There are some experiences that don't really translate into something neatly explainable, and my time with Michael and Ricki Byars Beckwith is up there with hard to articulate phenomenons. It was Friday night, and though I couldn't afford a ticket, somehow one became available to me and I joined two friends at the Center for Spiritual Living for the first speaker in the Extraordinary Speakers Series. I didn't know much about Michael Beckwith, other than that he was in the movie The Secret and that it cost $40 to see him speak. I knew even less about his wife Ricki Byars Beckwith, though as I found out, I have been singing along to and know several of the songs she wrote by heart.
So we arrived and it was packed. I didn't know what to expect, though they were both familiar to me as I had seen their pictures all over CSL. Michael is a dynamic speaker, a small man (though he seems much bigger on stage) with long dreadlocks and a tendency to pace back and forth as though gaining momentum to express some deep truth. He spoke of love and spirit, alternating between story telling and preaching. He made me laugh and think and feel and then periodically he would pause and turn to his wife who sat behind a keyboard. Then she would start to play. On the program it said she had a jazz background, but her voice was much more of a blues singer's voice, rich and deep, a voice made to sing gospel...our anything soulful and heartfelt.And her songs....they touched me, not because they were catchy, but because they felt like songs I had been singing my whole life, but just hadn't known the words to until I heard them coming out of Ricki's mouth. In fact that's how the whole evening was....not so much a revelation of something new, but a beautiful reminder of a spiritual truth. They created a tangible energy that wrapped around me and took me out of myself. Jesus (and later Stevie Wonder) talked about being in the world, but not of it...and up until now I haven't really understood what that meant, but Friday was an opportunity for me to live and play in that space. I felt connected to God and to everyone and everything in a way that did not diminish my individual spirit, but rather allowed me to have a moment of clarity, where I felt like I knew the exact nature of my being in relation to God. It was truly a gift to be there and to share it with people I love. Thanks LD.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
6 month warning...
Today is my half birthday, which means I have 6 months before I turn 30. The closer I get, the more it seems like just a number. The truth is, I still don't really feel like a grown up...however that is supposed to feel. I think about me as a little kid and how I had everything all figured out. I was going to go to Spelman as an undergrad and maybe do my PhD somewhere ivy league.I thought I'd be married and have kids by now...and a PhD, a car, a house, several published novels and a job as a writer or a senator. So here I am 29 and a half and wondering how much I can cram in before 30. Here is my revised list of things I want to do before then...
1) meet Barack Obama
2) go to Cuba
3) go to Ghana
4) return to Spain
5) visit the Grand Canyon
6) finish illustrating my book
7) finish the novel I started 4 years ago and get it published
8) paint a self portrait that actually looks like me...not just kind of like me
9) fall in love with someone really worth it
10) really learn how to change a tire (I know how to theoretically, but in real life?)
11) learn how to fly on a trapeze
12) take a class on how to make stained glass
13) sell a painting for more than one month's rent
14) see the gardens in Victoria (and take the clipper)
15) become independently wealthy
16) go sky diving
17) return to yoga and soccer
18) finally learn some good swear words in Japanese (no one would teach me any)
19) get my black belt in tae kon do (my test is in June!)
20) figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life...
1) meet Barack Obama
2) go to Cuba
3) go to Ghana
4) return to Spain
5) visit the Grand Canyon
6) finish illustrating my book
7) finish the novel I started 4 years ago and get it published
8) paint a self portrait that actually looks like me...not just kind of like me
9) fall in love with someone really worth it
10) really learn how to change a tire (I know how to theoretically, but in real life?)
11) learn how to fly on a trapeze
12) take a class on how to make stained glass
13) sell a painting for more than one month's rent
14) see the gardens in Victoria (and take the clipper)
15) become independently wealthy
16) go sky diving
17) return to yoga and soccer
18) finally learn some good swear words in Japanese (no one would teach me any)
19) get my black belt in tae kon do (my test is in June!)
20) figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life...
Monday, February 2, 2009
A night at the Little Red Studio
Every once in a while, when happy hours, spa days, and the eternal quest to find ramen at 2am get old, Coco and I step outside of the box and try something new. This time we decided to see a play called the Obsidian show. Neither of us had ever been to the Little Red Studio before, so we really had no idea what to expect. According the website, the studio is a theater space by night and a spa by day. We were intrigued.
When we arrived, we were greeted personally by the owner (nice touch) who welcomed us to the theater and invited us to mingle for a bit before the show. The lobby was plush, complete with black leather couches and velour ottomans. The walls were lined with towering oil paintings of nudes (both male and female) painted by the owner. In one corner was a coffee cart and in the other an open seat, so we choose that spot to engage in our other favorite hobby: people watching.
Right from the start, I could tell it would be an interesting and possibly uncomfortable evening. In addition to the other theater goers, who were surprisingly well dressed for Seattle, there were several actors in costume (I hoped that they were actors). Ladies in fishnets and corsets or bustiers flirted and pranced around in spike heels, while a man in leather pants, a harness, and no shirt posted himself like a sentinel by the entryway to the theater. There was also a roving tarot card reader in a long black robe and of course, a clown. I have yet to meet anyone who actually likes clowns. I really don't know why they exist. Most people I know are either seriously afraid of them (having had traumatic childhood experiences) or are at least mildly creeped out. And yet no one has outlawed them yet. Now that is a petition I would like to sign, a movement I could be a part of. I digress.
As is the case with animals, clowns seem to sense that I don't like them, but rather than leaving me alone, they flock to me. And so it was before the show even began that I had made a sad clown cry, had my tarot card read, and been flagged as an audience member that would have to participate in the play in some to be determined way. Then about 5 minutes before curtain a woman very loudly called for her dog...who was actually the afore mentioned door sentinel. She grabbed him by a leash and took a seat on a pedestal, right next to where Coco and I were sitting and then he proceeded to lick the top of her stocking clad feet and then down the red and black stiletto heel of her shoe. Coco and I were both grossed out, we both have serious issues with the whole putting your mouth on unclean feet thing. Just the idea of all the bacteria living on the bottom of that shoe kind of makes my stomach quiver. If we hadn't spent $30, we might have left then, but Coco and I are see it through kind of girls. And surprisingly I'm glad we stayed.
The blurb on the Internet described the play as being a "visually captivating show [that] will invite you to taste the many flavors of obsessive love." And actually, it was. As promised, the characters ushered us into the theater, which contained two stages, and several different seating options for patrons including a loft and several red velvet booths. On the rear stage, two aerialists shared a swing and on the main stage there was a woman dressed as a rag doll and loosely suspended by a rope. We were invited to "play" with the doll, which Coco and I both declined. Again kind of creepy. We choose seats in the middle of the third row and craned around to watch the people swinging. I found it difficult to watch the "doll" partially because she looked so vulnerable and partially because I found the whole idea rather objectifying. I guess we all have our own ideas of what is sensual or interesting, and for me this was not. Of course there were others who were actually really geeked to play with the "doll".
Finally the lights dimmed. The play itself was just as random as the lobby had been. There was a non-linear love triangle between a ringmaster, a street sweeping stranger and the best aerialist in the circus with some interesting play on sexuality, gender roles, and eroticism. This story was interspersed with fantasy, some really poignant monologues, and a lot of audience participation. I ended up playing musical chairs (not exactly sure why)...and competitive bastard that I am...I actually got into the top 6. Then we were invited to sit in front of the audience and sand pieces of wood. There were some Pinocchio jokes and some embarrassing sexual innuendo, but I did come in second and win myself a piece of obsidian (and the clown did not steal my purse). And at one point we were handed paintbrushes and martini glasses filled with red paint. Our canvas? 4 naked people posed on the stage. Through all this boundary pushing expressionism, there were some really impressive stunts done on wooden swings and with a bolt of fabric hanging from the ceiling (which in and of itself would have made it worth the $30 for me). However what really got to me was this one monologue performed by the chef who subsequently served us a lovely chocolate tart with a pear slice. It was a poem called: The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder. After the show Coco and I spoke to the chef and he actually gave us his copy of the poem which reads as such:
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true, I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here- I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
While it was a different and sometimes uncomfortable evening, I actually really enjoyed the show. It was thought provoking and interesting and worth experiencing for yourself.
When we arrived, we were greeted personally by the owner (nice touch) who welcomed us to the theater and invited us to mingle for a bit before the show. The lobby was plush, complete with black leather couches and velour ottomans. The walls were lined with towering oil paintings of nudes (both male and female) painted by the owner. In one corner was a coffee cart and in the other an open seat, so we choose that spot to engage in our other favorite hobby: people watching.
Right from the start, I could tell it would be an interesting and possibly uncomfortable evening. In addition to the other theater goers, who were surprisingly well dressed for Seattle, there were several actors in costume (I hoped that they were actors). Ladies in fishnets and corsets or bustiers flirted and pranced around in spike heels, while a man in leather pants, a harness, and no shirt posted himself like a sentinel by the entryway to the theater. There was also a roving tarot card reader in a long black robe and of course, a clown. I have yet to meet anyone who actually likes clowns. I really don't know why they exist. Most people I know are either seriously afraid of them (having had traumatic childhood experiences) or are at least mildly creeped out. And yet no one has outlawed them yet. Now that is a petition I would like to sign, a movement I could be a part of. I digress.
As is the case with animals, clowns seem to sense that I don't like them, but rather than leaving me alone, they flock to me. And so it was before the show even began that I had made a sad clown cry, had my tarot card read, and been flagged as an audience member that would have to participate in the play in some to be determined way. Then about 5 minutes before curtain a woman very loudly called for her dog...who was actually the afore mentioned door sentinel. She grabbed him by a leash and took a seat on a pedestal, right next to where Coco and I were sitting and then he proceeded to lick the top of her stocking clad feet and then down the red and black stiletto heel of her shoe. Coco and I were both grossed out, we both have serious issues with the whole putting your mouth on unclean feet thing. Just the idea of all the bacteria living on the bottom of that shoe kind of makes my stomach quiver. If we hadn't spent $30, we might have left then, but Coco and I are see it through kind of girls. And surprisingly I'm glad we stayed.
The blurb on the Internet described the play as being a "visually captivating show [that] will invite you to taste the many flavors of obsessive love." And actually, it was. As promised, the characters ushered us into the theater, which contained two stages, and several different seating options for patrons including a loft and several red velvet booths. On the rear stage, two aerialists shared a swing and on the main stage there was a woman dressed as a rag doll and loosely suspended by a rope. We were invited to "play" with the doll, which Coco and I both declined. Again kind of creepy. We choose seats in the middle of the third row and craned around to watch the people swinging. I found it difficult to watch the "doll" partially because she looked so vulnerable and partially because I found the whole idea rather objectifying. I guess we all have our own ideas of what is sensual or interesting, and for me this was not. Of course there were others who were actually really geeked to play with the "doll".
Finally the lights dimmed. The play itself was just as random as the lobby had been. There was a non-linear love triangle between a ringmaster, a street sweeping stranger and the best aerialist in the circus with some interesting play on sexuality, gender roles, and eroticism. This story was interspersed with fantasy, some really poignant monologues, and a lot of audience participation. I ended up playing musical chairs (not exactly sure why)...and competitive bastard that I am...I actually got into the top 6. Then we were invited to sit in front of the audience and sand pieces of wood. There were some Pinocchio jokes and some embarrassing sexual innuendo, but I did come in second and win myself a piece of obsidian (and the clown did not steal my purse). And at one point we were handed paintbrushes and martini glasses filled with red paint. Our canvas? 4 naked people posed on the stage. Through all this boundary pushing expressionism, there were some really impressive stunts done on wooden swings and with a bolt of fabric hanging from the ceiling (which in and of itself would have made it worth the $30 for me). However what really got to me was this one monologue performed by the chef who subsequently served us a lovely chocolate tart with a pear slice. It was a poem called: The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder. After the show Coco and I spoke to the chef and he actually gave us his copy of the poem which reads as such:
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true, I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here- I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
While it was a different and sometimes uncomfortable evening, I actually really enjoyed the show. It was thought provoking and interesting and worth experiencing for yourself.
Friday, January 30, 2009
New Stuff
Top to bottom: The fire within, sun on water, The lido deck,Tahitian Blue, I summon my aura.
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Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Making a Statement
How does one write an artist statement? I don't really know. In keeping with my new year's goals I have decided to be more proactive about getting my art out there and part of that is having a statement. So I did some online research, read a lot of other people's statements and talked to friends, but the whole thing made me feel like a bit of a fraud.Once again I feel like I'm coming up against the mental barrier I have about who real artists are and what they know. To me a real artist is someone like Perren. He went to school for it...studied art history and technique. He knows what different brushes are called and how to keep oil paints from destroying everything (mineral spirits!). I just know what colors I like and how if you add salt to cacti, it makes them look bumpy. I don't even really know what style category my paintings would be under...though my guess after lots of using the google is that I might be an abstract expressionist (?). Right, this whole process has been not only intimidating, but untrue to my art.
When I first moved to Japan, I met mindtraining. She was also from WI and though at one point we had actually at one point attended the same high school, we didn't meet until Tokyo. She ended up being stationed about an hour away from me in a slightly bigger town halfway to Osaka. I began to spend weekends at her sparsly furnished place. She had 1 futon, 2 Tibetan prayer mats, a lamp, a radio, a rice cooker and a lot of art supplies. So as she was making the rice and some amazing veggie curry, I would sit on the mat and just make stuff. It wasn't technical. I wasn't trying to imitate anyone else's style or to convey some deep and meaningful politcal message. I simply liked to make pretty pictures. It was cathartic. After spending the majority of my days teaching or just trying to figure out what the hell was going on between all the unspoken subtle nuances in Japanese society, it was peaceful and healing to simply sit and commune with myself.
That's all it ever was, just something fun and relaxing...the opportunity to make something beautiful. I started using canvas because I am notoriously hard on everything I own and my paper creations were getting ripped and falling apart. So how do I say that and still sound like a serious artist? Well this is what I have so far. Editorial feedback is welcome.
Bio:
The Afro-feminist Samurai grew up in Madison, Wisconsin. As soon as she was able to legally do so, she moved away. Her first stop was Seattle, which has become the home base for her many travels. Afro is an international educator and has spent several years abroad, living in Japan, Chile, and Spain. Her experiences abroad have been a catalyst for her work and are also reflected in her style, use of materials, and choice of subject matter. She is a self taught painter. She first began painting, not to sell or even for the purpose of sharing with others, but as a meditation. Her portfolio to date consists of a variety of themed works such as cityscapes, butterflies, self portraits, Day of the Dead scenes, and landscapes, done on canvas with acrylic and mixed media.
Artist Statement:
I paint because I love it. My paintings are vibrant abstract self portraits, done on canvas with multi-media. I first began painting and creating collages during the two years I spent living and teaching in Japan. It was a time when I was often frustrated by my inability to communicate. My art became both a refuge and a venue for self expression and at times I was able to use it as point of connection between me and my coworkers. I find creating art to be both healing, and deeply powerful.
Though I began by making greeting cards and multi-media paper collages, I have since transitioned into working on canvas because it is infinitely more durable. I especially enjoy playing with textures and using bright colors and glitter. My paintings are eye candy; fun and interesting, sometimes thought provoking, or sometimes simply beautiful. They are a reflection of who I am, how I feel, where I’ve been, and where I’m headed. My cityscapes and butterflies are just as much self-portraits as my afro sporting women.
Shows:
January 3, 2009. C.A.R.A. – Communities Against Rape and Abuse fundraiser. The Hidmo. Seattle, WA
November 7, 2008. Dia de los Muertos / Day of the Dead show. Phinney Center Gallery. Seattle, WA.
July 2, 2008. Wallingford First Wednesdays. Alliance Chiropractic. Seattle, WA.
When I first moved to Japan, I met mindtraining. She was also from WI and though at one point we had actually at one point attended the same high school, we didn't meet until Tokyo. She ended up being stationed about an hour away from me in a slightly bigger town halfway to Osaka. I began to spend weekends at her sparsly furnished place. She had 1 futon, 2 Tibetan prayer mats, a lamp, a radio, a rice cooker and a lot of art supplies. So as she was making the rice and some amazing veggie curry, I would sit on the mat and just make stuff. It wasn't technical. I wasn't trying to imitate anyone else's style or to convey some deep and meaningful politcal message. I simply liked to make pretty pictures. It was cathartic. After spending the majority of my days teaching or just trying to figure out what the hell was going on between all the unspoken subtle nuances in Japanese society, it was peaceful and healing to simply sit and commune with myself.
That's all it ever was, just something fun and relaxing...the opportunity to make something beautiful. I started using canvas because I am notoriously hard on everything I own and my paper creations were getting ripped and falling apart. So how do I say that and still sound like a serious artist? Well this is what I have so far. Editorial feedback is welcome.
Bio:
The Afro-feminist Samurai grew up in Madison, Wisconsin. As soon as she was able to legally do so, she moved away. Her first stop was Seattle, which has become the home base for her many travels. Afro is an international educator and has spent several years abroad, living in Japan, Chile, and Spain. Her experiences abroad have been a catalyst for her work and are also reflected in her style, use of materials, and choice of subject matter. She is a self taught painter. She first began painting, not to sell or even for the purpose of sharing with others, but as a meditation. Her portfolio to date consists of a variety of themed works such as cityscapes, butterflies, self portraits, Day of the Dead scenes, and landscapes, done on canvas with acrylic and mixed media.
Artist Statement:
I paint because I love it. My paintings are vibrant abstract self portraits, done on canvas with multi-media. I first began painting and creating collages during the two years I spent living and teaching in Japan. It was a time when I was often frustrated by my inability to communicate. My art became both a refuge and a venue for self expression and at times I was able to use it as point of connection between me and my coworkers. I find creating art to be both healing, and deeply powerful.
Though I began by making greeting cards and multi-media paper collages, I have since transitioned into working on canvas because it is infinitely more durable. I especially enjoy playing with textures and using bright colors and glitter. My paintings are eye candy; fun and interesting, sometimes thought provoking, or sometimes simply beautiful. They are a reflection of who I am, how I feel, where I’ve been, and where I’m headed. My cityscapes and butterflies are just as much self-portraits as my afro sporting women.
Shows:
January 3, 2009. C.A.R.A. – Communities Against Rape and Abuse fundraiser. The Hidmo. Seattle, WA
November 7, 2008. Dia de los Muertos / Day of the Dead show. Phinney Center Gallery. Seattle, WA.
July 2, 2008. Wallingford First Wednesdays. Alliance Chiropractic. Seattle, WA.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A new year= A new theme
I'm kind of a sucker for resolutions. To me, birthdays and new years always bring with them a sense of well being, because in them there is a natural new beginning. Even though today is just like yesterday, the calendar says it's special. It's like getting a fortune cookie that says today is your free pass...forget your mistakes and start over. Perhaps that's why I have been frustrated. My new year went well enough, but I was too hung over to properly do any goal setting and by the time I recovered, I had slipped into a lethargic reflection time, no good for doing anything but wondering once more what they hell I'm supposed to be doing with my life.
Then the inauguration happened and I felt a sudden reprieve, because even though new year's day had come and gone, it was still a new day for my country. Like many others, I felt energized and inspired to go for something bigger...so that is what my theme is for the year...continued personal growth and the expansion of my opportunities.
This is no dress rehearsal, this is my life and I want to live it joyfully, always trying new things, and unafraid of failure. I want to belly dance and swing from a trapeze. I want to lose 30lbs before I test for my black belt. I want to be a better teacher, make more money and go abroad for my 30th b-day. I want to see something amazing and breathtaking like the grand canyon or the Taj Majal. I want to meet someone worth dating long term (and actually date him long term).This year I want to accomplish big things like finally finishing my novel and illustrating my children's book. I want to show my paintings in different venues. These are my goals, but my intention is simple. This year I intend to live in the light...to be my best self.
Then the inauguration happened and I felt a sudden reprieve, because even though new year's day had come and gone, it was still a new day for my country. Like many others, I felt energized and inspired to go for something bigger...so that is what my theme is for the year...continued personal growth and the expansion of my opportunities.
This is no dress rehearsal, this is my life and I want to live it joyfully, always trying new things, and unafraid of failure. I want to belly dance and swing from a trapeze. I want to lose 30lbs before I test for my black belt. I want to be a better teacher, make more money and go abroad for my 30th b-day. I want to see something amazing and breathtaking like the grand canyon or the Taj Majal. I want to meet someone worth dating long term (and actually date him long term).This year I want to accomplish big things like finally finishing my novel and illustrating my children's book. I want to show my paintings in different venues. These are my goals, but my intention is simple. This year I intend to live in the light...to be my best self.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Tomorrow Morning
Though it's January and everything is supposed to be sparkly and new, mars is in retrograde...which for me means that I am traveling backwards in my mind, repeating the same patterns, traversing that familiar 18 inch path from head to heart and back through every decision I have made this year and through every event or moment that has made me. Who am I now, who have I been, who will I be? And what do I want? Today is the first MLK Day in years where instead of going to a march or participating in community service, I took some me time. Mz. Blu and I went out for pancakes then walked the longest possible route around greenlake laughing at the little dogs in costume and trying not to get run over by those crazy fitness moms running with strollers. It was a sunny day in Seattle, filled with that sense that everything is possible.
When I look back at 2008, this has proved to be true for me. I might just be living my version of the American dream. Despite the recession, I have a new job that I love, a new and improved living space, and several new and wonderful people gracing my life. I have been renewed in my faith and my spiritual practices and inspired to create beautiful works of art. And moreover, there is a new energy not just in my life or my immediate neighborhood, but in my country. Tomorrow, a change is gonna come...and not just in that far off distant ideal tomorrow that never seems to materialize, but actually on Jan 20...tomorrow, I get to be a witness, a participant in a moment in history that will change the face of this nation.
As I sit here, I know somewhere in AZ, my mom is racking her brain to think of what she will say tomorrow when she appears on the Today show to talk about the inauguration. I don't know if this will help you at all, but this is what I would say:
In general it is not easy to be an American. This is a strange nation built on the premise of freedom and the reality of oppression and exploitation. We are a nation of voluntary and involuntary multi-linguel, multi-ethnic, and multi-cultural immigrants who have spent the majority of our time at war with one another, if not officially and with weapon and legislation, then covertly with discrimination and subtle degrees of injustice. We are constantly struggling for the dream, for the ideal, to make this place called here and now into what America is supposed to be, a place of freedom, liberty, and peace and most of the time we fail miserably. Then we try and fail again.It is not easy, especially as a black American, to see the trail of dead bodies that litter our history and know that this country, my country, is founded, literally steeped in the blood of people who look like me. The systemic oppression, exploitation, and condemnation of people of color is nothing new or unknown, but we must remember it today and tomorrow especially because without acknowledging all that has come before today and tomorrow would not be as significant.
I feel that it is important to bring up our history because without it, tomorrow would just seem like another day, but it's not just another day. It is a day of deep symbolic importance, it is a day of proof, not only that change can and will come, but that after all this time America is ready to let us in. Please don't misunderstand, I am not under any delusions about the state of this nation. We still have so far left to go, racism still exist and there are still so many problems left to solve, but I finally feel like we are really on the journey, that my citizenship is real, not some false promise, not some intangible ideal. When Barack Obama becomes our president, not only do we say goodbye to 8 miserable years of Bush, but we welcome an era where people of color can actually be president. Words simply fail to express how momentous this occasion really is. I grew up with parents who always told me that I could be or do anything I wanted, but now that might actually be true. It seems like some boundary inside of me is breaking, it feels like anything is possible.That is what tomorrow means to me...
When I look back at 2008, this has proved to be true for me. I might just be living my version of the American dream. Despite the recession, I have a new job that I love, a new and improved living space, and several new and wonderful people gracing my life. I have been renewed in my faith and my spiritual practices and inspired to create beautiful works of art. And moreover, there is a new energy not just in my life or my immediate neighborhood, but in my country. Tomorrow, a change is gonna come...and not just in that far off distant ideal tomorrow that never seems to materialize, but actually on Jan 20...tomorrow, I get to be a witness, a participant in a moment in history that will change the face of this nation.
As I sit here, I know somewhere in AZ, my mom is racking her brain to think of what she will say tomorrow when she appears on the Today show to talk about the inauguration. I don't know if this will help you at all, but this is what I would say:
In general it is not easy to be an American. This is a strange nation built on the premise of freedom and the reality of oppression and exploitation. We are a nation of voluntary and involuntary multi-linguel, multi-ethnic, and multi-cultural immigrants who have spent the majority of our time at war with one another, if not officially and with weapon and legislation, then covertly with discrimination and subtle degrees of injustice. We are constantly struggling for the dream, for the ideal, to make this place called here and now into what America is supposed to be, a place of freedom, liberty, and peace and most of the time we fail miserably. Then we try and fail again.It is not easy, especially as a black American, to see the trail of dead bodies that litter our history and know that this country, my country, is founded, literally steeped in the blood of people who look like me. The systemic oppression, exploitation, and condemnation of people of color is nothing new or unknown, but we must remember it today and tomorrow especially because without acknowledging all that has come before today and tomorrow would not be as significant.
I feel that it is important to bring up our history because without it, tomorrow would just seem like another day, but it's not just another day. It is a day of deep symbolic importance, it is a day of proof, not only that change can and will come, but that after all this time America is ready to let us in. Please don't misunderstand, I am not under any delusions about the state of this nation. We still have so far left to go, racism still exist and there are still so many problems left to solve, but I finally feel like we are really on the journey, that my citizenship is real, not some false promise, not some intangible ideal. When Barack Obama becomes our president, not only do we say goodbye to 8 miserable years of Bush, but we welcome an era where people of color can actually be president. Words simply fail to express how momentous this occasion really is. I grew up with parents who always told me that I could be or do anything I wanted, but now that might actually be true. It seems like some boundary inside of me is breaking, it feels like anything is possible.That is what tomorrow means to me...
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