buried deep
inside,
a part of self
wishing only
to hide,
preferring to
“live”
a lie.
how to see
it
let alone speak
it–
that,
which altered
a Life.
innocence
forever lost,
a new trajectory
is now forced.
but not
without
a heavy cost.
one can only run
from The Truth
but so far
before it
festers and scars.
An untold story
will travel from life to life,
causing all matters
of angst and strife
until it is
revealed,
brought
finally
to the Light.
Molecular memory,
this may inform
the long arm of slavery.
The past
reaching relentlessly
into the future.
Those who were once deemed “master”
carry the seeds of feeling superior-
better than those they enslaved:
the men shackled and emasculated;
the women relegated to nannies and maids,
their dark bodies laid open
to cavalierly invade.
Trauma being made
on and in both sides;
a slow
imperceptible
suicide.
When will we finally realize…
I am
waking
from a deep sleep,
wondering
Where am I?
What is it
I had to eat?
How did I get here
to these beliefs?
I rub my eyes
as I try
to make sense
of what has become complete nonsense.
I hear the ancestors cry;
they ask why?
Why are you and your kin moving back?
Do you not realize this is a slap
in the face
to those who were brave?
Don’t allow our sacrifice and pain
to have been made in utter vain-
wasted blood, sweat, and tears
over the course of hundreds of dark years!
Wake up from your deep sleep,
the antecedents weep.
It is now your turn to learn
that freedom ain’t free;
it is your sacred responsibility
to the past, present and future
family.
More Love
this is what the world
needs more of.
More time spent together
remembering we are
keepers of each other.
We’re all made of the same stuff,
crafted from sanctified dust;
unique yet the same,
OneLove with different names.
In you, I see my divinity;
In me, you see your humanity.
We are but mere mirrors –
brothers, sisters.
We must re-member
What We Really Are,
never from our Light
shall we stray too far.
More Love
that is what our world
craves more of-
give It,
receive It,
preach It,
commit
to
Love.
Make It your religion,
your only reason for being.
Two Friends
on a beach
walking,
talking,
planning,
dreaming,
birthing
their visions
into existence.
One Friend,
compelled by her Soul’s necessity;
The Other,
moved by an insatiable curiosity.
Both,
desiring to leave behind
an indelible legacy-
to inspire,
empower,
unleash creativity;
to free the masses
from contraction and boredom
by en-couraging
expansion and freedom!
These two friends
on that beach
were destined to meet,
brought together
by old friends
now deceased.
The story continues
until it is
complete.
To most, she is seen as sweet,
angelic and gracious.
To some, she is perceived as bitter,
mischievous, and a tad imperious.
Over there, her presence elicits
captivation and glee!
Here, she is an irksome mystery
from which all wish to quickly flee!
It all depends
on the spectator lens,
the time of day,
the way
the wind bends.
Not about her;
it is simply
a matter
of subjectivity.
She, sensitive in nature,
must re-call
the most challenging agreement
of them all:
Take no thing personally.
“It is not about me,”
she must come to see,
so as to not suffer needlessly,
drowning in an abyss of sheer misery.
To live peacefully,
to walk confidently,
to do righteously,
she must be steeped
only
in He.
“O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me. And yet I swear this oath-America will be!” Langston Hughes
My country
strives to be
a sweet Land of Liberty,
a Crown of Beauty,
from sea to shining sea-
an example
a beacon
to other countries
and peoples
to witness
the possibility
of beloved community
amidst vast diversity,
of justice
amidst adversity,
of kindness
in the midst of such plenty.
America,
this grand, young experiment
in democracy-
governance
of
for
by
We, The People.
Still struggling with its meaning,
back and forth, we go;
to and fro,
from the high
to the very low.
Another birthday,
America
tentatively celebrates,
expressing gratitude
for what is good.
While also cultivating
a firm commitment
to manifesting
for all
that which is
honorable,
innocent,
hopeful
within the
imperfect,
complex,
uncomfortable
experiment
that gave birth to a nation
of immigrants.
PRAY,
allow God
to show you
His Way,
His Plan,
His Hand.
There’s no need
for you to understand.
Simply surrender
to The Will
of your Creator,
The One who sees
far and wide.
What, then,
is a better guide
to how one lives and thrives
on this journey
called
Life.
Twists and turns,
scars and burns,
new lessons
constantly re-learned.
Such is the stuff
of a Life,
that crooked path of a spirit made flesh.
And so, we humbly relent,
look up, only to the sky
for consistent help.
PRAY.
Listen.
Do only what He says.
Don’t-
yet-
know my true histories:
African
Haitian
American.
Thus, this iteration of Life
is a bit of a mystery
to me.
Not certain where I am going
‘cause I know not where I’ve been.
Still,
plates are shifting
somewhere deep within,
resulting in a tsunami without.
Mighty waves
ripping at my skin-
shredding
shedding.
Left naked and raw,
drenched in the miraculous,
I am
re-created
to some other form:
a new being steeped in grace
and a deep peace
born of the confidence
in its Divine Service.
A clarity in vision
that bears a great conviction;
A fire-
this time-
on the inside
that one cannot hide,
nor its mission be denied.
“Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript of a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you are already that.” ― Jalaluddin Rumi
For those of us who crave Quiet,
who suckle on silence as if it were Mother’s milk,
in every moment,
a trade must be made,
a resultant price paid:
do we the “self” isolate
or do we “other” engage?
The latter can feel like flagellation
when the Quiet Soul
has reached
its social limitation –
that tipping point,
the point of no and diminishing return,
where absolute quiet
is all one yearns-
gasping for it as if a fish out of water,
the mind in an uproar –
all chaos and disorder.
But then…
the consequence
of a life lived largely withdrawn,
where solitude is the norm:
a nagging,
disconcerting
loneliness settles down,
deep into them dry bones-
a thick film
centuries old,
sending gentle warnings to the Quiet Soul
that this human form
was crafted
to be ever
connected.
burgeoninc 