God and Wine

Color Me _______. “People of color?” What do you mean? If I could be “colored,” Today, I’d be green To become one with nature, And bask in the breeze, Then I could lynch who I pleased. If I could be colored, I’d paint myself red With blood from the barrels of guns to the heads of my Brothers who’ve perished Their mothers who’ve cried The guilt of my privilege— A slow suicide. But the world shall paint me black Not my will, but I conform And I take on all this blackness Even though it’s not the norm Even though my skin is brown And my soul is colored blues Go ahead. Pick up the brush and stroke me like I am your muse. People of color? Unpack that phrase. Tell me your troubles. Show me your gaze. Color me struggle. Color me rape. Color me hatred. Color me fate. Color me strength. Color me love. Color me fragments of all the above. People of color, Where do you stand? Take back your colors. Tak...

Adam: What were you interested in? Claire: Being more than an observer. Adam: You wanted to be seen. Claire: Not just seen. I wanted to be significant.  - House of Cards I see myself in Claire Underwood...however scary that may be.

The Things I Carried Essay excerpt from 2006 “Even now, I’ll admit, the story makes me squirm. For [some time] I’ve had to live with it, feeling shame, trying to push it away, and so by this act of remembrance, by putting the facts down on paper, I’m hoping to relieve at least some of the pressure on my dreams. All of us, I suppose, like to believe that in a moral emergency we will behave like the heroes of our youth, bravely and forthrightly, without thought of personal loss or discredit. Certainly that was my conviction back in the summer of 1968.” The Things They Carried - Tim O’Brien      I took my purse, cell phone, the house keys, my iPod, and three outfits, including the one I left the house with. Little did I know that these few things would be the only things I owned for the next few weeks. As the day went, the sun embraced the sky with an ironic presence of charm and allure, unknowing of the following day, which would erupt in the madness of a...

     Since I started my Masters program in Arts Politics at NYU, so many people, even my loved ones, have been questioning my pursuit of such degree. They asks: "What are you going to do with that degree? "What are your plans afterwords?" I've learned to disregard other people's inquisitions on the validity of my life choices, specifically my academic and professional pursuits. "What am I going to do with my new degree?" I don't know. Be smarter? "Is my degree necessary?" It's necessary for ME, even if it  isn't perceived to be necessary for the world. Often, people like to question my academic pursuits, as if elevating my intelligence is not reason enough. I'm so glad I believe in the exponential and infinite possibilities of my being or else I would dwell in a place of predicted ignorance and mediocrity that is not fit for my expansive nature.  To be personal for a moment...      In my experience, black people's ge...

I Am My Brother -Inspired by a quest for justice, self love, and identity. They see us and stare and try to compare "How on earth could they share the same DNA?" "You're not like them..., " they say; But I am my brother. I am my sister too. The roads that we took were awfully the same. One ended in pleasure, the other in pain.  But we share the same blood, the same history;  For every life that's destroyed, I think to myself,  "that could've been me;" for I am my brother. I am my sister too. I've heard it said by quite a few, "That hoodie you wear doesn't match your IQ." Since when were we judged by the clothes on our backs? Since when does your bias determine my black? My black is your black, like whips on the backs of my ancestry. Legacy born in the shacks of the southern most shores-- created the doors, polished the floors so that we could restore the ties that were broken when black was unspoken. They still look and they s...

This morning I dreamt of Gentilly The boulevard with willow trees The nonexistent summer breeze that met its death one August morn I woke up in a panic For all I knew was washed away The mist of night the heat of day Our death was met too soon The gumbo colored waters of the Mississippi shores The symbols showing signs of death graffitied on the doors I dreamt of highways in the sky And bones above the ground The sounds  around and stench of life no more No breath is to be found And then I freeze Amidst the nonexistent breeze I wipe the sweat away Or is it tears? I fear my body crying Begging me to  Dream no more Say dream no more The nightmare is a-knockin' on your door

Sometimes a smile or a few words of encouragement can do more for someone than a bible scripture.  Or maybe a warm touch or kind gesture can speak life over someone in need in ways that Isaiah 40:31 or a proverb can't.  We must begin to break out of the box of colloquial religious antics and embrace unconventional and innovative levels of ministry-- ministry that heals regardless of the recipient's level of/lack of commitment to his or her spirituality. We must speak above and beyond the doubt and difference. We must speak beneath the crumbling surface of the shifting plates of the earth, creating a volcanic spiritual explosion that has no race, no religion, no color, no sexual orientation-just life, love, peace, and healing.