Monday, July 29, 2013

The Courage to Make Amends.



July 22nd marked the day of my sweet friend Dante’s golden birthday…22 years, wiser all the time.  We’d been talking for a while about visiting and photographing his abandoned middle school, Malcolm X Academy, the most memorable and valuable educational experience of his youth (Afro-centric and progressive in many ways), and it became quite apparent as we mulled over how to commemorate his evolution that his birthday was the perfect day to take on that mission.  And so myself, Dante, and beautiful Swedish Rebecka (making her return to the D after spending last summer studying, discovering, and loving Detroit and all that it is), squeezed into my two-seater pick-up and headed on over to the west side.




The moment we heaved ourselves up into the building through a broken out window, the intensity of the experience felt almost overwhelming.  I'll let the pictures speak for the visual impact – an all too common scene here in Detroit, but what became more and more astounding as we moved deeper through the building was the slap-you-across-the-face, BLUNT symbolism of our educational emergency, of our continued racial oppression, and of our human situation that seems to be so lost and mis-prioritized that this sort of thing can just… happen. All over, all around us. 

A once beautiful space of learning, where black students celebrated their heros, and provided themselves with the human right to learn about their people, their culture, and their history was now nothing more than a heaping pile of despairing evidence of what once was.   


We traipsed through every classroom, every closet, every bathroom, searching for clues.  It had been 10 years since Dante walked those halls, but it remained well preserved in his memory.  He remembered each of his old classrooms and the names of all his teachers, Mama and Baba instead of Mr. and Mrs.  He led us into the classroom of the teacher who still used the paddle, and the one who generously paid his way to be part of a mentorship program called My Brother’s Keeper.  We even stumbled upon the little corner where he got caught making out with his first girlfriend.



We discovered that after the school closed as Malcolm X Academy (which has since re-opened in another location, Dante’s old computer teacher is now the principle), it served as an alternative school for one year.  We unearthed an old syllabus that revealed the name of that School: Last Chance Academy. As if in naming, they were preparing for everyone's doom.   

When we got to the gym, Dante remembered that there was a big portrait of Malcolm painted on the center of the floor.  We used our feet to vigorously kick off the trash and dust off his face.  And as his face became exposed, so became our purpose there.  We were there to visit a past.  Dante’s childhood past, our city’s educational past, our nation’s unjust past, so that we can make something of amends for our future.  We are going back to the school to wash Malcolm’s face clean – to pay our respect, and to make a symbolic vow to use our energy and talents to strive for liberation, for all people.

That night when I got home, winding down from an oddly beautiful day, I was sitting in bed checking email.  I accidentally hit the “sort by date” button, so that my emails were listed from beginning to end.  Up popped a good 5 e-mails from my mom.  I’ve known in the back of my mind for the past 5 years since her passing that I had evidence of our correspondence floating around in my inbox somewhere.  That her being my mom, and me be being her daughter, and our communication with one another as such was documented and stored.  I hadn’t yet been ready to take that on.  After the day at Malcolm X, and experiencing Dante’s courage to revisit a place that was once alive and real, and now long gone… I suddenly felt able to go there. 

The emails took place a few months before her death, while I was traveling and studying in Greece for the summer.  I was recapping my experiences, and she was being a mom.  Happy, proud, supportive. 

“I cannot express how I've been feeling all day.  I cannot believe that I have a daughter such as you, who has prepared (her whole life, without knowing), and propelled herself to such a place where she is worthy of all the universe has to offer.  I am so proud, so happy that I am your mother...  You go girl!”
What I thought would be too painful to relive, was actually just perfectly okay.  I’d been holding on to this idea all this time that she didn’t care enough about herself or me to prioritize her health and avoid a sudden death. 

But now I can let that go.  I can choose what to remember her by, and I will remember her for what she gave me.  And so this is me, making amends.   

    
We cannot save that building.  We cannot bring back the kids from that blighted hood to learn about their heros in a setting that was created for their empowerment.  And I cannot bring back my mom and make her exercise and quit drinking and smoking.  But we can go there.  We can cultivate the courage to revisit our pasts and make peace with them.  And with the gorgeous nature of the past, we can just sort of drop in for a visit, and then leave again when we’ve gotten what we need.  We can squeeze out the love, only to realize that the pain isn’t so debilitating anymore.  We can show our respect and gratitude for the gifts the experiences have given our character, and remember that the most powerful tool we have for liberation and transformation are our stories.              

Friday, July 19, 2013

Enough Already.


Reading quotes aloud from a book of meditations to my friend Jack while building a bench together, this simple little one-liner gave us a big hearty dose.

“Knowing what is enough is wealth.”

Right.

If we can say,  “I have enough stuff” or “I am doing enough” or  “I have enough money” or “I have enough love in my life,” we aren’t suffering from the shame of inadequacy that a society built on superfluous abundance inflicts upon us. 

We are outsmarting them.  We are bigger than their brainwashing.  

“But how do you know what’s enough?” Jack asked.  “I mean, how does having aspirations fit into that?”

Good question Jack. 

What does it mean to quest in the direction of our highest potential and still be content with what we have… right now?  To have big dreams to reach toward while appreciating everything that we are and everything that we have as enough, today.

In this moment, I am in pretty severe physical pain.  And it's giving me clues.  

My past few days have been spent enduring a gnarly ass migraine, which has made it pretty difficult to do much of anything.  Thinking hurts, walking hurts, reading hurts, while sleeping is about the only thing that makes the pain go away... until I wake up.  It feels like my to-do list is growing by the minute, while nothing is being checked off.  And so today (and yesterday) my enough-capacity is really limited – actually, just writing this is enough. 

Tomorrow (I pray) my enough-capacity will increase, and the next day even more, and I can work harder, longer, and manage more.   But I can’t help but wonder if I’m in this pickle today because I’ve been defying me enough-capacity in days prior. 

Of a culture that values doing over being, we’re all suffering from a mass-neurosis around obsessive production.  Even those of us working “against the system,” the very system that keeps us down by over-working us, are no better, as we sacrifice our health-states, love-states, and peace-states for productivity-at-any-cost.         

But what is happiness made up of really?  What is fulfillment based on truly?  I can tell you one thing, it’s not this migraine.  And if I slow down, and gift myself the act of creation because it makes my life better rather than continue to be disempowered by the mind-set that I'm never doing enough, that the only way to make a mark on this place is to create as much as possible as quickly as possible, then I won’t lose two days to severe pain and incapacitation. 

Because the truth is, I haven’t even been swimming yet this summer. 

Respect your spirit.  

Be enough.

(photos are limited due to the fact that my brain hurts). 


Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Power to the Process.



The title of this here blog project and the purpose for its existence is a loyal reverence to the process, which as would happen, has become rather foundational to my thinking since I began this journey.  This week, I’ve been contemplating a great deal about outcome... and the role it plays for better and for worse.  And more particularly, the desired outcome, or the fantasy vision we dream up for ourselves and others – as if we are in sole control of what goes down in this big ol’ infinite universe. 


There’s this grand illusion that most of us, on some level, buy into - which is that the outcome is where purpose and gratification are stored.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I full-
heartedly believe in the immense power of dreaming great-big-beautiful visions.  But I’m also growing to understand that our suffering arises when we forcibly attach ourselves to how, what, and with whom sh*t ought to go down.  When we exalt ourselves to the almighty status of “decider” losing sight of any other way. This is where the problems lie… Let me count the ways:


1)We set ourselves up for failure.  There is, at every given moment, a limitless amount of possible factors that will throw off the manifestation of the vision we have designed.  If we are only open to one way, then we will surely lose our way.    


      

2)We short-change our growth potential.  An outcome is merely a motivation for movement.  When we are so stuck on a certain result, we close ourselves off to the beautiful growth opportunities that open themselves up to us all along the way. 


3)We become rigid in our thinking, our minds become narrow, and we diminish our ability to be mystified by the surprises and gifts happening around us all the time.

4)We rarely factor pain into our plan.  And so when our hearts break, or our jobs fail, or we lose our homes, we become victims of loss, rather than agents of free-flowing change.  A change that is necessary to take us higher if we are able to accept it as such.

5)We grow accustomed to putting our happiness off.  “Happiness isn’t for now,” we convince ourselves.  “Happiness is for when _____ is in place.”

Story Time:

My girl Hana (or “true boo” as we’ve dubbed one another) decided that she’d outgrown her life in Portland.  It had served its purpose and was beginning to fail her - fail her heart, fail her inspiration, fail her growth.  And so one night about 6 months ago, we were working through her dissatisfaction on the phone, and coming to terms with what needed to change for Hana to receive the best of life’s offerings.  Boston was the obvious conclusion.  She has family there.  She has cultural roots in the Wampanoag tribe in Cape Cod, and she’s determined to get her graduate school on… and Boston has many upon many options.  So, hey, “why don’t you move to Boston?” I suggested.  That was all that needed to be said.  Hana was in.  And so for the past 6 months, she’s been busting hard to save for her cross-country move.  Her plan was to take a few weeks to drive there with a good friend, stopping along the way at worthwhile destinations such as Dollywood, and the hotel where MLK was shot (to name a few).  Almost to her new home city, she had one last person and place to experience.  Kelly, A family friend in Lynchburg Virginia, is a professor of Anthropology and African Studies, a meaningful connection for the work Hana is growing into.  She had a feeling that a stay-over with Kelly would add to her livelihood in some way that was important.  Kelly introduced Hana to a very influential Chilean traveling art educator, who asked Hana what her dream was.  When Hana described it, (to buy an old warehouse, convert it into a youth rec center, with a focus on food, art, music, counseling, and peer mentorship), his interest perked… as he was actively working to grow that very thing, and invited Hana to be an instrumental part of its development. And so now Hana’s moving to Lynchburg.  She plans to spend the next month connecting with her peeps in the Cape while studying for the GRE, and then is jumping on the bandwagon to where her process led her.  

Because she decided to change what wasn’t working for her.

Because she listened to the signs.

Because she wasn’t attached to her outcome.

And well, because she’s Hana. A truly amazing human (as those of you who are lucky to know her can attest). <3

I think Hana’s story does an impeccable job at showing what an outcome is really for.  Motivation.  Direction.  A Loose Guide. 

As being a "dreamer" is something that I don't see myself outgrowing anytime soon, I am simultaneously becoming more and more a devout worshipper of the process.  Here’s why:

1)It teaches us how to trust.  How to surrender to life’s offerings, how to put our egos aside, and attract what we truly need.

2)It gives us the strength to overcome.  When we are connected to our process, we are in touch with the fact that the only thing we are truly in charge of is our growth, and the only thing we can truly expect is change.   

3)We become more versatile.  We hit fewer walls.  We find deeper meaning in everything.

4)We become empowered by making it “through”.  We are able to reap the growth benefits of taking on the challenges we are gifted.

5)We are more open and willing to saying hello and also saying goodbye.

6)We become more apt to forgive ourselves and others because the process is all about screwing up… and sometimes a lot, to figure out what works best.   

7)We build our connection to spirituality.  We work with our higher power(s), rather than try and be it/them.

8)Our happiness is for today.  For right now.  For this very moment.  Because there will never be a time that we are not fully immersed in some process or another. 

It’s not the first time Bruce Lee said it best…

Be water, my friend.

And from the young adult fiction novel (Where the Mountain Meets the Moon) that’s rockin my world right now…

You only lose what you cling to. 
Illustration by Dante Cureton