In the Looking Glass…

We think. We hope. We dream. The objective is to make our own lives have meaning. You can look at a lot of people’s summaries of things. You can see who they say they are. But what do I do? What makes me happy? “The way it has always been done” means nothing. In the most basic of ways, all you really needed to do was be here today. That is all. Everything else was just icing on the cake. You could have done all that you did or nothing at all. What matters is that you made it. What you chose to do with that time between now and when you set out is what makes you who you are and not anyone else on this planet. The life lived and not the claim of what you would do, “If only…”. Don’t ask what the next step is. Take it.

We, as readers, are observing — on the receiving end of someone’s conversation with themselves to us on paper — deepest moments of quiet. The writing mind speaks to us. Reading is how we listen. What we do as a demonstration of our learning progress is how we answer. Where do I as reader see my self? Books from generations ago…books from now…thoughts…words…phrases…are like musical notes to me. Correspondence. Consciousness, from one mind to anther. My directive, as a writer of letters, is to compose in my head, even if nowhere else, symphony. On the page?

A poem:

To be sure, the sound of a drum

piano, too, is percussion

sveglio, il sognatore

parla piano

e lo faccio sentire

ascoltare l’armonia

in tutti noi

per essere sicuri, canzone…

Throughout all of human history you see us. Quite literally. In the art — the painting. The poetry. The music. The sculpture. At least, what ones have not been burned, erased, or had their noses broken off. And the minds of those creative people who were so moved to commit us all to their recitations of art… Do you have an idea of what it is like to have my kind of self-esteem as a writer, traveling the world seeing yourself everywhere in ancient works — as a writer — and then coming back to the place of your birth and still being treated like a nigger? Yeah, you do.

I have been given something special — this skin I am in, my name, and my experience. As myself. But nothing at all that I ever think about is solely about me. And quietly, as best as I can, I speak to you, dear reader. Because for us there is another way. And there are so many “I” in this world who can do this…whatever “this” is that is being themselves as wonder. Distractions be damned. It is one thing to be able to pick and choose when to identify yourself as black, and quite another to just wake up everyday knowing you are who you are and that it is wonderful. You take the good with the bad because there is no “choice”. I do not have to “come out” every single day as myself. When you see me you see all of me, and the first thing you see is the skin that I am in…the particular shade of brown that I am. I carry the weight of the world in the palm of my hand, as a woman. Some days the weight feels about as light as a ball made of lead. And I can handle it.

Now, dear reader, triple consciousness. For this is not a game. I gambled everything for love, and lost. And I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

“You look at your screen while reading this sentence and suddenly you get it,” Debbie reads aloud as she types. This whole fuckin’ thing is complicated, but it is not at all crazy to say in the best possible way that there are some of us — perhaps a tiny few — who see where this is all going. Mighty oaks come from acorns. We live in the skin we are in all our lives and we apply what we learn as ourselves every single day and we are making something beautiful. We are sentient. It is not Darwinian. Or maybe it is, too. And anyone who still cannot see just ain’t ready. The earth continues revolving.

Look, a President of the United States, in the framework of a eulogy for a man whose life was taken far too young, called out the Confederacy for being flat out wrong. Objectively I say to you that is a pivotal moment in American history, and in the course of human events historically, that has a lot of people shook. But it is also a moment, if you know how to listen and have done all the reading, letting you know that the time is now. A sound that resonates. A wake-up call. Depending upon where you are in your life you hear a different key. The sound of justice in the voice of a man whose position is that of world leader, not “apologizing” for slavery but calling it by name as the systematic wrong that it was and thus indicting all those crackers — the ones who hold fast to racism as well as human bondage as “heritage”. Each individual is going to decide for themselves what that means. And chunks of folks who belong together are going to find each other. I don’t give one single damn about folks who are shook. All I care about are people who are ready. This planet is a classroom. And we have tools to start using it that way, being kind to ourselves and welcoming to each other wherever we are. Because of who we are as people. I concentrate on the starts of things. Beginnings are wonderful. Dawn in my life lasts for a lifetime in the narrative scheme of it all. I think you get what I mean now when I talk about this thing called legacy. As an artist I have no choice but to be myself, and that is what I am most grateful for.

We do this because we must. I speak hyperbolically when I talk about billions and trillions in terms of dollars, but never when I speak of the universe and stars. It really is just about being able to know we have always been free, and freedom don’t cost a dime. Of that I am certain. And if a trip around the world costs five cents…may we each, all of us who write have, at least, just one in our pockets.

-sigh-

I let the writer in me do what she does because she knows best and has my best interest at heart. We see with open hearts, to be sure. And if you are just starting here, then oh what a journey you are in for.

-d