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Science vs Faith

May 18th, 2008 | By

There are two main beliefs in the creation of the world.  Some believe the right gases mixed, we evolved, and this is what we became.  I believe God created the earth, and made us in his image.  I heard this story when I was young and it always stuck with me.

 

There was a woman.  She was burned really bad in a fire.  Her face bared the brunt of the scars.  She had a daughter that loved science, it was her passion.  Her mother worked hard to get her every advantage.

Her mother was so proud of her.  When she won an award for her brilliance, she was the first one there to see it.  She watched her daughter, strong and confident, take the stage and command attention.  She was so impressed.

Then came the speech.  Her mother sat there shocked, listening to her daughter credit science for the creation of man.  Before her speech was over, the mother got up and exited the building.

The daughter found her outside crying.  She wiped her tears and questioned their meaning.  The mother looked into her daughter’s eyes and wept.

Do you know how I got these scars?

The daughter had always wondered, but her mother had showed her so much love she hadn’t asked.  It just didn’t matter.

Well when you were a baby, our house caught on fire.  I had been working so hard, I didn’t wake up at the sound of the alarm.   Your cries finally woke me, but the flames were already in room with us.  I grabbed you, and I prayed.  God told me to move and I did.  I ran through the burning house with you in my arms and I didn’t stop til we were safe outside.  I never felt the flames on my face and body and not a single one touched you.

I thought your love of science would help the world, I never thought it would destroy your faith.

You should read my blog, Poetry: That feeling.   Then let me know what you think.

Two Hearts

May 18th, 2008 | By

When I was 17, I wanted a tattoo, but my mother refused.   She said I was to young to get something permanent on my body.  I was stubborn and didn’t listen, so I grabbed my friends I.D. and went to the tattoo parlor.

It was two weeks before my 18th birthday, and I was surrounded by walls and books full of pictures.

Lil backround.  I had graduated at 16.  I was working and had my own apartment.  I had been in love twice.  My first had taken my virginity and captured my intellect.  Plus my mom hated him.  More than that, he made me think, and I loved that.  He was older, more sexual, and so he cheated.  I broke it off.

Three years later, it happened again.  He made me furious.  He was constantly challenging my ability to deal with other people, which was hard for me.  He was toxic, but I loved him anyway.

I was still in love, but no longer with him when I was standing around all these pictures.  I saw it and I realized my mother was wrong.  I was old enough to realize something that would last my entire life.

Two major loves should be enough to know exactly what you want.  I’m not talking casual dating, I never did that.  I’m talking making yourself sick love.  You should know whick qualities you want and those that should send off red flags.  Even if those are attractive qualities to you, that’s what the arrows’ for.  Never forget the lessons learned in the first two.  The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. Keep on a straight path to finding what you really want.  The blood dripping?  Let it go.  Don’t hold the next man accountable for your past.

In a nutshell, its my philosophy on love.  It can be summed up by Maya Angelo.  “When people show you who they are, believe them.”

Patiently Waiting

May 18th, 2008 | By

Patiently waiting

For the changes inevitable to life

Those that surprise

Even when expected

Nothing more shocking

Though heavily anticipated

Maybe longed for, yet repressed

Boiling to the top

Latent but growing

Fingertips twitch

Shoulders tense

Lips pursed and ready to strike

Confused by the reaction

Never can be prepared

For Life

That Feeling

May 18th, 2008 | By

Nothing

But a feeling

An Invisible something

willing you forward

Questioned by those who ignore

That Feeling

It’s not materialistic

It’s soul searching

Where X marks the spot

Unseen to those who don’t search it out

Unknown to those who block out pain

Instead of dealing

It’s overwhelmingly strong

But bendable to emotion

When invited in, it takes hold

And shapes

And fills

And recreates

That Feeling

An invisible something

willing you forward.

Don’t question, Just Feel

That Feeling

Idle Hands

May 18th, 2008 | By

A couple months ago, an old boyfriend of mine asked, “How much money did I spend on you when we were together?”  I quickly bought my eye roll.  “You didn’t spend any money on me, you were broke.”

He adjusted his stature and tone, the re-approached me.  “You have Idle Hands!  Let’s make some money together.”

I thought to myself, I don’t have idle hands.  I take care of my child, my husband, and my house.  At the end of the day, my hands don’t feel idle.   He saw me deep in thought and let me ponder.  Normally I would’ve snapped back, probably why he’s an ex.  Instead, I said  “I’m listening.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.  I’m starting a web page and I want your face and opinions.”  I held his productive hands in my idle hands and blew him off.

I got to much going on in my life to deal with this.  The next morning I awoke to the sound of my three year old pouring her own cereal.  I walked in the kitchen to find she had already dressed herself.  I told her I was proud of her.  I was glad she didn’t have idle hands. 

There were no dishes to wash, the floors had been vacuumed and I had nothing to do before I took her to school.  I tried to volunteer in her class for the day, but another parent had beat me to the punch.  I went home with nothing to do.

Usually I would play video games in my spare time.  (Don’t knock it, till you try it) Today I wasn’t in the mood.  I flipped through the channels and up pops a random church service.  Can you guess what the topic was?

So in a matter of twelve hours, I’d had a thought provoking exchange with a man who used to think being hard was more important than being smart, my daughter showed her independence, and god sent me a message via comcast.

I realized I had been idle, stuck, and unaware of my immobility.

So now I’m a blogger. 

Let’s eliminate defeatist thinking, unexisting boundaries, and lead filled boots to cure our communties of idle hands.

Pick up the Controller

May 18th, 2008 | By

Since I first played Pac-man on the Atari, I’ve loved video games. I was never into shooter games though. I liked Platforming, the Mario’s and Sonics, and puzzles games, Tetris and Dr. Mario. I just recently got into the new wave of video games.

It started with Devils May Cry. I beat the game in a week and my dude was like what the fuck. He was really into Madden, so I learned how to play a little. The last game we played, I got two sacks on him in the endzone. Safety. Safety. He never played me again.

I began to notice as new games would come out, I would beat the game before him and he’d never play it again. Ladies, did you hear me? After he sees you beat the game, he won’t want to play it anymore. Pick up the controller.

If you think it’s hard, you’d be surprised. It would take you no more than two games under each genre to learn all the rest. There are minor button differences but the premise is all the same. You don’t want him playing video games all night, have the controller in your hand terminating the Locust on GEARS OF WAR, shit talking to someone as you storm their base in COMMAND AND CONQUER, or ripping the guitar in ROCK BAND.

More than stopping him from playing, you’ll be having fun. It’s quite relaxing to run up to some one in LIBERTY CITY (GTA IV), steal their car, and go on a five minute police chase. I would never do it in real life and I don’t let my young daughter watch as I play, but it is fun.

To all my sisters that already know, we run it. Isn’t it fun when you jump in a room with all females and take away the boys pride. I love it even more when they revert to name calling like they were 13, it just reminds me of old times.

I love video games and given half the chance I know that there is something out there that you would love to. On Xbox live you can play chess, checkers, solitaire and dozens of other little puzzle games. Get you a gamertag and lets play.

Do you know I once played with a 64 year old white woman who was given a Xbox 360 for her retirement present. Oh and if you get the camera, you can picture chat with anyone over Xbox live for as long as you want free.

Me & My Pastor

May 18th, 2008 | By

I can’t remember my age, but I’m guessing 12,13. I was in church one Sunday and my pastor began to preach. He was talking about perception. He asked what was the difference between a businessman that comes home to a bottle of wine and a homeless man with a bottle in his hand. Which had the harder existence?

It’s all in perception. I got really excited for the insight. The he got on the subject of black stars at the time, Martin Lawrence, Eddie Murphy, and somebody else, I forget. He said we shouldn’t support them. They were giving the wrong perception.

I was shocked. I listened with total disagreement and silence. (Mainly because I was sitting by my grandmother)

After service, everyone lines up to greet the pastor. I had done it every Sunday since he was sworn in as the pastor of my church. This was the man that had baptized me, but on this day I couldn’t bring myself to give him my usual hug and update on my school progress. Instead I asked could I talk to him in his office.

He kept candy in his office, so he had to shoo out the little ones for our discussion. I sat there determined to get my point across.

‘I don’t agree with your sermon,’ I stated as calmly as I could. I told him we didn’t know if they prayed and this was their blessing, maybe they were there to help someone who wouldn’t come to you for help. I was ranting a little, but his comments had upset me.

My pastor smiled and held out his hand to shake mine. He congratulated me. He was happy I was listening, and even happier I made up my own opinions. He never tried to change my opinion, nor did his attitude change towards me. That was my Black Pastor, and that’s as controversial as he ever was. He was always inspirational.

You know this is leading to Jeremiah Wright. If I sat in a church with my daughter and he said such things, I used to think I would get up and walk out, but writing this I think I would have stayed. I would want her to hear he say “God damn America”, and “the government invented Aids as a means of genocide”. I would stay and let her listen, so when we left, I could tell her that’s what’s wrong with us as a people today.

Trying to place blame else where. No Personal Responsibility.

What if they did invent Aids? How do you get it? Having sex without a condom or sharing needle. How can we stop it? Use protection, limit the amount of sexual partners you have and get tested often. Simple. This isn’t complicated.

I love my church, though I moved away. I remember my pastor’s words, though God has called him home.

Okay, PERCEPTION. Make sure you think about the other side of things. When someone places blame elsewhere, question what they could have done to change the outcome.

Example: Jeremiah Wright brags about feeding thousands of people a year, because the government doesn’t care. The church bought him a $10 million house. How many more mouths could you have fed, how many more scholarships could have went out, or how many houses could you have helped saved?

It’s all in PERCEPTION.

He’s in my Soul

May 18th, 2008 | By

This is not a site about God. I don’t intend to convert you, nor will I try to save you, but I must tell how much I love the lord. If he had ever touched your life than you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve never felt him, then your missing out. PEER PRESSURE PEER PRESSURE. No just kidding but I could tell you a little bout my life and then you could see why this section is a must.

When I was 17 I was working at Pizza Hut and I got really sick. I mean passing out, they called the ambulance sick. They ran test for days before my aunt told them to test for CROHN’S. She had it and to her it sounded like I had it to.

I wish she had been wrong, but………

So I just graduated high school, a year early mind you, and here I am balled into knots being poked and prodded. I want to say, I never asked why, but that would be a lie.

I possessed one of the seven deadly sins, strongly. I was so vain. I had been complemented on my stomach so many times, I couldn’t imagine having a big scar, so I suffered. For two years, I suffered, because I didn’t want a scar.

I finally broke down. I couldn’t take another week in the hospital. I was missing so much of my life being sick all the time. I had the surgery.

It took me almost five years to realize how CROHN’S had saved my life.

Prior to getting sick, I hated my home life. I did anything I could not to go home at night. I stayed in shitty hotels with my boyfriend and friends, hung around while drugs were sold, and put myself in really bad situations. I liked bad boys and they come with bad things.

When I got sick, I wasn’t able to hang out like I had before. I would get sick and have to go home in the middle of hanging out, and since I was the one with the car, anyone who came with me would have to leave to. People stopped asking for rides and I stopped offering them. I withdrew into myself and there I stayed until I had the surgery.

So five years later, I made a trip back to my hometown. Everybody I used to chill with, were still in the same place. Literally. I could go to the same spots we hung out at as teenagers and these adults were still there. That’s when it hit me.

That could have been me. If I hadn’t got sick, that would have been me. That’s when I opened my heart and begged the lord for forgiveness. I had questioned him, not knowing what the intended plan was. I prayed to take the disease instead of praying for the strength to get through it. That’s my testimony. That’s how I know God is real and he has a plan for me.

A Disconnect Between My Elder and Me: Older Generation We Need Your Help

February 14th, 2008 | By

My Grandfather loved to get drunk. I could remember getting to his house about 10 a.m. and he would already have a drink in his hand. As a kid, I hated it. I knew about 4 or 5 o’clock, he would be wasted and story time would start. He would holla and scream until all the kid’s were gathered at his feet.

He cussed, a lot. That’s what made the time worth it. We were allowed to ask any question and our mother’s could say nothing. We had a little power and that was cool.

No matter the subject, we always got back to self-responsibility. No matter how much someone has wronged you, it’s only important what you do after the fact. This was a lesson real important to my brother, my sister, my cousins and me.

Not one of us came from a “complete family” where both mom and dad were present. Every single one of us had issues with abandonment. He didn’t care. It wasn’t an excuse to fail in school, disrespect your elders, or to dwell in your own self-pity. Your job was to move past it and live your life. Because he lived his life everyday, to the fullest.

Now, another perfect example is my Uncle Pop. Boy, is he a piece of work. We sometimes look at our elders like they are just old. We don’t realize they were once the pimps, whores, squares, and everything in between.

Uncle Pop has the philosophy that if a man works, nothing else matters. As long as he pays the bills at home, what he does in the street is his business. And that’s how he’s lived his life. Bringing hurt and pain into the lives of his family members and not caring because the lights were on.

Yet, he is biggest advocate for self-responsibility. I don’t talk about politics around my family. They are liberal by default. No research, no news, just follow the blind. On New Year’s, he stands up in his drunken stupor and starts talking about the bail out of the Banks. I was shocked.

He said as long as he has his health, he can make a dollar and everyone should be held to that standard. It was so funny. If it had been me, they would have argued and yelled. But because it was him, they all sat and listened. Just as I had my entire youth.

So, what’s my point.

Most of us, still hold a lot respect for our elders. I’m scared not to. My mother passed but I still fear her presence for disrespecting someone older and wiser than me. The rule was as steadfast as not singing at the dinner table.

I got a funny question for you. In all the movies we watch, why does the main character always return to Grandma’s house? Is it because she is always cooking something good? Maybe it’s because we really need the advice of someone older? Or maybe it’s because she’s the only one guaranteed to still be in her home!

See, Grandma wouldn’t take out a second mortgage to have a down payment for a car. Grandma would drive the wheels off the car she already has. Grandma didn’t buy brand name clothes, unless something big was happening at the church. Grandma would shop at yard sales and discount stores. Grandma wouldn’t spend extra money going green. She already had a garden in the back that would supply her with all the fresh, organic vegetables she needed.

So, even though Grandma wasn’t rolling in the dough, she always had the money to pay her bills. She was responsible so you would always have a place to come back too.

While we praise Obama, we need to give praise to our older family members. Those that watched us as our parents struggled. Those that propped us up when we struggled. Those that have maintained a place where everyone can call home. Thank You.

Having said that. Some times you love us too much. In that same movie, the child that comes home takes something invaluable from the Grandmother. She is so willing to help her kin, she forgets exactly what helping them is. She gives up her house, her savings, or the sentimental piece of jewelry she’s always had and the child learns nothing until further in the story.

That’s where we are. I will take nothing away from the pride felt by older Black Americans to see a black man sworn in as President of the United States of America. From your perspective, I could understand you not believing you would see it in your lifetime.

The surprise and elation was lost on me. I wasn’t surprised a black man could run a successful political campaign and capture the heart and souls of all class and color of Americans. I have pride and belief in our people, their success doesn’t surprise me.

That’s the problem.

We are two very different generations. Our grandparents caught the best and worst of our struggle. They had to deal with the injustice of segregation but they also experienced our most prevalent time of self pride. People cared about their neighbors and communities. They picked up trash voluntarily, offered assistance when they were barely making it themselves, and kept each other in good spirits when they were experiencing so much hate.

Our generation, not so much. For the sake of argument, I’m going to play conspiracy theory. Suppose the government did drop large amounts drugs into black neighborhoods. We got that, torch and pitch forks to the government.

Where is our strength to get past it? Like my Grandfather used to say, “What are you going to do to fix your situation?” We have a refusal to take a step above victim. That is our problem.

It has nothing to do with government or color of the president’s skin. It’s what do we want and how do we go about getting it. We want everything, now. We aren’t willing to put in the work to acheive a goal, we want it handed to us on a silver platter.

Why aren’t our elder standing up and saying, “That’s not how you do it baby. If I had mortgaged my house on what I thought your mother was going to become, neither of us would have a place to live right now. Instead, I struggled to keep it together so your mother could have a chance at a better life. It was her decision not to take advantage of it. Just like it is your choice not to take advantage of the opportunities you have in front of you.”

A simple message but full of lessons to be learned.

  1. The importance of keeping your star player in tact so you have the ability to help those you love
  2. The importance of making wise money decisions
  3. How important it is to keep going, no matter how tough time gets
  4. Doing your part and realizing that’s all you can do. You can help someone that doesn’t want it.
  5. The importance of self-responsibility
  6. The importance of learning the mistakes of others before you have to endure them

These aren’t empty words when they come from a matriarch or patriarch. These become life lessons to follow.

Because my generation is living by a whole new set of rules. We don’t respect anyone or anything that blocks our instant gratification. We don’t care if it brings the detriment of our entire community, including the elders that still demand it is the system’s fault. You are fighting for us, and we are fighting for nothing.

And that’s where we need to meet. One of my brother’s was kicked out of school for fighting. A white boy called him a Nigger and he put the boy in the hospital for a month. He was sent to Juvenile for 6 months. My grandma asked him if it was worth it, he said yes. She never mentioned it again, at least not to my knowledge.

That same year, she jumped on me everyday because I was getting a ride to school with a boy. Everyday, no stop. I was very self aware. I knew what boys wanted and it was my job not to let them have it. Her wisdom did little to effect my outlook.

But my brother. He needed someone in his face telling him to take responsibility for his own actions and there was silence. There was no sticks and stones talk or look how much it cost you talk and my brother still walks around like the world owes him something. When in trouble, he still runs back to Grandma’s for assistance.

I’m like, when is it time you start assisting her? But she will have none of it. My brother can do no wrong. Even when all she wants is to see her great-grandchildren on her birthday, he is the only one not to show up. Family pictures always remain incomplete.

We need the assistance of an elder population that realizes we were not brought up with the same morals and values as them. We need help realizing our dreams are not assured because those before us suffered. We need to know that it is our time to stand up and take our place.

Silence is just as bad as excuses. It’s right above enabling. Silence either means you understand or you don’t care. Both are equally as dangerous to a mind with little hope for a bright future. If you understand than they find acceptance in excuses. If you don’t care, why should they. And if you only speak when it benefits you, we are not dumb, we realize the placation.

So what do we do? Hope my elders can give us some help!

Something Sweet

January 15th, 2008 | By

I’m submerged in something sweet

It’s kinda sticky, holding me in place

Kinda golden, like the sun’s rays

Kinda soothing, like a tree’s shade

And satisfying

I’ve indulged in something rich

Forbidden yet desired

On a Pedestal yet in reach

Filling yet never enough

Ultimate Temptation

I’m covered in something smooth

Silk isn’t the word

Nor is the softest feather

Four letters put together

D-A-M-N

This is something sweet

And I allow myself to partake

In this Taste

This test

Tongue to Lip

Every sip

Another excuse to have some more

I’m stuck in a scent

Sensory overload

Forgetting eyes, ears, hands

Only mouth and nose

Still functioning properly

Probably should mention

I Love Sweets