Oh Soul

“Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.” Rumi

The New Year has begun and life has taken the most amazing of flows. Before the end of the year I saw a program on Candide. I read Candide, in French, in high school. In Voltaire's amazing critique of religion and aristocracy Pangloss, the mentor, kept saying, "the best of all possible worlds", even when the hapless band got in the most absurd, soap operary situations. I found Pangloss' philosophy to be insane, but was conflicted because I also believed in fate. A fate that "forced" us to accept our lot in life. Maturity has led me to believe that Pangloss was not completely wrong except for his unconscious acceptance of the things that occurred, and of course his bad choices. I believe we have the choice to become conscious participant in our life. And as choices leads to outcomes we can accept life in all it's beauty and pain, then and only then we can say "this is the best of all possible worlds."

I won't say I have a resolution for the new year but I endeavour to continue pursuing this freedom ride I am on. For far too long I lived an unconscious life, fearing accepting the power of my inner self. Once I acknowledge there is more to me than me I am responsible. So I ignore the craving inside myself to get out of my own way.

I found this poem by Rumi this morning and it summed up thoughts to myself this year. The mantra by which I need to live by. Sometimes we just need to be reminded of our greatness.

Stay Blessed

kam

I Shall Overcome

Early this morning I had the opportunity to watch “Oprah’s Master Class,” to put into words what that program did for me will be difficult, but I will try. It all began earlier this week. On Tuesday I was in an intimate Bible Study with my pastor and my mother, at the end of the study my mother proceeded to tell me how had I done the “right” things in life I would have been in a position to replace Oprah. The statement caught me off guard a bit, as we were not on the subject or even near it. My pastor then told me that she looked at my heart and there was huge deep scar on it, and she perceived that it was a wound from my childhood. I knew what my pastor was talking about, because for sometime now I have been attempting to get over some hurdles in my mind, but it seems when I get to a particular point my brain just freezes and I feel this block, and I explained that to them. Instantly, my mother assumed that the issue came from some interaction I had with one of her sisters. I could not confirm or deny, as I truly could not remember any one incident that would cause that kind on mental reaction.

However, all day Wednesday I pondered, talked to God, and searched my body for shifts in my feelings indicating emotional triggers. And what does the good book say, “Seek and ye shall find.” And what I found filled me with shame as the feelings of intense hurt surfaced, but like always it never seems like the time or place to deal with my issues. Plus my uncle was coming from Trinidad, and we were going on a family trip to VA Beach to see my brother who is serving in the military. During the night I was awake struggling with how to correctly deal with what I was feeling. I turned on the tele and happened across “Oprah’s Master Class.” I watched the show riveted as her words ministered to my very soul. I watched the show and felt like I could overcome, I am a child of abuse.

My sisters and I have had the talk with my mother about the abuse, but she dismisses it as figments of our imagination, and then offers an insincere apology. I was touched by Oprah because she said she had not really let all of it go until her forties, but I don’t want to go into my forties still carrying the weight of this abuse in my head, heart and body. I am gifted and blessed beyond measure, but I will not get anywhere until I overcome.

Stay Blessed!

kam

The Rhythm is Gonna Get You!

Last night I had the relished opportunity to watch PBS’s, Latin Music USA. As a music lover and someone from the Caribbean I was extremely proud of this program as it chronicled the flow of Latin music in America. Although Jimmy Smits narrated the documentary it featured the thoughts of artists like Gloria & Emilo Estefan, Ricky Martin, Marc Anthony, Daddy Yankee, La India, Shakira, Juanes, and my music and brain crush Lin-Manuel Miranda. He wrote In the Heights which won the Tony for Best Musical in 2008.

It was great to see how our traditional music, the salsa, meringue, bachata, kompa, plena soca, bomba, married and produced offspring in rock, pop, reggae, and hip-hop. Our colonial and emigration roots are extremely visible in our music, and for that my ears and soul are grateful. Just as the Caribbean Sea laps upon our shores it brings with it the feeling of family, a closeness that is undeniable, that never changes but evolves deeper and deeper. When I listen to artists like Tego Calderon and Don Omar, I marvel at how artists can create for the world a sound that reflects their truth, hoods aren’t just in Brooklyn and poverty is not limited to Africa. All truths are universal.

Speaking of Africa, as encompassing as the documentary was, I thought that they would have delved more deeply into Afro Latin music, like Afro Cuban Jazz. Recently jazz legend, Wynton Marsalis, travelled to Cuba and hosted some extraordinary and historic jazz concerts. The visit was met with much fan fare from the Cuban people and government. However for us with long memories, we could not help but think about the 1990 defection of Arturo Sandoval. The recollection serves as a reminder that music is sometimes the only escape. And from those who stay you can get some haunting melodies like with The Buena Vista Social Club. As a result of this one album I got very heavy into Afro Latin rhythms.

During the “Latin Explosion,” I cringe at using that term, my room-mate and I were Living La Vida Loca as we Bailamosed Whereever and Whenever. However being purest and quite possibly music snobs, we went back to their old stuff favoring, Shakira’s Dónde Están los Ladrones?, and Enrique’s Cosas del Amor, and despite my lack of Spanish speaking skills I learned every word of these albums. I even had Enrique escort me through some life changing experiences. Oh the memories!

The dance ability of the music is just intoxicating I have never heard a Latin beat that I did not want to dance or sway to. My family would salsa and meringue in the narrow hallways of our Brooklyn brownstone. I even broke out a salsa with a complete stranger at a Dunkin Donuts parking lot just because of el ritmo. Remember when the Fugees remixed Guantanamera, making Celia Cruz known to a whole new generation, and you just got into the beauty of the music. For me it was a poignant reinforcing of the familial nature Caribbean music as you had this Haitian-American hip-hop group paying such homage to this great Cuban artist. Aside from the parang music played during the Christmas season in Trinidad, I remember falling in love with “Oye Como Va,” by Santana. Who I am still in love with, as he continually seduces with that guitar.

As I listen to Shakira singing over Lebanese rhythms that have been coupled with Latin instruments, and Devanni using her love of Indian music to create her own distinct Latin sound, and of course the many who incorporate African rhythms, or rock, or hip hop or reggae, I cannot help but be engrossed in and wowed by the complexity of Latin music. How it can permeate the very core of who we are, make us dance, laugh, cry, and feel a range of emotions that is all sincere and powerful. Because wherever you are the rhythm is gonna get you!

Living the Dream!

What is living the dream? What the freak is my dream? What is that thing that I want to accomplish? I recently woke up with time on my hands, and no dream, and that scared and depressed me. I don’t think it was that I never had a dream, it was just that I has backburnered it for so long that I no longer remembered what it was or felt instinctual about anything.

After I was hit for six with my lack of employment I hit up the usual spots for a job. I searched within my field I searched out of my field but I felt nothing but unemployable. I was feeling quite low especially as I mulled over my resume, I have had a few jobs since graduation, all different but I saw them as opportunities to build myself and great skill set. However I committed the last four to five years to helping a faith-based non-profit grow. And this is where I messed up because objectives were not clearly outlined by me or them, until everything became and huge mess and I began to feel resentment about being there, so although I was surprised that they let me go I was not unhappy with the decision. I was now free to figure out what I wanted to do and pursue it, however I did not know where to start.

Like I said earlier I scoured all the common places to find a job. And I really began to feel desperate. The last time I was without a job was 2005 and that was only for a moment. I actually thought about suicide, but I chided myself when I thought about how my family in Trinidad would react to the news, seeing as though we just lost our grandmother, and I was certain she would be so disappointed in me. So that was a no go. Then I went to see my high school guidance counselor, she has always been a great source for advice and motivation, and I needed a major shot in the arm. We chatted and had lunch, but I did not feeling as buoyant as I thought I would feel after talking to her. I guess I was playing emotional vampire that day, but that did not work. But she did give me a piece of advice that I mulled over for the next week, “Get a job, just do something.”

What I realized during my week of mulling was that my attitude to my job pursuit was all wrong. I was operating from a negative head space. I had not really shed my previous negative work experience. It is in this time of crisis I really began to pick myself apart and confront things inside of me, some pretty others not so pretty. Oh and I am by no way done, but what I realized about myself is that I allowed the situation to become toxic by not being honest with myself, not speaking up, not being clear, and by being fearful. Fear is paralyzing and I know it to be the source of all these issues. So first thing first is that I had to abolish my fear. I do this by asking myself, “Why am I fearful?,” when I begin to feel the fear rising. Everytime I do this I am instantly conscious of myself and the power within that eliminates the fear.

“Get a job, just do something.” What something? What are my skills? I have been a Lab Technician, an Environmental Science Teacher, a Transportation Planner, a Community Organizer, an Event Planner, a Kindergarten and Toddler Teacher, a Non Profit Consultant, but what can I now? Would I be content flipping burgers at McDonalds? If I did decide to flip burgers at MickyD’s, it would be to what end? Because let’s face it that is not a career choice I want to make, but if I did do it, it would be to satisfy some objective. To make money now so I can save to live the dream. Son of a gun! We are right back where we started. I thought so too until I was about to fill in the blank with something. The dream.

It slowly began to take shape and form in my mind again. This wonderful thing I had forgotten. The dream. My dream. Not my life plan, but the goal to which I must work. I will reveal what it is at a later date, but there is take away from this, not only that I remembered the dream, but I remembered to believe in myself and trust the talents that the Lord gave me. Also, it ‘aint ova’ ‘til it’s ova’.

Bless

Who We Are

It is often said that we are the sum of our experiences, they make us or break us. I guess that is true, but more often that not I find myself fighting, struggling against bring drowned by a life I don't want or not ready to accept. My friends are getting married, having, babies, dying, etc. and I am on the outside of the world feeling absolutely lost. I feel like I should want those things too, and for a better part of me I do, but then my ability to engage has been greatly diminished by my years of not doing it.
My best friend died a few weeks ago, and I have not fully grieved for her. I am scared to. I forget sometimes she is dead and go to call her or FB her or something, then I remember and my heart aches, but I must steel myself. Since the year has started I have lost 3 important people in my life; my great-uncle: Leon, my grandmother and Kelli my bestie. The sum of all that grief has me numbing myself, and thinking what is the point of it all. Each one lived such different lives and I loved them for the same reason, they made me feel like I mattered. Even when I acted the fool they were always there. My grandmother and great-uncle loved long full lives, Kelli had just given birth to her first child and future looked so promising. I just don't know how to dust myself and keep moving on. I feel like I am not me. I am just doing what needs to be done, working putting on events, grinding, when all I want to do is scream. But how can I when one must act with decorum and grace at all times. I just wanted to purge these thoughts from my head.

All Hail the Diva

The diva is not me. The diva I am talking about in this post is the Diva Cup. The DC is in my opinion the best feminine hygiene product ever. EVER! EVER! EVER! EVER! I have been using the cup for about a year now, and I tell you what I could have my period every day of the month and I would not care. The freedom the DC gives is unparalleled. I was brought up to be a pads girl, or if you want to be dignified, "sanitary napkins". Then in college I ventured into tampon land. It was here also that I was introduced to Instead. Instead, although touted by many to be an amazing product, did not work for me. It just would not fit. Then my internet search brought me to the Diva Cup. I read all the posts and decided to give it a go.

One day on my lunch hour I hopped on the train and headed into Hoboken to some health food store and bought my DC. I felt so triumphant walking out of the store. I tried the DC, and had the most brilliant of experiences. It was comfortable, so comfortable, I could not feel it. I decided, as anyone who finds a product that does what it says it will do, to share the good news. It was not well received. Everyone I talked to balked at the idea and concept. They would not be sold and have not since changed their minds, so secretly I gloat when they run out of pads or tampons. tsk tsk tsk. I wish I could get a bullhorn and spread the use of the DC. It has amazing benefits: cost, eco and comfort. I am going to so bold as to tell you when on my period I am able to sleep commando. Just saying, if you like some breeze then you don't have to give it up at all, not even for 5 to 7 days. lol.
Stay Blessed

Black is Beautiful

I was looking on the web for something or the other and I came across a blog from a fellow in Sweden. The blog is described as "This is my way to honor & uplift the Black Woman and the True Beauty of her!" I was quite enthralled by this blog, so much so that I read the entire thing. Don't judge me. I found the blog to be simple yet as complicated as anything could be… race. Here you have this bloke from Sweden who has laid out for the world to see "where his heat lies" in chocolicious beauties the world over, on the other hand you have the haters who troll his site looking to stir up drama. I am perhaps a dummy for not understanding the hateration.

The blog, although sometimes superficial is quite up lifting. Up lifting because people are able to engage each other is some honest dialogue and share some really nice stories. There was a piece of honesty dropped on the site by a viewer, I was stunned when I read it, but then had to deep breathe and find the point of reason.
"sorry to say but i think you are only going through a phase. to have a blk wife and children takes courage. hell, to have a blk gf in america takes courage. no offense, but the average white man isn't giving up his whiteness and its privileges for a blk woman...no matter how beautiful the woman is." I kinda mighta havta agree with this. I see white fellas who would smile, wink, or might even engage in a conversation or two, but anything beyond that is a no no. I think the people who engage in interracial relationships in America are brave. This country still is so bound up in prejudice and race-hate that it seems that the odds are terribly stacked against anyone who truly embraces the romantic mixing of races.

It seems with all the potential wreckage from an interracial copulation it might be argued that the couple is just being selfish, and is not looking out for the best interest of their families. But shouldn’t tradition be put aside for the growth of the nation. Every time I see an interracial couple I can’t help but think, “That's one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.” To all the persons in the struggle, Keep Yuh Head Up.
Laters.