Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
You Think It's A Game, But It's Not...
You Think It’s A Game, But It’s Not…
Copyright © 2008
This past 4th of July, I didn’t want to do anything, except sit at my computer in my pajamas as long as I wanted, doing what I love to do…write. But after several false starts and staring at the same couple of paragraphs for more hours than I care to admit, I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to find the level of inspiration I needed to get through the 4th of July piece I’d started writing a few weeks back. If this had been the good ole’ days of the typewriter, there would have been a trashcan full of crumpled pages bearing my discarded thoughts. But, at least I did accomplish one of my intentions; the day was well on its way by the time I stepped into the shower and changed into a fresh pair of “jammies”. I decided that I wasn’t going to stress over not having written much, and turned to my second obsession- watching the news; and there I stayed, happily following the latest breaking facsimiles of news. I still knew that there was something I was supposed to be saying about this momentous day, and it bothered me that for some reason, I was unable to form the thoughts and words to convey what I felt.
Now, I come from a family of strong believers in God, and as they say, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I’m no Bible totin’, scripture quotin’ type of a person, but I have experienced a spiritual growth that helps me to maintain my grounding, and recognize when higher powers are at work. I didn’t trip. I was sure that the answer and the words would come when the time was right. And I didn’t have to wait long. The next day, a friend was celebrating her birthday, and several friends gathered to share this special moment in her life. Some people I knew, and some I’d just met for the first time, but there was an overall air of one-ness that permeated the entire afternoon and evening. While there, one friend suggested that we play a game he called, Questions, where each person wrote down two to three questions about any subject and placed the folded paper in a bowl. After much protest about playing party games, we all sat around and as the questions were read, those who wanted to, could respond to the question. Of course, because of the historic nature of current events, the topic of race and the presidential election was one of the questions. The crowd was entirely African-American, with the exception of one couple- one person of white ethnicity, and the other person, Hispanic. What happened as the game progressed was something that I wish all people could experience.
The conversations that day, as with many of our gatherings, got deep. In that short evening, I felt as if I had experienced the type of genuine and honest interaction among a group of people that is rarely accomplished. No one held back. We talked about everything, including our feelings as Americans, and expressed what this country means to each of us; both the good things and the bad. My new friend, the only white person in the group, was not uncomfortable in the least when she expressed her feelings and posed some difficult questions. Neither were any of my African-American friends in posing their questions, and addressing our conflicting feelings and thoughts. It was a moment in which I truly felt as if there was “no color-line.” The overall sentiment that we all expressed is that America is our home, regardless of its past; and we all discussed the fact that there is no way for African-Americans to disregard the ill-treatment of our ancestors, when trying to reconcile our identity as Americans. We talked about the things in our modern society that have seemed to divide one human being from the other, and how important it is for these types of conversations to take place in society if we are to ever really rid ourselves of racism. At one point, someone said, “If more people could talk to each other the way that we are now, just think about how many misconceptions about each other could be avoided, or even done away with.”
Even though it was my friend’s birthday that we were celebrating, I felt as if I had received a gift. The most special moment of the night, for me, came as I was saying goodbye to my new friends, when the woman who’d so freely shared her thoughts with us gave me a hug, and told me that this evening had been not only a wonderful celebration, but one that had enlightened her. I felt the same. That evening, a line of communication was opened that can hopefully catch on. What started as a game, turned out to be so much more, and when I think about the significance of it all, I have to stand in awe at the congealing power of humanity. When we are willing to open ourselves to various understandings, and seek answers to the questions that may sometimes make us uncomfortable, the dissolution of racial divisions seems completely possible. But, “everything in its time.” Just as I had thought that my 4th of July story would not come, but soon did, so too, will we move toward a time when more people will be able to experience what we shared on that afternoon, a true Independence Day. It's funny, I thought it was a game, but it wasn’t.
Copyright © 2008
This past 4th of July, I didn’t want to do anything, except sit at my computer in my pajamas as long as I wanted, doing what I love to do…write. But after several false starts and staring at the same couple of paragraphs for more hours than I care to admit, I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to find the level of inspiration I needed to get through the 4th of July piece I’d started writing a few weeks back. If this had been the good ole’ days of the typewriter, there would have been a trashcan full of crumpled pages bearing my discarded thoughts. But, at least I did accomplish one of my intentions; the day was well on its way by the time I stepped into the shower and changed into a fresh pair of “jammies”. I decided that I wasn’t going to stress over not having written much, and turned to my second obsession- watching the news; and there I stayed, happily following the latest breaking facsimiles of news. I still knew that there was something I was supposed to be saying about this momentous day, and it bothered me that for some reason, I was unable to form the thoughts and words to convey what I felt.
Now, I come from a family of strong believers in God, and as they say, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I’m no Bible totin’, scripture quotin’ type of a person, but I have experienced a spiritual growth that helps me to maintain my grounding, and recognize when higher powers are at work. I didn’t trip. I was sure that the answer and the words would come when the time was right. And I didn’t have to wait long. The next day, a friend was celebrating her birthday, and several friends gathered to share this special moment in her life. Some people I knew, and some I’d just met for the first time, but there was an overall air of one-ness that permeated the entire afternoon and evening. While there, one friend suggested that we play a game he called, Questions, where each person wrote down two to three questions about any subject and placed the folded paper in a bowl. After much protest about playing party games, we all sat around and as the questions were read, those who wanted to, could respond to the question. Of course, because of the historic nature of current events, the topic of race and the presidential election was one of the questions. The crowd was entirely African-American, with the exception of one couple- one person of white ethnicity, and the other person, Hispanic. What happened as the game progressed was something that I wish all people could experience.
The conversations that day, as with many of our gatherings, got deep. In that short evening, I felt as if I had experienced the type of genuine and honest interaction among a group of people that is rarely accomplished. No one held back. We talked about everything, including our feelings as Americans, and expressed what this country means to each of us; both the good things and the bad. My new friend, the only white person in the group, was not uncomfortable in the least when she expressed her feelings and posed some difficult questions. Neither were any of my African-American friends in posing their questions, and addressing our conflicting feelings and thoughts. It was a moment in which I truly felt as if there was “no color-line.” The overall sentiment that we all expressed is that America is our home, regardless of its past; and we all discussed the fact that there is no way for African-Americans to disregard the ill-treatment of our ancestors, when trying to reconcile our identity as Americans. We talked about the things in our modern society that have seemed to divide one human being from the other, and how important it is for these types of conversations to take place in society if we are to ever really rid ourselves of racism. At one point, someone said, “If more people could talk to each other the way that we are now, just think about how many misconceptions about each other could be avoided, or even done away with.”
Even though it was my friend’s birthday that we were celebrating, I felt as if I had received a gift. The most special moment of the night, for me, came as I was saying goodbye to my new friends, when the woman who’d so freely shared her thoughts with us gave me a hug, and told me that this evening had been not only a wonderful celebration, but one that had enlightened her. I felt the same. That evening, a line of communication was opened that can hopefully catch on. What started as a game, turned out to be so much more, and when I think about the significance of it all, I have to stand in awe at the congealing power of humanity. When we are willing to open ourselves to various understandings, and seek answers to the questions that may sometimes make us uncomfortable, the dissolution of racial divisions seems completely possible. But, “everything in its time.” Just as I had thought that my 4th of July story would not come, but soon did, so too, will we move toward a time when more people will be able to experience what we shared on that afternoon, a true Independence Day. It's funny, I thought it was a game, but it wasn’t.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
A Feeling Is...
In 1903, W.E.B DuBois wrote extensively about the double consciousness of African-American people. He stated, “One ever feels his two-ness, -an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder”. With America poised to elect its first black President, the question of African-American patriotism has come to the larger conversation of society like no other time in history since the Civil War. This question, whether it comes from within our community or from without, stems from the inescapable condition of the dual consciousness of African-Americans.
The poem, A Feeling Is… is a first person narrative that expresses the inner conflict that often arises in the lives of African-American people as we try to merge the double self into one better and truer self. This conflict of consciousness occurs when the desire to fully embrace our identity as Americans clashes with the desire to honor and hold onto our own history and culture. The narrative voice of this poem relates the torment that is felt as this experience of self –reconciliation takes place.
A Feeling Is…
By Trudi L. Perkins, copyright © 2008
I feel it coming on, moving through me like a hot, red fire consuming my belly,
Causing turmoil in the blue skies of my contented delusion,
and confusion to be written on the whiteboard of my mind…
What is this strange, yet familiar feeling that is taking hold within my being?
This thing stirring deep within and yearning to be embraced.
It makes me want to scream out, but I cannot be sure of the utterances that may come.
Which voice will speak through me?
The ancestors, whose spirits speak to me, having waited so long, rotting in their graves for this chance to have their voices heard?
Or would it be the young child, who shuddered as the words midnight, and nappy-head were hurled at her like heavy bricks bearing all the weight of history?
Or perhaps this child will speak as the woman who grew to love her black skin and nappy locks.
Maybe she will speak as the woman who has always tried to believe in the historical creeds of this land.
The voice that speaks can only be one of truth;
She will speak with the voice of one who still mourns the theft of her history.
She will say to her sister, “Speak. I hear you, even if they do not.”
The turmoil continues.
The silent screams build.
I am afraid to let myself believe what I feel is about to happen.
Afraid to speak the powerful words that I cannot yet convey with conviction.
So I
Say nothing. Do nothing…
But feel.
It is drawing close… so close that it causes my heart to speed.
The familiarity of the feeling painfully brings back memories of earlier days
When truth came in and shed its dark light on hope.
The day I understood the reality of the nightly news.
The struggles, the strength, the sorrows of the past and the dreams of tomorrow.
A storm wages battle inside my soul.
I want to believe that what I feel is true.
There is evidence to support its reality, for I know that I am living through the better days.
Yet, I am doubtful
Of what it truly means for me to say I am proud of the tri-colored band I have been told is to be honored.
The words have formed in my head. I can hear them chanting, trying to break free.
I was taught as a child that words carry power; choose wisely what you will say.
For too long, I have waited to feel the honesty in these few spoken words.
To feel my heart lift as high as my head when I view the spangled colors of white, blue and red.
The fluttering in my heart tells me that the time is now.
The uncertainty subsides.
I find that these feelings which once caused me to tremble have become an exquisite yawning of my spirit.
Expanding the lungs of my life.
Refreshing and renewing the idea of hope.
I hear myself saying, go ahead, test the waters.
Dare to let yourself see how it feels to be one of them.
Say the word “patriot”, a word that you always felt was there to simply take up valuable space in your cherished dictionary.
The words continually hammer at my lips.
Very soon now, they will surely break free.
The apathy will have no choice but to openly share its space, or move on.
Very soon I will watch as the history books will no longer be able to hide in their pages the contributions of the generations.
Very soon I will say and believe in the words: America the beautiful.
And I will finally feel my bosom swell when I say: I am proud to be an American.
Very soon I will say to my brother: Mr. President, take your place.
On that day, the ancestors and I will rejoice.
The poem, A Feeling Is… is a first person narrative that expresses the inner conflict that often arises in the lives of African-American people as we try to merge the double self into one better and truer self. This conflict of consciousness occurs when the desire to fully embrace our identity as Americans clashes with the desire to honor and hold onto our own history and culture. The narrative voice of this poem relates the torment that is felt as this experience of self –reconciliation takes place.
A Feeling Is…
By Trudi L. Perkins, copyright © 2008
I feel it coming on, moving through me like a hot, red fire consuming my belly,
Causing turmoil in the blue skies of my contented delusion,
and confusion to be written on the whiteboard of my mind…
What is this strange, yet familiar feeling that is taking hold within my being?
This thing stirring deep within and yearning to be embraced.
It makes me want to scream out, but I cannot be sure of the utterances that may come.
Which voice will speak through me?
The ancestors, whose spirits speak to me, having waited so long, rotting in their graves for this chance to have their voices heard?
Or would it be the young child, who shuddered as the words midnight, and nappy-head were hurled at her like heavy bricks bearing all the weight of history?
Or perhaps this child will speak as the woman who grew to love her black skin and nappy locks.
Maybe she will speak as the woman who has always tried to believe in the historical creeds of this land.
The voice that speaks can only be one of truth;
She will speak with the voice of one who still mourns the theft of her history.
She will say to her sister, “Speak. I hear you, even if they do not.”
The turmoil continues.
The silent screams build.
I am afraid to let myself believe what I feel is about to happen.
Afraid to speak the powerful words that I cannot yet convey with conviction.
So I
Say nothing. Do nothing…
But feel.
It is drawing close… so close that it causes my heart to speed.
The familiarity of the feeling painfully brings back memories of earlier days
When truth came in and shed its dark light on hope.
The day I understood the reality of the nightly news.
The struggles, the strength, the sorrows of the past and the dreams of tomorrow.
A storm wages battle inside my soul.
I want to believe that what I feel is true.
There is evidence to support its reality, for I know that I am living through the better days.
Yet, I am doubtful
Of what it truly means for me to say I am proud of the tri-colored band I have been told is to be honored.
The words have formed in my head. I can hear them chanting, trying to break free.
I was taught as a child that words carry power; choose wisely what you will say.
For too long, I have waited to feel the honesty in these few spoken words.
To feel my heart lift as high as my head when I view the spangled colors of white, blue and red.
The fluttering in my heart tells me that the time is now.
The uncertainty subsides.
I find that these feelings which once caused me to tremble have become an exquisite yawning of my spirit.
Expanding the lungs of my life.
Refreshing and renewing the idea of hope.
I hear myself saying, go ahead, test the waters.
Dare to let yourself see how it feels to be one of them.
Say the word “patriot”, a word that you always felt was there to simply take up valuable space in your cherished dictionary.
The words continually hammer at my lips.
Very soon now, they will surely break free.
The apathy will have no choice but to openly share its space, or move on.
Very soon I will watch as the history books will no longer be able to hide in their pages the contributions of the generations.
Very soon I will say and believe in the words: America the beautiful.
And I will finally feel my bosom swell when I say: I am proud to be an American.
Very soon I will say to my brother: Mr. President, take your place.
On that day, the ancestors and I will rejoice.
Someone Please Help Me Understand
Someone Please Help Me Understand
Trudi L. Perkins, Copyright © 2005
Someone please help me understand
How a woman like me can both love and hate the same land
How I can be proud of the Black soldiers in arms
And at the same time know that among others,
It is themselves that they will harm.
Someone please help me understand
Why my heart cannot always lift as high as my head
When I view those spangled colors of White, Blue and Red
And did I say White?
Yeah… That’s been said.
Someone please help me understand
Just what patriotism means for a woman like me
Does it mean that I should just let it all be?
Does it mean that I should simply bow my head
And disregard all the innocent blood that flows in red?
I get the feeling that patriotism means more than casting a vote
Or else, why would the outcome always seem so remote?
I get the feeling that patriotism is more than a choice
Leaving things to the powers that be, only seems to silence my voice.
I get the feeling that the power should lie with me.
But, I wonder…if I speak too loudly, would they simply shoot me?
Silence gives consent
And a dissenting voice breeds resent
But I still often wonder-
What does this flag really represent?
When will we as a people again take a stand?
And say, no more, to the destruction of our own ancestral land?
When you have been stripped of your family ties
And what exists is based on lies, I ask you-
Where, pray tell should your allegiance apply?
Trudi L. Perkins, Copyright © 2005
Someone please help me understand
How a woman like me can both love and hate the same land
How I can be proud of the Black soldiers in arms
And at the same time know that among others,
It is themselves that they will harm.
Someone please help me understand
Why my heart cannot always lift as high as my head
When I view those spangled colors of White, Blue and Red
And did I say White?
Yeah… That’s been said.
Someone please help me understand
Just what patriotism means for a woman like me
Does it mean that I should just let it all be?
Does it mean that I should simply bow my head
And disregard all the innocent blood that flows in red?
I get the feeling that patriotism means more than casting a vote
Or else, why would the outcome always seem so remote?
I get the feeling that patriotism is more than a choice
Leaving things to the powers that be, only seems to silence my voice.
I get the feeling that the power should lie with me.
But, I wonder…if I speak too loudly, would they simply shoot me?
Silence gives consent
And a dissenting voice breeds resent
But I still often wonder-
What does this flag really represent?
When will we as a people again take a stand?
And say, no more, to the destruction of our own ancestral land?
When you have been stripped of your family ties
And what exists is based on lies, I ask you-
Where, pray tell should your allegiance apply?
Message From An X Patriot
Message From An X Patriot
(The after-effect of 9/11)
By Trudi Perkins copyright © 2004
I have no outrage to spare, to share in
Your newfound sense
Of freedom.
My supply of anger is not depleted, my friend, but
It must be rationed.
So, I have no discourse to offer,
To ease the blinding pains of racism
Which you now feel, and
My heart bleeds for you, with you, but—“See”?
That’s all I can say.
Because I’ve lived with this racism every day.
Now someone has toppled tall buildings
And killed by the thousands.
They, the haters of America, so hardened by history and God
Bless us who live in America
'Cause there’s some payback coming, and it will cost
You, me and them.
It will come at the expense of my freedom and yours.
Still confused, my friend? Well let me break it down for you-
Your headwraps remind them of the other
Darkies, whose culture and people they defiled
Yet could not destroy.
Your skin, your hair, your tongue, your eyes,
You-
You represent the enemy which they created,
Yet cannot truly see.
So police stop you for no reason, while others
Cross streets when they see you coming.
They lump you together with criminals
By virtue of your skin, clothes and faith.
Try to injure your spirit with questions
The answers being that which they could never understand.
But hey, anything to protect the land.
You stand amazed
But we are not amused by the political rhetoric
That denies the underlying truths.
Lady Liberty went shopping the other day,
Bought herself a fine new blindfold…
Dense and strong, so the injustice of this land she no longer must behold.
Bigotry is free to again become this nation’s stronghold.
But what about Freedom and Rights? You say.
I saluted the flag and swore to uphold them just the other day.
Oh yeah?
For True?
Damn.
Welcome to my America.
(The after-effect of 9/11)
By Trudi Perkins copyright © 2004
I have no outrage to spare, to share in
Your newfound sense
Of freedom.
My supply of anger is not depleted, my friend, but
It must be rationed.
So, I have no discourse to offer,
To ease the blinding pains of racism
Which you now feel, and
My heart bleeds for you, with you, but—“See”?
That’s all I can say.
Because I’ve lived with this racism every day.
Now someone has toppled tall buildings
And killed by the thousands.
They, the haters of America, so hardened by history and God
Bless us who live in America
'Cause there’s some payback coming, and it will cost
You, me and them.
It will come at the expense of my freedom and yours.
Still confused, my friend? Well let me break it down for you-
Your headwraps remind them of the other
Darkies, whose culture and people they defiled
Yet could not destroy.
Your skin, your hair, your tongue, your eyes,
You-
You represent the enemy which they created,
Yet cannot truly see.
So police stop you for no reason, while others
Cross streets when they see you coming.
They lump you together with criminals
By virtue of your skin, clothes and faith.
Try to injure your spirit with questions
The answers being that which they could never understand.
But hey, anything to protect the land.
You stand amazed
But we are not amused by the political rhetoric
That denies the underlying truths.
Lady Liberty went shopping the other day,
Bought herself a fine new blindfold…
Dense and strong, so the injustice of this land she no longer must behold.
Bigotry is free to again become this nation’s stronghold.
But what about Freedom and Rights? You say.
I saluted the flag and swore to uphold them just the other day.
Oh yeah?
For True?
Damn.
Welcome to my America.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)