t get too cocky…you might just find out that you’re white too (well, I mean for those of you who aren’t already sure that you are).

#77 Musical Comedy - Flight of the Conchords, anyone? #76 Bottles of Water – though I’m usually cool with ‘Chattahoochee’s finest’, I recently became addicted to mineral water…from Poland #70 Difficult Breakups - no comment #73 Gentrification – not a fan of the trend itself, but I keep finding myself in these ‘transitional’ neighborhoods #69 Mos Def – I’ve been loving Dante since Black Star and the Cosby Mysteries #59 Natural Medicine – is that a tumor? Put some tea tree oil on it! #58 Japan – I just love the way the words manga, sakura, and Hayao Miyazaki roll off my tongue; I even refer to my new gig as the okiya #50 Irony #49 Vintage #48 Whole Foods and Grocery Co-ops – droooool…. #44 Public Radio – NPR has been my wake-up routine since 8^th grade #43 Plays #42 Sushi #41 Indie Music – I can’t remember the last time I listened to music on the radio #36 Breakfast Places #35 The Daily Show/Colbert Report – John Stewart is my Hebrew boycrush #33 Marijuana – how’d that get in here? #28 Not having a TV – last year marked the 1^st time in my adult life that I’ve ever even had cable #22 Having Two Last Names – I am the artist formerly known as Demps #19 Traveling #15 Yoga – I brake for child’s pose #14 Having Black Friends – some of my best friends are black #9 Making you feel bad about not going outside – yep, even in the rain! #8 Barack Obama #7 Diversity #5 Farmer’s Markets #1 Coffee – only 100% arabica, delivered through an IV drip (or a french press if I’m slumming it)cheers,k

the elect eleven

In a previous post, I mentioned that a girlfriend of mine got the inspiration to start a ‘sister circle’ in 2008. She’s named the group the ‘Elect Eleven’ – so called because there are eleven of us who will meet each month for eleven months to participate in a variety of activities from book discussions, to community service, to creating financial strategies and dream boards. The purpose of the group is to provide a safe, supportive environment for us all to share our successes, fears, dreams, frustrations, ideas and insights in a way that women – especially Black women – don’t usually do, unfortunate as that is. This past Saturday was the inaugural meeting of the Elect Eleven, and I say without any hesitation that I feel abundantly blessed to have been invited to join such a dynamic group. Each of us is different – there are single women, married women, entrepreneurs, teachers, vegetarians, wine enthusiasts, shoe fetishists – we have our unique personality quirks and come from varied backgrounds, but we all share a common spiritual bond and a strong faith in God that is a more tangible link than any other could be.

We began the gathering by sharing a little bit about ourselves – hometown, occupation, interests, etc. – and spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other better over several glasses of wine, some very tasty dishes, and lots and lots of laughter. We ended the evening in prayer, each one of us taking turns to offer up our intentions for the group. Listening to these women pray was a profoundly powerful and emotional experience. As each woman spoke in her own prayer language, the rest of us added to her efforts with quiet ‘amen’s and ‘yes’es until the air in the room seem charged with such a spiritual intensity that I literally had goosebumps by the time we finished.

Many thanks to Cheryl and the other ‘Elect Eleven’ for a wonderful evening. I look forward to exploring the places we’ll go together.

cheers, k

gone too soon

This morning as I prepared to leave the house for work, I checked my phone for messages like I do every morning. However, this morning I received a message that I never would have expected – I got word that a friend of mine had passed away. My jaw dropped to the floor and my body quickly followed, as I sat in the middle of my living room clutching my phone, scarcely believing what I’d just read. My thoughts and emotions began tumbling over each other, each one jockeying for position in the front of my mind. How could this happen? I just talked to him 2 weeks ago. He was too young. This isn’t fair. Why him? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…. Waves of sadness began to wash over me as I remembered my friend’s brilliant and generous smile, the first time we met, the last conversation we had, the last meal we shared, the sound of his laughter.

And then my inner voice spoke up, “Why are you sad, K? According to your faith, you should be happy for him. He’s been released from the drudgery of this world.” “Yes, but…I won’t ever get to see him again.” “Oh, so you’re sad because of you, then?” “Well, no…I just think that he was so young, there was so much left for him to do with his life.”

To this the voice did not reply, but merely presented me with a montage of memories. I recalled the time my friend showed up late for brunch, because he had stopped to help a man who was stranded on the side of the road and ended up ‘ministering’ to him as well. I remembered the peaceful, bemused tone in his voice when he recounted the time when he was in the military overseas and – through a series of mishaps – got stranded and had to walk more than 15 miles alone, in the dark to catch a flight back home. I recollected how committed he was to serving at his church – faithfully showing up each week to prepare dinner plates for elderly people in the surrounding neighborhood. I recalled thinking what a good sport he was to show up for my birthday gathering, gift in hand, effortlessly blending in with all my other friends, even staying late to help clean up though we’d only met each other a couple of days earlier. I remembered how impressed and shocked I was when he told me of his painful divorce and a not-too-distant failed relationship without an iota of bitterness or remorse, but with complete love and gratitude for the experiences, insisting that it was God’s grace that allowed him to emerge unscathed from both of them.

My friend was a man of faith, of honor, of such unmitigated goodness that every time I interacted with him, I grew more and more convinced that he was born with an ‘extra-nice’ gene I only wish I had.

Slowly I began to realize that my little voice was right – I was sad for me. I was sad that I hadn’t spent enough time with my friend; that we hadn’t spoken often enough in the last few months. I was sad – not that he didn’t get the time to do what he needed to with his life, but that I wasn’t taking the time to do all that I needed to do with mine. Without a doubt, I knew that my friend was one that could leave this Earth without regretting that he didn’t do what he was called to do in every moment. I wasn’t so sure that I could say the same. I sat on the living room floor for a few moments more and pulled myself together before heading out the door to get in the car. Before pulling out of the driveway, I offered up the following prayer:

Father- Thank you for allowing me the chance to interact with as bright a light as Ken. Please send your spirit to heal and comfort those who loved him and who feel the loss of him even more than I do. Help us all to remember that we have been blessed to know your child. Remind each of us not to mourn him, but to celebrate him by living the life that you have called us to, by taking even the smallest opportunities to exercise our belief in you through extending ourselves to others. Make us ever mindful that the only time that matters is the present, and that we not only have the right, but also the responsibility to make the most of it. Amen.

Journey well, my friend.

k

His lord said unto him, Well done, good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things... enter thou into the joy of thy lord. Mt 25:21

When one door closes...

We wrestle not against flesh and blood but against spirits and principalities.Ephesians 6:12 (paraphrased)

Recently my pastor has been teaching on ‘breaches’, which he’s defined as a sort of spiritual door that is opened or closed based on an individual’s actions and choices. As I understand it, a breach is analogous to spiritual cause and effect. With each thought, choice, or action you make, you create an environment that either welcomes in or shuts out a certain spiritual energy or principle that corresponds with that thought, choice, or action.

As he’s talked more and more on this topic over the past couple of weeks, I’ve grown more intrigued by the notion and have started to examine the areas in my life where I have created breaches based on my actions, and to determine if they are the types of breaches that are beneficial to me. As I performed this self-assessment, I recalled an incident that occurred a couple years back during my annual doctor’s visit. My doctor is a traditionally trained M.D. but she’s also a holistic practitioner. On this particular visit she informed that I had fibrocystic breasts – a benign condition that is evinced by small lumps in the tissue. She did her doctorly duty by handing me a pamphlet that explained some of the dietary causes of the condition. But she nearly surprised me to tears when she said quite pointedly, “I often see this in women who’ve had their heart broken”. My first reaction was, “Hell, doc. Who hasn’t had their heart broken?” But I had to admit to myself that I was currently in a rather emotionally damaging relationship that I was desperately trying to make work because I'd never gotten over the failure of a previous one. All the diet changes in the world wouldn’t have fixed that.

We often have the tendency to see things in black and white – only looking for causation on the material or physical plane. E.g., 'I got sick because I didn’t cover my head when I went out in the cold'. 'I lost my job because my boss doesn’t like me'. 'I can’t save money because I don’t earn enough'. But if we were to examine our situations from a spiritual context, we might begin to see that there are breaches – both good and bad – that we’ve created that are actually the root cause of our situations. We may even find that there are inter-generational breaches that were created by our mothers, fathers, grandparents, etc. that remain open because no one in our ancestral line ever made the change that would reverse said breach. What we see on the physical plane is merely the manifestation – the ‘fruiting body’ – of the spiritual forces we’ve welcomed into our lives.

Once you take the time to be honest with yourself about the thoughts you’re harboring, the choices you’re making, you may find that the real reason you can’t save money is because you’re stingy with giving to other people when they need it. Perhaps you got sick because you’ve been harboring bad feelings about your neighbor. In essence, there may be some healing or therapy to be done that simply can’t be found on the surface or over the counter.

Behold, I have put before you an open door which no one can shut… Revelation 3:8

After I had completed assessing my own ‘breaches’, I found that there were quite a few problem areas that I needed to work on – some un-forgiveness I’m holding on to, some commitments that I haven’t kept to myself or others – that have opened the door for unwelcome energies to take up residence in my spirit.

To start the process of healing, I spent some time in deep breathing and meditation. I spoke the names of all the individuals that I was harboring resentment against (including myself) and said simply, “I forgive you”. I called each of those unwelcome energies (fear, overindulgence, worry, anxiety, cynicism, etc.) by name and firmly told each one that there was no place for them here, and then called each of their contrasting energies by name and welcomed them in. I ended with prayer and by reading a few Bible passages.

Even though I know that one self-therapy session is not enough to change my life forever, the process of going through that exercise instantly made me more conscious of the connection between the state of my spiritual environment and my physical environment. However you choose to begin your healing is up to you, just know that it is a beginning, just one of many doors that you have the power to open or close as you see fit.

cheers,

k

scoop central - 2008 presidential candidates

So I admitted in an earlier post that I really don’t follow politics, right? Well, this is largely due to the fact that I am an avid practitioner of selective ignorance – I purposely block or filter the glut of information pumped out by most mass media outlets. I don’t read the newspaper or any news magazines, and I very rarely watch television (and I can be pretty horrible w/email and voicemail too, but that’s another story). My primary news sources are NPR and the few Internet news headlines I subscribe to on my home page. Under normal conditions, these sources are sufficient for me, but given that it’s an election year, I’ve been feeling a little under-informed lately.

I don’t want to be the person that supports a particular candidate solely on the basis of race or gender, but I also don’t have the time (or frankly, the desire) to try and catch every debate or news show featuring one or more of the candidates. So what’s a girl to do?

Thankfully one of my internet buddies posted this link from the Washington Post yesterday. It features very in-depth profiles of each of the frontrunners, but my favorite was the ‘Choose Your Candidate’ quiz that presents you with candidates’ positions on crucial issues. During the quiz, you select the stance you most agree with, without having any idea which candidate said stance belongs to. Once you’ve selected, then you can see which horse you backed.

So, while I may not have time for news, I certainly have time for surfing and playing games on the internet….

That was a joke.

Well, kinda.

cheers, k

the anti-resolution resolution

I hate New Year’s resolutions. The very idea of making them just seems like a setup for future self-deprecation and disappointment. I mean honestly, have you ever made a resolution that you’ve actually kept or even remembered for more than 90 days after you made it? And even if you did remember it, it was probably only because you realized that you never kept it to begin with…which them prompted you to engage in all sorts of masochistic internal brow-beating about how you never accomplish anything you set out to do. Hey, if masochism is your thing, I’m not knocking it, but I personally don’t need another thing to make me feel like more of a procrastinating underachiever than I already am. So I’ve spared myself from becoming the victim of champagne-induced delusions of grandeur by deciding not to make a single resolution for 2008.

Yet, I can’t help but feel that this year is pregnant with the sort of energy that will ultimately result in some subtle but very significant life changes - and not just for me. Several of my friends and acquaintances have already started to exhibit behavior that makes me suspect I’m not the only one who’s gotten a whiff of this energy. But it’s not the kind of behavior that stinks of a New Year’s resolution. Nope, it’s way more refreshing than that, with woody, floral undertones (giggle).

Usually, people resolve to do things that they feel they should be doing cuz they know it’s ‘good for them’, but deep down they don’t really want to do. But the stuff I’ve been hearing from others (and even contemplating for myself) are things that we’ve always wanted to do, but for whatever reason just never did.

We need to be willing to let our intuition guide us, and then be willing to follow that guidance directly and fearlessly.

~Shakti Gawain

So based on these auspicious and irrefutable omens, I’ve decided to give this brewing energy a name. I’m officially dubbing 2008 the year of productive indulgence. What perchance, is productive indulgence? Well, I’m glad you asked. I’m defining it as the act of indulging in the things that bring joy to your sprit that you’ve put off because there were more ‘important’ or ‘responsible’ things to do, or maybe because you just never took the time to tell your inner critic to shut up and encourage your inner child to speak up. These things can be ridiculously little or relatively large actions. Some real-life examples:

• one of my girlfriends has acted on a long-held vision to initiate a monthly book club / sister circle where eleven friends come together to read, share, laugh, and support each other throughout the year<
• a co-worker is organizing a series of workshops for teens and their parents that will encourage them to take small, specific actions centered around a certain principle like, ‘respect’
• I’ve decided to keep regular ‘artist dates’ with myself to engage in activities that serve as ‘soul-food’ – resuming yoga practice, visiting an ethnic farmer’s market, watching the squirrels play in the backyard, etc.

The productive part of productive indulgence isn’t really about producing a certain tangible thing or result per se, rather the focus is on achieving that peaceful satisfaction that comes from acting on your personal truth versus just thinking about it. Productive indulgence is all about doing the things you’ve talked about doing someday, today and every day.

So…what will you indulge in in 2008?

cheers, k

benazir bhutto - gone, but not silenced

I’m admittedly not a huge follower of politics on either a domestic or international scale. I stay just informed enough to be able to follow a political conversation, but certainly not enough to contribute significantly to it in the way of detailed information about any one individual or situation.

But about a month ago, I heard the story of a political figure that both intrigued and inspired me. Her name: Benazir Bhutto, and at the time she was the subject of a piece on NPR’s Morning Edition. The correspondent was speaking to her by phone, the only means possible because she had been sequestered inside of her own home, placed under house arrest after announcing that she would lead a protest rally against the 'self-elected' Pakistani leader, Pervez Musharraf. My mind reeled at the idea that a major political figure – a former Prime Minister of her country – could be so openly and unabashedly intimidated with very little backlash from the international community.

But what struck me even more than that was how absolutely undaunted Bhutto sounded about the whole ordeal. Apparently, she was accustomed to the use of such heavy-handed tactics to silence her. Her voice was confident and strong, her tone almost flippant despite the fact that there were about 4,000 armed policemen on the road leading up to and even within the gates surrounding her home. She quipped to the interviewer that earlier in the day she had asked one of the guards in front of her house, “Should you be here? Shouldn’t you be looking for Osama Bin Laden?” With such an effortless display of wit, this woman had instantly won my allegiance. As the interview continued, I remarked to myself that she didn’t speak in the soft, placating manner that I associated with almost all of the Indian and Pakistani women I knew personally. It was clear to me why a woman like this, and especially one in that part of the world should have so many enemies. Yet even in the midst of an attempt to render her powerless, I could tell that not only was Bhutto assured of her power but she also knew how to deftly wield it to influence the world around her.

This morning, I heard mention of Bhutto’s name again on the radio. This time, the reporter was announcing that she had been attacked after leaving a campaign rally in Rawalpindi. At first, the report was only that she had been badly injured by a man who fired shots in her direction and then detonated a bomb strapped to himself. But a few minutes later, the reporter gave an update confirming that Benazir Bhutto had in fact been killed by the attacker, and she was pronounced dead after arriving at a nearby hospital. I stood shocked, half-listening as more details poured out of the radio on the assassination of this charismatic woman that had caught my attention only a few weeks before. I said a quick prayer that her spirit would find its way to a peaceful resting place now that it had accomplished its task here. For undoubtedly, Benazir Bhutto’s spirit will continue to be felt in her absence, even if only by an unlikely listener half a world away who will always remember the morning she heard a voice that refused to be silenced even in the face of violent opposition.

cheers,

k

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a 21st century problem

“Herein lie buried many things which if read with patience may show the strange meaning of being black here in the dawning of the Twentieth Century. This meaning is not without interest to you, Gentle Reader; for the problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color-line. “~W.E.B. Du Bois

I was browsing the discount stacks at a local Barnes and Noble a couple of days ago and scored a low-priced hardback version of W.E.B Dubois’ The Souls of Black Folk”. Being a grad of CAU, this was a book I had often heard about from many of my professors and fellow students, but never took or found the time to actually read. One of the best known quotes from the book is Dubois’ rather accurate assertion that: "The problem of the 20th century is the problem of the color line". Indeed a major theme of American culture from the Reconstruction era through the ‘80s and ‘90s was that of black people fighting to establish their identity as a race and to achieve equality in the political, educational, and economic arenas of this country. But now we’re well into the first decade of the 21st century, and while Don Imus and Jena are the most recent reminders that the American system is still far from perfect when it comes to treating its darker citizens as equal, it can no longer be argued that blacks don’t have access to almost all of the same opportunities as whites and other racial and ethnic groups.

Yet – and maybe I’m just speaking for myself here – there is still this nagging feeling that with each of the individual gains reaped from integration, affirmative action and diversity initiatives, there has been a steep price paid by the black community as a whole. This morning as I listened to NPR during my get-ready-for-work routine, they aired a segment on what was termed a new kind of racial segregation – that being a division within the black community based on class. During the piece, Juan Williams relayed the results of a poll which highlighted that the values of middle / upper class blacks are more in line with those of whites in the same economic stratum than they are with those of low-income blacks.

As I listened, I immediately recalled a discussion I had during lunch with one of my mentors this past weekend. She and her family recently left Atlanta and took up residence on St. Simon’s Island, a rather exclusive community that’s almost completely white. As we talked, she shared her concerns that – though she loved her community – she was dismayed at the fact that her son had very little chance to interact with other black boys on a regular basis. He is the only black male in his elementary school and only one of three black children in the school overall. The closest mainland town that lies just on the other side of the bridge to St. Simon’s is Brunswick, where over half of the population is Black. However that same population is characterized by a 70% high school dropout rate, single-mother households, higher-than-average rates of disease, etc. Not surprisingly, she’s not enthralled that this is the only real-life image of other Black people her son has the opportunity to be readily exposed to.

 Another oft-quoted term from Dubois is, "the talented tenth". Dubois strongly advocated the idea that a small group of college-educated blacks would be responsible for, “developing the best of this race that they may guide the Mass away from the contamination and death of the worst, in their own and other races". Dubois’ contemporary and ideological opponent, Booker T. Washington, asserted that blacks should first concern themselves with establishing financial strength and independence within their own community by developing practical skills and trades.

It became clear to me as I continued listening to the NPR segment, that this nouveau segregation may very well be the natural (though unexpected?) side-effect of Dubois’ talented tenth paradigm. The sad irony, it seems, is that after decades of seeking the elusive American ‘promised land’, we may have arrived, but we’ve left so many of our kin behind that it looks almost exactly like the Egypt we fled. As I drove to work (where I’m usually the only black face I see in my many meetings), I was still pondering many of the questions sparked by the NPR piece:

Is the problem of the 21st century the problem of intra-racial segregation?

Is it really accurate to say that middle and upper class blacks don’t do enough to help black people on the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum? And if it is, how can we do it in a way that amounts to more than just one-hit charity binges but affects long-lasting mindset changes?

Is it time for us to abandon Dubois’ talented tenth mentality and adopt a new approach?

(sigh) Where’s Booker T. when you need him?

cheers,

k

in due time

Recently, I took a much-needed trip to Runaway Bay, Jamaica with a group of twenty or so friends to celebrate the birthdays of those of us who turned 30 this year. On our second day there, we were antsy to get off of the resort to get some souvenirs and to experience more of the local flavor. Fortunately, we ended up making a resort-buddy who’d been there several times before and was nice enough to arrange and pay for a local driver to take six of us shopping in nearby Ocho Rios. As we prepared to leave, we confirmed with each other that we should spend no more than a couple of hours shopping if we were to be back in time to get dressed for a planned dinner with the others in our group. Our driver arrived on island-time – i.e., almost 20 minutes later than he had promised – so we were a bit peeved that we’d have even less shopping time, but figured we’d still make a go of it. The driver dropped us off in a bustling marketplace in the center of Ocho Rios, agreeing to meet us back at that exact spot in an hour and a half. the six of us split up into ones and twos and went off in search of our souvenirs. Needless to say, the time passed quickly, and as my shopping partner and I made our way back to the pre-determined meeting spot, we could tell there was trouble brewing.  Amidst the hustle and bustle of the market, the other four girls in our crew were all too easy to spot. Each of their faces was painted with frustration as they moved anxiously among the parked vehicles and other shoppers. When we got close enough to ask what was going on, they informed us that our driver was nowhere in sight and that if he didn’t show up soon we’d be late for our dinner back at the resort.

I did a quick mental assessment of the situation – if we were late, we’d be late. But we’d still have dinner when we got there, we’d only miss a part of the festivities, and we’d all be together. As I considered the relatively low impact of our predicament, the other girls continued scurrying about the vans in the market in a frantic search for our driver or any other driver that could get us back to our resort.

By now our little group had begun to draw attention from some of the gypsy shuttle drivers in the area, and I could see two of the girls engaged in conversation with one of them who’d taken notice of us.

By now our little group had begun to draw attention from some of the gypsy shuttle drivers in the area, and I could see two of the girls engaged in conversation with one of them who’d taken notice of us. They soon came over and reported the news: “This guy says he can take us back right now for $15 each”. Before I could adequately voice my shock that we were seriously considering forking over $90 for about a 10-mile trip, two of the market security guards approached us. “Ladies, are you looking for your driver? We know him. We can get in contact with him for you.” A flurry of patois then ensued between the two guards and the driver, an older gentleman. I could only make out about every third word, but it was clear he was not pleased that the guards were cutting in on his action. While one of the security guards continued trading invectives with the older guy, the other one began dialing numbers on his cell phone. My friends and I were literally caught in the middle. Seeing the opportunity to land a fare slipping away from him, the older gent turned to the two in our group he’d first spoken with. “Okay, I’ll take you now for $10 each and tip.” They quickly accepted and jumped into his van, motioning for the rest of us to do the same. By this time, I think we were all well past the point of frustration, so to keep the situation from escalating any further, we filed into the van and left the guards standing there holding their phones.

As our new driver pulled out onto the road, he gave us his take on the matter. “Those guys were calling one of their friends – they just wanted to make some money off of you.” So the guards were a couple of hustlers…great. I couldn’t help but think that the older guy’s intentions weren’t necessarily the most honorable, either. I mean, he hadn’t exactly acted out of a sense of charity – he wanted to get paid, too. I sat in the back of the van, fuming over what I considered to be an absolute affront to my frugality and common-sense. Basically, we’d agreed to give this guy $60 (plus tip) for a trip that’s equivalent to going from the Atlanta airport to downtown. I heavy-sighed and leaned my face against the window next to my seat.

The road back to Runaway Bay took us past rural scenes typical of the islands – goats and barefoot kids running around unattended in front yards, young men walking or standing on the side of the road drinking beers or selling fruit, middle-aged women toting parcels balanced on swaying hips or atop heads. As each scene rolled by, it simultaneously calmed me and made me really ponder the events that had just unfolded. I was struck by the contrast of the scenes passing by the window and the previous scene of me and my friends at the marketplace. I compared the anxious looks on my friends’ faces to the faces we passed – these people were all moving somewhere, yet they looked like they had all the time in the world to get there. Then it hit me, they had something we did not – patience.

Phrases like ‘no problem’, ‘everything irie’, and ‘soon come’ are the default Jamaican responses to most issues that arise. Each of those sayings not only conveys a sense of inherent patience but also faith that things will work out as they should if you just step back and let them. If you insist on getting an immediate result – you’ll usually get it. God’s answer is ever ‘yes’ – he may let you have what you want, but it may not necessarily be the best that he has in store for you. When he allows you to have the best, it will usually be the very last thing that comes along (i.e., you always find what you’re searching for in the last place that you look). Patience and faith go hand-in-hand: if you have the faith to ask, then you should also have the patience to wait for the response.

For the rest of the drive I meditated on times that I’ve let my own or someone else’s impatience get the best of me – and what the results of that were. As we hopped off the van back at the resort, I found myself humming the chorus to one of my favorite Outkast songs: “just keep your faith in me, don’t act impatiently you’ll get where you need to be in due time"

In Due Time Video

In Due Time lyrics - Outkast lyrics

Outkast Music Videos

Music Video Codes by VideoCure

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Father, today I pray for increased patience and strengthened faith. I possess the knowledge that you are the source of all things and that my birthright is eternal and uninhibited access to that source. Help me to have more than just an intellectual understanding of this birthright, remind me to act it out as truth in every thing that I do, in every word that I speak.

cheers!

k