Memorial Day Meanderings

When did Memorial day get started and why? Nowadays you can google that question and get a pretty good answer, this reminds me of the time when I would search through the encyclopedia or dictionary to learn about something. I miss the days of paper search, I remembering those rectangular odd shaped library catalog cards, the one's you had to pluck through to uncover where the book you were looking might be. Its in the remembering that I come to realize that this day is more than just the morning of soldiers in federally mandated combat but this has to be a day about all to the casualties of war and about all of the wars named and unnamed.

I'm thinking about all the slaves who died during slavery, all the senseless victims of jim crow and all the science experiments on black people. These are the victims of a race war, we don't call it that but that's what it is. It it equally as important to remember our heroes, the people who against all odds fought for the dignity of humanity, folk like Harriet Tubman, Fredrick Douglass and others.

I was listening to a book on CD about spirituality and I love it when the voice spoke about identity, self identity and empowering one's self to define themselves. It's one of the most challenging things to do in this culture, define the self and celebrity and popularity is more important than character. I began to think about Harriet Tubman and how despite her status as a slave, she claimed an identity that not only led her to believe she deserved better but to actually put herself in a situation where she was able to live with dignity, equality and pride. She didn't let American slave owners define her, she didn't let American racism brand her with an identity, she must have had the type of relationship with spirit that provoked and inspired her to know her own personal truth and this can only come from a deeply profound and internal spiritual underpinning.

I'm realizing that stepping into an identity self proclaimed means that I am now having to mourn, I'm having to remember the old me, the me that is now laid to rest, the me that fought the good fight but the me that really wasn't the me that I wanted or desired or envisioned. I keep sensing this stand still with myself, I'm not sure where to go and what to do but it's clear that I'm not going back to the way I used to be. And it feels strange to move into this unknown territory of self actualization, to finally get to know myself. It is a wonderful feeling to finally honor what I've always wanted to do with my life to step into the active behavior of my heart's longing. It is also ripe with the unknown, I've never been fearful of the unknown and somehow the combination has me at a stand still and in a state of semi-shock. Actually it's like waking up to see the sun after a long, long, long winter or it's a kin to being reunited with someone you haven't seen in years or someone you thought you'd never see again.

I'm here, right where I want to be and it is a memorial to the Charlotte that with as much courage and strength brought me to this point. It is the Charlotte that attempted to please everyone else, do what others wanted her to do and be what others wanted her to be. She played the social game of life, she made lots of mistakes and contributed honorable things but in the midst I tamped down into a corner some of the things I wanted for me because I thought that was best at the time. I left small dreams by the side of the road because life needed me to do something else and I people pleased until I was depleted emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, socially, psychologically and anything else I might have had. I gave in and gave up on me and replaced that with trying to make others happy, trying to be what people thought I should be.

The truth is that I failed miserably at allowing my external reality to define who I was. I failed because I knew deep down inside that's not who I was. I failed because there has been and will continue to be a part of me, the Harriett Tubman part of me that wants to fight for the truth. and today I wonder how many soldiers, in their last hours wondered how they got to where they were. How they allowed the world to define their life and how much of themselves did they forego to serve a country that didn't have the decency to allow them to be themselves. I'm not mourning death, I'm mourning the inability of people to manifest their souls passion. I'm mourning all the spirits lost in a war that wasn't about anything really when you look back at it. It has been and will continue to be a war with the self, the war of self acceptance because if we really got in touch with who we are, loved our own selves, we would not feel the need for war. The war is an internal war with outer consequences. Sometimes people are mean, sometimes people are cruel, sometimes people are simply violent but this is not the true nature of the human spirit, this is the agitation that lingers within the human mind and instead of doing self reflection or creating a moment for contemplation, humanity thinks it's easier to lash out at those nearest to them and some humans are lucky enough to lash out at those far away.

Today I step away from the need to hurt others because of my own internal struggles. I pray that I act in compassion to all that I encounter including myself. My memorial, the death of the old me is sad and magnificent at the same time. I look at the tomb stone I create in my mind to indicate this moment in my human evolution. It's really just the girl-child in me, she's all grown up now. She's at rest, reincarnating into something else and I appreciate her because she carried me for way too long. I won't miss her, just like I won't miss any of the soldiers because the truth is that they are always and ever present in spirit. Happy Memorial Day Humanity and Happy Memorial Day to me.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

Okay, I'm in a great mood this morning because I had a dream that I was in my ideal relationship and it felt just as good as I thought it would feel. And this light I see at the end of the tunnel has me recognizing the beauty of living. Living long enough to fulfill some dreams I had for myself. Dreams that some how got dropped off on the sidelines of life. As if I put them in the storage area of my attic and totally forgot about them. But you know how it is, that stuff in the attic we never really forget about. When you least expect it a memory flows into plain view and triggers a thought about something you put up in the attic. Something that is near and dear to your heart but for some reason you can't muster up the courage or strength to give it the attention it needs. I'm old enough to not have needs or so I say or so I think. The light breaks through the inevitability of today's morning clouds and I can't help but feel nostalgic about some old wants, some old needs and some very, very old dreams.

I love Boondocks, I love the satirical nature of Huey who speaks his mind or more so speaks what's on the minds of most sensible, consciously thinking black folk. The picture is reminiscent of the expectations of black people, as if we don't aspire to be more. I remember as a child, more like I was teenager and I wanted a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, they were all the rage back then but my single parent, single income mother could not and would not buy them for me. Also, at the same time I was venturing into developing new friendships with people that lived life on the edge. We smoked cigarettes in the school bathroom, junior high school bathroom to be more specific and we looted local stores. Looting was their primary activity and something I wasn't really familiar with nor was it something I actually wanted to do but I wanted to be a part of this group of vagabonds, I wanted the rush of being a bad girl because for the bulk of my life I had been a good girl-scout-going and good church-going girl who didn't really have any interest in boys or at least not yet. The goodyness of my behavior meant that I would receive ocassional taunts and people would look at me as if being good was some type of disease. In my desire to cure myself of this ailment, I began to cultivate a friendship with the "bad" kids which was easy because back then kids weren't so picky about who they hung out with, as long as you were with the program, you were allowed to be a part of the crowd.

My first act of looting, okay let's call a spade a spade, my first act of theft went extremely awful. I couldn't really think of anything that I wanted except these jeans but in my heart of hearts, I knew I could live without them. They were like so many of the other things that I wanted, things I would list on pieces of paper after looking through the latest Sears, JCPenney and Spiegel's catalog. I would make these list knowing full well that I would never get 99% of the stuff but it was the list making that was enjoyable. But membership in my new gang of friends required either booze stolen from a parent's stash. This couldn't happen because my mother was a non-drinking high holy roller sanctified filled with the precious holy ghost and that with fire she had a mind to go on with the lord Pentecostal God fearing and God loving woman. Or you could bring cigarettes and it didn't matter where they came from. I delivered newspapers after school and even at the ripe age of 13, I understood enough about money to know that cigarettes were expensive which meant I shared my cigarettes on an as needed basis, I wasn't interested in dispensing cigarettes like water, I love my money too much. Or you could loot. Now most kids stole things for other kids in the group, I on the other hand was too selfish for that. If I were to steal something and get caught, it better be for something I wanted, thus the brilliant idea for me to steal some jeans from T.J. Maxx.

The short on the long is this, I got caught and I had to stay in this interrogation room for hours because I refused to tell them my name. I knew that the punishment that the system would dole out on me was less severe than the punishment with which I would receive from my mother. I was far more afraid of her than any jail cell, that is until I arrived in the jail cell which freaked me out and I yelled at the top of my lungs my name, address, social security number, girl scout troop leader and of course my mother's name and work phone number. I also remember what the officer said to me that day. He said he hoped he wouldn't see me again but he paused, he looked me dead in the eyes and he said but chances are I would see him again but the next time he would gladly haul me off to my new permanent home because people like me never learn their lessons, people like me will never amount to anything and this is just who I am.

My aunt came to visit me shortly after I came home from all of this and jokingly called me a "thief." As if it was my new name or as if it was my plight in life or as if it was what I was destined to do for the rest of my life. Between the officer and my aunt, the thought of growing up a criminal made me sick to my stomach, it raged in me something so fierce I vowed to never steal again. It unearthed the small but important dreams that I had for myself. Dreams that entailed a life outside of the criminal justice system. Now I'd be remiss to say that I did land in jail again but under different circumstances. I stole my children and because I was directly violating the custody order, I was put into jail over night. This is a long story one full of contradictory details but before and after I have defied the aspirations placed on me by that officer and by my aunt. I realize that I was lucky and I recognize that some aren't so lucky like my brother and I realize more than anything that I can have as many dreams as I want about my life.

Growing up is not the goal, growing into understanding the self is more the direction one wants with their life. Growing new is when you change careers, create new aspirations for yourself and the manifestation of those visions one has is the greatest gift we can give ourselves. I had a vision of wearing Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and the vision did finally come true, after months of tolling and months of saving money from my paper route but when I arrived at the destination it wasn't as joyful as I thought. This lack of umph when I arrive at goals that I accomplished for the sake of others has caused me to realize that if I'm going to work on attaining something maybe it should be what I want.

So today I'm tapping into the attic of my mind and soul, this time I will pluck from the cob webs, the dust and in the sliver of light still present, I will resurrect what I truly want for myself. I will finally grow up, grow in and grow newly into the thing that radiates passion throughout my being. And what I know now is that until I honor my own desired destiny, I will never know what it means to grow up. But today I put on my sash (the kind you wear in girl scouts), it is full of badges from life but now I work towards the badge I've always wanted. The ultimate badge of life, the one thing that I've always wanted to do from the moment I could think of myself as something.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete.