Lessons at the Gate

When I was at Spelman College, the back gate was one of the most important things for me.  Why, you might ask? Because the back gate was the place where we Spelman women were picked up for our dates.  It was where the action was.  There, you might see cars of all sorts zooming by to gaze upon the dynamic beauty gathered at the gate. Often, groups walked up and glided away with their special one, while a few seemed to just stand, hoping someone would approach them.  Like hunters, they waited to perhaps pick off the weak ones for an impromptu date.

One evening, I stood there at the back gate waiting for my date.  I had met this young man and he was intriguing!  All week, we talked to each other by phone, for hours on end.  He was smart.  He was talented.  He was handsome.  He said he liked me very much. And maybe, just maybe, we could be in a relationship. This seemed like a miracle to me, because long-term relationship was elusive for me during college, though I tried with all my might to make it so.

I had it planned out. This date would be magical.

A group of us went down to the gate at about 7 p.m.  We were high-fiving each other, laughing and hopeful.  By 7:05, most of my friends were gone. I waved them away with a smile on my face, so glad my friends were happy. By 7:30, I was the only one left standing.

I stood there at 8:30, standing there in the cold. My smile had faded into a grimace.  I wanted to continue looking pleasant, just in case he came. My lips mouthed practiced phrases like, "That's ok..." for when he arrived. 

My naivete was enormous, and my hope was really more brutal stupidity.  I wondered if he had been in an accident.  Or if he had some emergency that called him away. I imagined that a UFO had taken him away.  All the possibilities were plausible because I wanted them to be.

It was 40 degrees, but I stood there, like a good soldier.  Forty degrees. Arctic fingers crept steadily up my thighs until I felt like I had pneumonia all over my body.  My hands, feet and legs were numb.  And so was I.

My moist eyes saw couples caught in the glow of romance which was held in lingering kisses.  I observed a few folk who had drunk too many beers in a spade tournament or a night on the town.

I also saw the young man with whom I had previously been madly in love picking up a friend of mine in his car, going to do what grown folk do.  

The night waned on, and I danced to keep from freezing.  I returned to my room only after I saw a car that held one of my friends from the early march to the gate return to campus.  At first I hid in the shadows, and then I walked into the light, pretending that I too had just returned from a fantastic date.

I spun a story of how sweet he had been, how he never touched me and was such a gentleman.  I didn't really lie.

I never received a message or an apology.  In fact, I never heard from him again.

The back gate is a metaphor for my life. Too many times, I have stood at gates hoping folk will show up and keep their promises. My gate experience has been in every part of my life, from my parents to significant others (or the lack thereof) to friends to employers.  I am grateful that now, my wait is exponentially shorter before I leave the gate for self-care and dignity's sake.  I keep my promise to never dance in the cold again.

I invite those who have been disappointed too many times to do the same.

An Invitation to Believe

For those of us that feel anxiety or defeat that some can look at a fact, data, a video, or a testimony, and never concede that it is true, consider this: The people of this country dunked women in water and called them witches if they survived, and innocent only if they drowned. Eugenics sought to measure the brains of Black folk for the sake of proving they we not human, and classified and institutionalized the poor, the mentally ill and disabled, women, homosexuals, and others in order to justify segregation and sanitation. There is a huge movement to remove and reduce information of chattel slavery from the text books that our young people use, in an attempt to redeem and sanitize American history because of the apparent fragility of the privileged.

This movement seeks to dispel the idea that slavery was legal, institutionalized terror, and violent, torturous, or evil, and that slave owners were benevolent, compassionate folk who simply took advantage of a free-market opportunity. Across the world there are groups in existence simply to disprove the Jewish Holocaust, and every historical genocide has a group of privileged folk who will deny that mass murder was genocide, or that the numbers of those killed are significantly over-reported in the data. The Japanese internment was simply a necessary evil, an extended vacation, if you will, with propagandized pictures to prove how productive and happy the banished American citizens of Japanese descent were.  

There are others who simply do not have the mental constitution or the strength of soul to accept the truth from other perspectives, period. Fear and lazy ignorance prevents these ones from growing and gaining relationships and the invitation to participate in the universe whole.  

For this reason, I intentionally tune my ear for the voices on the bottom-- the bottom meaning those who are most oppressed, those who do not get the podium, or whose voices are being muffled. For this reason, it behooves us all to be confident in what we know to be true, to make a habit of believing and believing in the other, and to not let the loud, lying screams of fearful doubt deter what you know you must do.

ReConciling Act:  Seeing is not believing.  Choosing to believe is believing. It is revolutionary.

The McKinney Condition

Some don't see the need for some things they learned in high school. I understand that. I won't ever need to use my physical education on archery.  However, I am so grateful I can make connections based on things I didn't think I'd need, yet do.

When I saw the video of the young people, and particularly the young woman, who were violently engaged by McKinney, Texas officers, my mind retreated past trauma and sadness to an old lesson on classical conditioning. As I watched officer Eric Casebolt chasing children as if he was on a laser tag field, grabbing Dajerria Becton's hair and twisting her arm, and pushing her to the ground, I was reminded of my lesson from a science class.  When I watched him kneeling his full weight upon her, like some sort of inanimate and useless prayer bench in a church basement, or more rightly, like a young, scared girl coerced into torture porn, I was reminded of Pavlov and his dogs.

Remember Pavlov?  In his research, Pavlov named the phenomenon he discovered when he paired meat powder with the sound of a bell as stimuli. This combination made the dogs salivate.  Over time, he found he could ring the bell without presenting the meat powder, and surprisingly, the dogs would salivate anyhow. And this, friends, is classical conditioning. 

In the context of the McKinney event, the bell is Black skin, and this bell has been ringing for centuries for folk who believe it their duty to behave like aggressive dogs.

I am baffled by the responses to what happened.  Some act as if policing and racism haven't gone hand-in-hand in this country, as if Back people have nothing better to do than make up sobs stories even while the videos prove our horror. Black people assembled is the equivalence of a mob, and the police assume the only way to react is with violence.

Many claim no knowledge of Jim Crow laws, or admit that the residue hasn't evolved into something just as dangerous and terrorizing for Black people.  Many forget that racism was legislated, and forget that the police were legally complicit in many lynchings, in violently encroaching on nonviolent protestors, and in many activities deemed righteous to maintain the social hierarchy for those of the dominant culture.  The conditioning has been thorough and consistent.

The sight of Black skin is enough to cause some police officers to forget professionalism, extensive training, and the fact that someone is recording them in plain sight.  The sight of black skin turns some officers into aggressive, salivating dogs who will swear their fear is more important than the safety of Black children.  Black skin gives them permission to pull a gun on young people trying to save the young woman under attack.  Once the bell is rung, there is no need for respectful language, for listening when they tried to express themselves, for even attempting to appear as if .  As the bell resonates, Black children don't deserve the benefit of the doubt, and the officers don't even have to pretend that they aren't targeting Black children. It is obvious and ugly and loud.  Passers-by will even help the police to carry out their deeds, becoming instant deputies, and claim children saying, "Call my mama," is dangerous and aggressive.

Officer Casebolt heard the bell more than likely before he arrived, and acted accordingly.  He seemed to be salivating on arrival, behaved like a hungry, conditioned dog who was only concerned with his primitive need to tackle his perceived duty. Of course, this is not to say he isn't fully responsible for his actions and shouldn't be held accountable.  He absolutely had the choice to be helpful and disperse the crowd in a more effective way.  However, I contend that with each chapter of this endless, tortuous book of police brutality toward Black people in this country-- for us who cannot rely on safety at a pool party, who are treated as if we can hide weapons of mass destruction in a bikini--we know for whom the bell tolls. 

It tolls for us.

No Simple Simple Thing

The world keeps asking me to scream,
To yell out for love in plain and simple terms.
Yet, I keep whispering, and planting my love for you in elaborate poetry embedded in rose thickets.
I want you to experience the dynamic fragrance,
To savor my essence and let the chemistry begin.
When you taste love, it should have a depth of flavor you've never experienced,
Deliciously unrecognizable... yet so familiar.

I don't want to dance to the obvious beats,
To tell you which steps to follow.
No two-steps, please, unless that is what happens naturally.
I want you to hear all the different levels of the poly-rhythms of my beautiful heart.
And, I say this knowing you are used to top 40 hits.
It's easier to turn on the radio and listen to what someone else said is hot.
You are used to drive-through dining, and you order the number 5.
I dine in pitch-black restaurants and enjoy the surprise meal created by the chef just for me.
He knows what I like, and cooks the opposite to stretch my imagination.

Something tells me you are tired of the usual.
You know that you have been dancing around a flag pole while the stars are waiting for you.

Still-- I will sing for the one who understands the cryptic language of love,
Who will lightly hold my heart in his hand with gentle tenderness
While he sings a song of his own.
There is a difference between some gold given and the gold mined.
Dig a bit deeper, and I will show you a whole vein of treasure.
I promise.
Mine deeply for me, please.
Claim me.
Love is no simple thing,
Yet it is so simply accessed.
When I come to your door,
Meet me with a kiss and invite me home.
It's as simple as that.

You didn't call me...

Because humans have often lost the ability to detect 
      what is sacred, magical and special,
You have missed one simple fact --you didn't call me.
I was sent.
I was sent to laugh at your jokes,
To remind you that you are loved and very loveable.
I was sent to call your name with a voice that is not afraid,
To speak to you in quiet tones and whispers 
      that only my confidant can hear.
I was sent to give you a reason to miss that meeting,
To create sweet sanctuary in the middle of your life's war zone.
I was sent to dance with you late into the night, 
      and to feed you frosting with my pinky finger.
I was sent to rush you to the hospital, to have the extra key, 
       to massage you until your crushing migraine 
               is a welcome memory.
You didn't call me!!!
I simply hoped that you understood that every kiss was a gift 
      and not a mere biological response;
That every look was because 
      I hoped you were the center of my compass. 
I was willing to follow you anywhere.
And my heart...
Oh, this wounded heart of mine beat madly for you.
You didn't call me, though you did reach out the first time.
But I had a conversation with God well before you did.  
I got dressed and was ready for your phone call.
I didn't know where I was going.  
I just knew that I was sent.
I was sent to and for you.
Some people wonder why miracles don't happen anymore.  
They do. 
Many people just don't recognize them and put them into the trash 
      with the other things they don't understand.   
I am the one God made for you.
Sent.
Ready and able,
But, I have no choice but to move on because I know the quality 
      that is planted in me.
I must move on, slowly, because my heart is heavy,
      but move on I shall.
You didn't call me.
I was sent.
I just hoped that you and God were in on the grand invitation...

Blessed...

Blessed are the spiritual refugees who long to be a part of a church, but find no room in the inn, for they shall see God. Blessed are they who will avoid church this morning, because their hearts have been broken by their unfaithful faith leader. Blessed are they who will flip through television stations to hear the good news because they have been dis-invited from the church with dirty looks or no word of welcome. Blessed are the pastors and faith leaders who lead with integrity, and speak the prophetic word of God, instead of the word that will maintain their employment. Blessed are the ones who will pray for forgiveness to God, and not experience it in their families or churches. Blessed are they that mourn from abuse, violence, oppression and mistreatment, and are told to "get over it". Blessed are the ones who never said a mumbling word, and are caught up in a swirl of malicious gossip. Blessed are those who are told to stay with abusive partners. Blessed are the beautiful ones who wear what they have to church, and are judged for it. Blessed are the souls who are told that who they are is a sin, often by those who, in action and deed, are their kin. Blessed are all those pushed out of the church by people, when God is continually welcoming everyone in, for theirs is the Kin-dom of God.

Two Are Better Than One

I am a capable, beautiful, talented woman.  There are many things I like about myself, and I found them despite the fact that I have often had critical people around me who felt it was their employment to point out all of my failures and aspects to improve.  So, it's a minor miracle that I can look in the mirror with any seriousness, and like what I see.  

And I'm single.

Lately, though I have been swimming in the waters of confidence and gratitude, I have been feeling some kind of way about my singleness.  First, I resist the labels of being "hungry" or desperate.  I am not sure what happened in our society to make expressing our desires a negative thing.  I want a relationship, and hopefully a long-term one that will lead to marriage.  There is absolutely everything right about knowing what I want, and saying it without shrinking and lying that I don't want what I really do.

Why?  Because--

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor:  If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.  But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.  Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.  But how can one keep warm alone?  Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.  A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."  (Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12)

It's not rocket science.  Though I crave romance and the emotional bond, I am practical and realistic, too. I know of perfectly eligible men who are simply choosing to remain single because they are waiting...I pause, because the reports are varied.  

Some tell me that they are waiting for the woman who will be the baddest woman in the room in which she walks.  They want other men to see her, and to praise him because she is so fine.  Others say that no woman wants a man with bad credit, bad histories, and so like the reluctance to go to church until one stops "sinning", they wait until their credit, financial prowess--whatever improves... yeah.

I have no patience for those who are available for partnership discussing how difficult it is to pay their bills and maintain, or that they are simply waiting until the Beyonce/Michelle Obama hybrid drops onto their lap.  Did you ever consider that perhaps you are in the position you are in because you are resisting relationship, and waiting?  

While you wait, two households are being maintained instead of one.  While you wait, you are going it alone, and so am I.  While you wait, you and I are calling locksmiths to get back into the house to which you or I would have a key.  While you wait, I swallow tears at couples embracing and marrying, dancing and enjoying each other...both of our lips are without the moisture of a kiss.  

I try to throw out bitterness and resentment regularly, but your absence is so glaring!! It is not your fault, but our every action or inaction affects the other.

It is almost like I am a person in need of an ambulance.  While bleeding and in need of transport to the hospital, I watch you drive by over and over again. However, you are simply driving your personal ambulance--with the lights on--on the way to the market to make yourself dinner.  You think the siren is cool, and you like the power of folk getting out of your way as you drive.

Yep, I am saying that some choiceful singleness is selfishness.  Yep, I am saying that relationship is emotional, spiritual and practical.  Yep, I am saying that your unavailability directly affects so many of us, and then you have the audacity to talk about community-building and connection to others. How about you build your own community?  

I think that freedom has been misused and misinterpreted as being able to do whatever you want with no accountability.  Every freedom has connection and responsibility to the other. Being in partnership is about sharing your time, your energy, your resources, and your heart.  Some folk never learned to share, and have such skewed egos that they may never find the person they believe is "worthy".  Huh. 

I have chosen to be fine with whatever circumstance comes my way.  One day, I might find a relationship that is wonderful.  I am gaining more strength and skills in being alone, new treasures to make it on my own.  However, we all have trials and tribulations, and while you are waiting for the dime piece to walk into your highlights, you may find yourself alone when your lights are off. Remember that you chose this existence.  But I can tell you there is nothing like knowing someone has your back for real.