"Who are you? Why are you here? And where are you from?"

Situation's bleak Life's too sharp.

I believe the safest place is in my head. No matter the situation I am able to transform forms of reality or fantasy into an emotional thought. This provides the intellect to yoke the mind and the heart. However, it is and eternal battle due to my mind not wanting me there. And a result of my minds opposition to integration I walk in and out of my head like the father who doesn't know how to be a human to his children. It hurts to know that I have to subject my being to these psychological antics. I leave because I want to ease the blinding tension between my eyes. At times confusion reigns supreme and I am unable to determine what is important. But, when I able to release the pressure I know that it is important for me to feel safe; safe within mysef.

Daily, I attempt to find peace among the conversation that circles my head like hungry vultures. However, I am not dead. God or what I consider to be the power of sHe gives me the strength to continue to search for an answer; an answer that will make sense of the concept of Nothing. Maybe, I should look deeper into the signs that sHe places in my life. I know I must find a way to be in my head, but not be in my head. Now, that seems like a poetic riddle that is a poem that I recite to an audience that doesn't know that I haven't written it yet. The only way they will understand what I am saying is if I give a 4 minute "apostrophe" for them to take a breath.

Unfinished thoughts

I don't remember the last time I slept eight hours or the whole night. When I feel tired I become anxious and I don't want to sleep for long. I just want to close my eyes long enough so that when I wake up I won't feel smothered by exhaustion and the the thoughts of being exhausted. I am unsure why it is that I don't particularly like to sleep. I rather be awake during the hours that most people sleep. My mind is as clear and as bloody as the diamonds in the Sierra Leone, which would suggest I am a vampire. In all honesty, I am not fond of the sun. I favor the moon because she warms me when the darkness of life tries to harm me. She reminds me of the woman of my dreams. But

The last few days I have been meditating on an issue. Its an issue that most likely I am the only one with my mouth open where dubious questions take each opportunity to fly in and revolutionize my mind. But, I was at a poetry reading the other day. Let me repeat I was AT the poetry reading. However, AT times I checked out because I was trying to make sense of this issue that I have. I slid in and out of base, consciousness being first base and subconsciousness being second base. Opposite of the rules of the game of baseball I was desperately trying to get tagged out. Becoming uncomfortable as the grains of dirt started to pile inside my head I tried to dig as fast as I possible, shoveling the dirt out of my ears. I sat there listening to the poet first give a five minute diatribe on what the poem he was about to recite was about. Then he preceded to recite a poem about a poet that had not yet written about a poem about poet who wrote a poem about a poem that was, to him, not a poem, but a haiku, which neither contained five or seven syllables or paid homage to Mother Nature.

A question mark appeared above my head smashing the light bulb to shards of glass mid mental stride while chasing the baseball that I hope would put me out of misery. I attended this event because a English Professor I happened to meet incoincidentally invited me because she believed that it was a more literary poetry reading opposed to those "rap guys" rendition of poetry. She was referring to Slam Poetry. But, I was extremely disappointed. Today, it seems that poets desire to be on stage for their quirky whit slash humor. I figure if they want to be a comedian they could go try out for "Last Comic Standing." I do enjoy literary puzzle pieces with jokes on them from time to time, but the whole poem as a joke has me a slightly confused. And yet another thing that I don't understand, but I want to make sense of.

Be Educationed: Black Christmas?

The Story of Black Peter
By Mac Carey Ask a Question Discuss in the Merry Forum

Before elves and eight tiny reindeer, St. Nicholas had a much more menacing assistant. Named Black Peter, this companion was the physical opposite of St. Nicholas. Tall and gaunt with a dark beard and hair, Black Peter was associated with the punitive side of Christmas. Traditionally St. Nicholas would hand out presents to good children, while it fell to Black Peter to dole out coal (and sometimes knocks on the head) to children who misbehaved.

Black Peter, or Zwarte Piet in Dutch, began in Holland in the 15th century. His dark appearance is supposed to suggest a Spaniard, a reflection of Spain's occupation of the Netherlands at the time. Black Peter was also associated with pirates, a common threat to naughty Dutch children was that he would take them to a pirate's hide out and beat them. He was often represented holding a large stick for this purpose. The large bag that he held was rumored to be used for stuffing children in for the trip back to Spain. At the time "Black Peter" was a euphemism for the devil, and it was thought that St. Nicholas, being a representative of God, had beaten the devil and made him his servant. Thus it fell to Black Peter to hand out the punishments, while St. Nicholas dealt with the more pleasant sides of Christmas.

While the Dutch St. Nicholas has always been represented in much the same way, similar to the original saint in long robes with a staff, tall mitre hat, and white beard, Black Peter has been depicted in many different ways. Originally a stereotypical Spaniard in pirate garb, due to the political situation in Holland at the time, his later incarnations would also reflect popular politics. In the nineteenth century, at the height of imperialism, he was alternately portrayed as an Indian and an African in traditional dress. Rather than the devil that had been made a servant of St. Nicholas, Black Peter was now thought to be a slave who had become the willing servant of St. Nicholas. Many of the illustrations took on racist symbolism, often showing Black Peter in shackles and tattered garments. Peter's job was to remove the hay and carrots from the shoes that had been left by children underneath their chimneys, and to drop candy and gifts in their place. If the children had been bad, Peter wouldn't remove the hay and would leave a rod in place of a gift.

In parts of central Europe like Austria, Germany, and Switzerland, the character of Black Peter was a more like a monster, with horns, long hair, and a red tongue. He was known by a variety of names: Klaubauf, Krampus, Grampus, Bartel. St. Nicholas sent naughty children to him to be beaten.

Nowadays there is still not one universal image of Black Peter, but he has lost his large stick and is usually dressed in a Renaissance page style costume with short pants, stockings, and a cap with a large feather. He has not lost his connection to Africa; he is still always portrayed by a person in blackface, and often wears gold earrings.

The character gained popularity in the twentieth century and St. Nicholas's and Black Peter's annual arrival in Holland became more elaborate. During World War II, it was thought that the tradition would be suspended, until Canadian soldiers offered some of their tanks to use for the purpose. It didn't seem to make sense to have more than one St. Nicholas. So on one of the tanks rode St. Nicholas and one Black Peter, while multiple Black Peters rode on the other tanks. The tanks, with Canadian soldiers at the helm and Black Peter sitting on the back, traversed the countryside, handing out candy and gifts to children who waited by the roadside. The practice of more than one Black Peter stuck and has continued since then.

Today the negative associations have left Black Peter and he has become more of an elf-like figure, an assistant to an overloaded St. Nicholas who helps to hand out gifts every December 5th, St. Nicholas Day in Holland. The Dutch continue to stage elaborate arrivals of Santa Claus and Black Peter. In the weeks before the feast, Santa and Black Peter arrive by boat, supposedly from Spain, and are greeted by ever increasing crowds of excited children and adults.

I don't get why men wear their pants below their knees and have another pair under those.

I don't get why women wear pants too tight so that they share their handles of love with the world.

i scratch my prayers into the wall
my nails start to bleed
paint flakes
blowing in the wind

the angles inhale
exhaling my flesh
sHe forgives me
freeing me from my self inflicting pain

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we dance together again when sHe sings hIs favorite songs.

sHe allows me to see and talk to hIm when I need a father's voice.

sHe has found a way to sew the tears in my skin by using my pores and her angelic hair.

Writing's History

playwrights
books
magazines
movies
television sitcoms
electronic mail
magazines
more magazines
more magzines
text messaging
blogs
kindle nook

I was viewing, "Public Speaking," a documentary having a conversation with the great Fran Lebowitz. She mentioned something that struck a nerve. "It is scary to be a writer now because it no longer influences society."

I want to become a famous"Mad Man" and write riots.

Thank, God

i have been saved
twice
from slavery
by a white man

who gave me value
and purpose
to be a sheep
and knead the land

i believe time has it out for me. the hour and minute hands are in conspiracy to cut off my big toe so that i unable to balance my life. the hour hand is razor sharp and the minute hand is dull. in harmony they invoke pain and impede my forward progress. now, i must sleep and eat less in order to accomplish as much I can in the seconds handed to me before they change also. fear drives my mind on a winding road with no numbered exits. its a live daymare, which leads me to fear what awaits me when i close my eyes. i have tried to talk to many clocks cordially, but they walk past me ignoring me, as if stopping and acknowledging my existence would inconvenience them. i have offered my sacrifice for a moment of their presence so that we could possibly negotiate and come to agreement on how to work cohesively in the same space. we both roll on the same line. but, i can understand why they are upset with me. i never say, "thank you." i am guilty.

depression is a poem written by time.

Reading, "Touched by Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament," by Kay Redfield Jamison

yesterday, my mind unraveled, rolling onto the floor induced by a full temper tantrum, in front of me. i watched suspiciously, as it clapped the floor, as if looking for me to give it a standing ovation for its rendition of Elizabeth Taylor in "Who Is Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?" What. A. Dump! i couldn't agree more. if i had the mind to act out I would leave this body also. but, i can't because my mind has found the courage to escape me without me knowing. then i noticed a red ribbon tied to my mind which pointed to a slightly opened white door. it lied there exhausted and motionless. extremely still. all of my extremities were frozen and i was unable to be. i sat there looking at my lucid mind. vulnerable.

I have realized that my dreams tend to follow me where ever I go. Now, I have to convince the world they are real.

Meditation

When I see colors I see words. From those words I see numbers that create shapes. Shapes that influence what I choose to write, which then becomes music that comforts me.

Drip.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip....
hEr soul drips....
Slowly from hEr nipples
sHe feeds the world
From where hEr mind and heart meet
Togehter they cipher
Through soot and grime
Left behind by past visitors
Come and gone
Through a metal screen on the floor
The last door to open
Exit
21 grams less...

I have been told that when a person dies sHe weighs 21 grams less. It is attested to the assumption that when the sHe dies the soul exits the body. The human brain weighs between 350-400 grams. The human heart weighs between 200-425 grams. And the soul weighs 21 grams.

How much does one weigh when someone dear to hIm or hEr dies? 21 grams less?

Don't ignore it. Look at my scar.

How many times do we die?
How many times are we born?
Each night
Each morning

My mind is in a vice at the moment. So, I am trying my desperately to push out these thoughts that hugging my lungs a tad too tight.. I am trying to understand how it is my heart wants to stop beating when its the mind that is being strained beyond it's limits.

Limitless
Swallow broken chances
Lost

Manic Purification

The record must be scratched because my mind keeps skipping the words,"Niddah, ruda, Niddah, ruda,Nidda...". It must be time to invest in a new record player.

Public Enemy # 2

Press Red Play Button then Green Play Button to View.


I am a HUGE HUGE HUGE Fat Alber and the Cosby Kids fan! But, Aaron McGruder is a Genius. I can never get enough of The Boondocks. I can watch the same episode repeatedly and still laugh until my I lose my breath. I want my kids to be just like Huey and Riley.

The Don

Bananas. Power. Respect. Is there a Mrs. Kong? Well,if there was then she would come after Respect because I am sure she would love the Don.

I am the Don.

I put the Don in "Don"key Kong Country Returns...

I wonder if Diddy aka Puff Daddy aka P. Diddy (I am sure you know who I am referring to) and Diddy Kong are related in anyway. Diddy does act like a monkey/ donkey sometimes. Lil Diddy, not Big Diddy, Lil Diddy is who I am talking about into the monkey business.

(Image in head: Lil Wayne-Lil Diddy (dreads, tatted up), Big Daddy Kane-Big Diddy (high top fade, Dookie Chain, Big Daddy Kane sun glasses).

Note to Self: Diddy sounds like Gizmo from "The Gremlins."

sHe is balanced. if you split the word "sHe" in half it is balanced to express that sHe is neither male or female. Split the "H" in half and straighten the "s" and "e" into a line. They are exactly even in length.

sHe is sHe. neither female or male. she exists.

sHe / 2 = H (H) = 2H

You can take all the lines of the letters that create the word sHe and create a circle (the letter O).

H20= Water
0=Oxygen
H=Hydrogen

Se=Selenium= (Fire) Light, Electricity
Se-element created by the earth

sHe is...
5 Elements
1.Fire
2.Earth
3.Metal
4.Water
5.Wood

The spirits circled my bed telling me, "Keep on dancing.". I said,"Tough guys don't dance.". They responded, "Keep on dancing."

When I close my eyes the credits to a feature presented movie begins and then another movie's previews end. It must be the beginning of an all night marathon. It is all backwards, you would think. But, as I open my eyes to see if the movies are an illusion, reality, or a dream. (Read Metamorphisis, by Franz Kafka, Nietzche's exploration of reality and subjective dreams, and Chuang Zu's Butterfly Dream)I am sadly disappointed. So, I go to the refrigerator to get my beverage and candy and return to my sleep. Man, the last person that sat here must have been sweaty because the seat is a little moist. I take a gulp of water and a bite of sugar and close my eyes, returning to the marathon. I've been to movie presentation like this before, but for some reason when the movie seems to be getting interesting I have to use the rest room again. Then I try to rush back so I don't miss anything, but sadly showing a different movie. I've try to remember the title, but no such luck. Then I "Google" a few script lines and descriptions to see if I can find it. But, I never can find the exact movie. I need to learn the Tibetan Yogas of Dream and Sleep. I am the Director. I am in control.

"My name is Rashaad and I am not a terrorist."
"I am a United States Air Force Veteran and I am not an alcoholic or a drug addict."

If, you ever have the time to watch a couple movies. Watch "My Name Is Kahn" and "Poverty in Chicago." If, I could choose a number of movies that describes how I feel when I in society these two movies would be on the list. Thank God, I don't have to say anymore, "I am Homeless. Would you happen to have any spare change?" I was able to change the fact that I was homeless. But, like the facts that I will be Rashaad and a U.S. Veteran for the rest of my life, some Veterans, due to their disability will be considered "Permanently Unemployed."

Look into the eyes of the homeless. Don't ignore them with your judgments. You would be amazed how much it means to acknowledge him/her.

The Tao of Wu

Wu! Tang! Wu! Tang! The Vegan smoke choked the non-smokers, peer pressuring them to get high and the spirits were being transported from lips to lips, either through two people kissing or attempting to exchange dialogue by croaning over the insatiably loud music. True hip-hop spirit was in the Celebrity Theater, a venue I concluded was not probably the best building for a group of high-spirited MCs who love the mic more than the female genitalia that they so eloquently injected into the ear drums of the crowd every opportune moment they got. I can honestly say that is one part of hip-hop shows I can do without. And what I don't understand is the women are screaming as if saying, "Amen," in agreement with the preacher.


Aside from the normal riff-raff that usually accompanies a group of intoxicated crabs in a barrel trying to get a piece of the American Dream Pie. It just seems that when celebrities and their worshipers get together for church someone gets carried out after passing out from the power of the Hip-Hop Holy Ghost. But, as cameras and phones were being slapped down by Security Guards and alcohol soaked worshiper were getting face planted into the concrete, pleasantly surprised the show kept popping and locking through throw back tracks that would take Jesus back to the cross. And speaking of resurrection from the dead. Method Man mysteriously stopped the show and left the crowd in suspense as he slowly slurred out what it seemed to be English. It possibly could had been the Black Intellectual Street language that i have fondly heard of. He murmured what my ears translated to be that there was a special guest.

In walks on stage a young brother, "Wu Tang'd" to the socks. I mean he was rocking the "W" like a newly engaged peach. Excuse me. I couldn't resist. I must be getting rid of the last few misogynistic slurs that were implanted in my brain. The young brother first took off his "Wu Tang" jacket, which to no surprise underit displayed another Wu Tang emblem. Then off came his Wu Tang medallion. The crowd was drenched in suspense and the water Method Man constantly cooled the crowd down with after spitting his M.E.T.H.O.D Man Anthem through the dome. The young brother then took off his Wu Tang beanie and there stood O.D.B. or what I thought was O.D.B. He's Alive! No, it was O.D.B.'s son. He was an exact replica of the wild and crazy O.D.B who once bounced on the stage as if it was a trampoline. Y.D.B is his name, "Yound Dirty Bastard" and he most definitely walked, danced, and talked like his father, may he rest in peace. The crowd became nostalgic as the Wu Tang Clan paid tribute to all the fallen hip-hop soldiers. Peace signs and album plugs filled the air as the Wu Tang clan marched off the stage only to be seen again at the after party, "The Sweet Spot." Oh, how sweet it was to get some honey from the Killa Bees.

Dancing Moose?

Kristen's Morris the Moose. I have never been to Alaska, but do the moose really get down like this? If, so I can't wait to visit.

sHe is a spiritual journey's progression...

will i ever be done?

I wish I had lived during the 60s when love was free.

I did nothing for g/God to spank me with Orion's belt. I caught it on tape so I am going to make it a underground movie so the Black market can find it. I believe in exposing the founder of slavery. So, I can move faster than what I have slowly repeating in my head. Then, possibly I will be able to comfortably sleep in Newton's cradle as time swings in all directions. But, I know I am not good at see. I get sea sick when the ups and downs get too much. Its my dream to be the captain of my own life. I must do something.

It can be confusing to tell the difference between I and 1? They look so familiar. I suppose I should try not to judge a book by its cover. But, its difficult. For example, 1111I1II1II1I1I1I1I1I1111111111I. The illusion plays tricks on the spirit. But, I am told you must separate I from 1 to become free. In order find I I must become 1. So who am I? But, I am supposed to separate myself from my identity. Then I am told I is the issue when it is referred to the ego. Well, now that is semantics. An interpretation made because no one could make sense of being identified without an identity. Obviously, they concocted this concept under the pressure of time and said believe this because I know its true. Now, our identity is based on illusions of I and 1. Now, I suppose I should know the difference between the truth and a lie.

Patiently. I anticipate men in white robes to burst in like gangbusters and steal me away. It is complicated. I am complicated. It is an obsession of mine to make sense of the senseless this and to fail this is my success because this feels like progress. This. This? What is this? Where is this? How did this happen? How can I share this? This? I have written out the mathematics proof to claim its evidence. But, I am having an issue getting through my past to live in the present. However, I know that I must first detach my self from my attachment to the future. I have never forgiven that which has brought me to this. This probably has not forgiven me. But, I am positive in order to live liberated I must share this with the world. This must become that which liberates the mind to love the heart so that the physical being of man can be understood and made sense of. Impatiently.

i hurt.

Her tears wash my face as I sleep walk through my dreams. They sting my cheeks to the point I am unable to smile. I start to feel sick as I spin in circles wondering the truth between reality and illusion. My carnal mind wraps around my spine squeezing who I am. I feel beautiful. But, the pain makes me question the purpose of life. Then I am reminded of the beautiful children who were born in hell. I wish I could travel there like Dante and ask the devil if I could trade places with them.

i hurt and i want to take the pain from her for my own. so, i can say that i own something valuable. sHe deserves to be here. I don’t.

The other night I performed at a poetry reading open to the public. I stood alone on stage where the dark illuminated everything that usually is never seen in the light. I anxiously peered out into the audience and all I could see was an army of skeletons dressed in black garb made of skin. There sharp eye lashes punched through my clothes and pierced my skin ripping open my chest cavity. I stood naked and vulnerable. Their eye lids clenched my existence while their pupils ate my soul like hungry ants. My lines disappeared as I tried to escape. My voice aimlessly scattered among the skeleton audience. They sat emotionless as if death had taken over. If, I had known this was an exclusive gathering, where I would be eaten alive by their judgment I would have been more prepared to die. But, I figured time was of no essence and the beginning would be the end of my beginning. My remains quickly poured off the stage and I was never to be reborn.

if i could give up everything and commit my life to volunteering for the less fortunate like a person who commit themselves to the 6th floor i would be so much easier it is madness that it costs money to sacrifice your life for other that need you

Poetry That Makes Sense

I have decided to make vain magazine more grotesquely vain. Its like the games Scrabble and Magnet Poetry in one. Finally, a way to make sense of them all. I knew that there were subliminal messages hidden in them.

another thought to negate from the concepts of superior and inferior
eliminate i and then the ego will also disappear
but, sometimes i think that is a little mean because no one should be left alon

sHe cries to the heaven above

When we wake up
and open our eyes
each day is a birth
of new life,
a new beginning
to start our life afresh.

today, i will dedicate my my compassionate thoughts to those who suffer living on the streets of America to the deserts of Sudan. i am constantly reminded how blessed i am to wake up in a bed and not on the streets. today is a truly a new birth, for I have awakened. i am one step closer to the cipher of 0, 1-9, knowledge to born. sleep is the cousin of death and i have been reborn with rejuvenated breath. buddhist philosophy states that mentally you create "heaven" and "hell" with your mind. when I wake up my mind takes me through the golden streets of heaven. then reality grabs me by the neck and smashes my face against the concrete when i step outside. the cold wind begins a conversation with me. i listen to the nights recap and my turgid heart begins to sprint without notice. it feels like its going to explode through my chest cavity. i am all of sudden exhausted from doing nothing. i must do something. the wind tells me there are many that suffers and that it, along with the moon and stars valiantly attempted to protect all beings throughout the never ending night. however, the gluttonous shadows of reality continue to swallow up lives by the mouthful. the sun breaks the crest of the horizon and sHe ready to warm the cold and bring the light to the darkness. i must become sHe and share my love and compassion with all that exist and do not exist.

misunderstood

Headmaster
Beastmaster
Backhead truth
(Grey matter)
Blasted
On plaster
Letters splattered
On the floor
Gathered
And etched on
His caskette
Salty Tears
Pitter patter
Like
Street children
Laughter
Father left
Early
Now he’s
Burning
In the pasture
Fecal matter
Grey matter
Spring’s stench
Worse
Than nuts
Of his pastor
Picked him up in a herse
Body parts
Scattered
Failed Attempt
To hang
From the raptures
Caught
Drinking liquor
From the Holy
Big dipper
Squeezing into
Cinderalls slipper
Swimming deeper
With
Little Dipper
Beat
Because he’s
A Flipper
The weaker
of survival
Internal
World War
Four
Mothers wondering
What happened
To her first born
Lost
In the Maze
Of Cyber
Childrens Porn
Pain too heavy
He couldn’t take it no more
He was forgotten
Love went rotten
He felt misunderstood

graffiti

the walls of the mind is scribbled on with thoughts and fact
possibly feelings invisible paint pen
only appears when the gods cry

Random Thought

i am think i am going to start writing in lowercase letters so no one letter feels inferior to the other. equality. love. compassion.

however, then there is the issue of who begins a sentence, a paragraph, or possibly at the end of a sentence the letter that gets to be next to punctuation.

i may have to rethink this.
unless i stop using punctuation now that is a great idea

understand

Circles

"Conversation is a game of circles"
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essay, "Circles"

Puppet Master

I have come to a terms that man is neither human nor beast. man is merely a Puppet Shadow that sHe operates to entertain sHe's Self.

Seek

You search
I search
We search
Four Happiness
God sees
You see
Both see me
Within
Together
Unity
Happy

They will never be able to cut me off at the pen.

sHe

God is finite.
God is constantly evolving.
God can be seen everything.
God cannot be confined.
God is not incarcerated.
God is you.
God is me.
God is a flower.
God is the sun.
God is a star.
God is moon.
God is the sky.
God can be touched.
God cannot be touched.
God attracts.
God is opposites.
God is religion
God is not religion.
God is the earth.
God is the universe.
God is my hair. (India Arie says, I am not my hair.)
God is affirmations.
God is questions and questioning.
God is Now.
God is Here.
God is There.
God is infinite.

I want to share with you that are like me who are embodying this journey and searching for enlightenment. I, like you, are trying to find a purpose in life, of life, and driven life. The journey seems to go on forever but what we are looking for is to achieve Self-Realization and Samhadi. Lately, I have been dealing with questions that start with why.

Why am I here? Why do I have to go through this? Why are people considerate and compassionate? Why are people evil? Why are children being born to die (referring to the children in the world that are living in Darfur)? Why did the Holocaust take place? Why am I sitting here releasing my spirit for others to read? Why ask why? Why?

Since Saturdays class with the God is great great spirits of Sister Georginna (), Brothers Seifur A. S. Umar Sharif and all the brothers and sisters shining spirits that attended the final class, which I believe is only the beginning of great things. I have been in deep meditation since leaving room FW502. As humans I think we wait for a miraculous event to occur in order to give God a purpose or meet God during a miraculous occurrence to enable us to say, “I ‘saw’ God or I met God,” and now ,God is NOW, I have been forever changed and know without any doubt God exists, God is HERE. I love words. I love all languages. I love just being able to hear the bond, God is BOND, of different languages and their dialects. But, I know that as a hu”man” I tend to make language more complex than simple. God is SIMPLE. God is COMPLEX. For example, the phrase, “I saw God,” I take each word and put God is…God is I. God is seeing. God is God. So to take the complex attempt of trying to understand, God is UNDERSTANDING how a person saw God I make it simple, God is…seeing, which can evolve God is constantly EVOLVING into God is WATCHING. God IS…

Why live life without hope? God is HOPE. Hope is the beginning and while I live I experience hope through faith. God is FAITH. I walk the path taking different paths and some have already been walked along and some have not. But, I have faith God is my path. God is GUIDANCE. As this path twists to turn and is inclined to decline I remember God is the bended degree of each bone that propels me forward only to stop to thank God for being able take time to enjoy, God is JOY. Saturdays, class we participated in a walking meditation and it was just a small, but large reflection of what is only to become playing this instrument of silence called, meditation. The notes played behind closed eyes are heard through Gods song. God is SILENCE. God is MEDITATION. God IS….

I live day in and day out, God is DAY, and I wake up to the sun and meditate. I meditate before I lie to rest, God is NIGHT. Between the two beginnings, God is BEGINNING, I repeatedly address the question of, “Why don’t more humans understand human obligation?” We live, God is life, in a country that is so blessed to be able to give, God is GIVING, assistance to those in war and poverty stricken countries. But, the ignorance that swelters through the people only seem to care if it threatens our home (9/11, Immigration, etc.), God is HOME. Of course this is my carnal mind thinking wondering why people can be so uncompassionate and live a life of forced ignorance. But, God is LIGHT, the light bulb began to flicker after Saturday when I allowed it to, God is ALLOWANCE (OPEN). Brother Sharif made a profound statement which consisted of the word “choice,” God is CHOICE. As humans God gives us the power of choice. We make decisions that will plot the NOW and if we make the best choices for NOW our every NOW will be the best lived. We no longer have the choice to possess the past. We have no possession of the future. All we possess is NOW, God is POSSESSION. I believe it is not appropriate and compassionate to speak as we choose to believe the same. So, I will choose to make the conscious decision to speak in the first person and for myself, God is MYSELF.

God evolves from me into you. I see God in myself and I see myself in you. God is we. We are God. So, it is my human obligation to seek the God in me in order to find the God in you. God is LOVE. God is questions. God encourages me to seek knowledge. God is KNOWLEDGE. I obtained Samadhi just before I was born and to return to Samadhi I must seek the IS in God to make the revolving of evolution of the eternal beginning. I am the beginning and I am… God is TIME. God is TIMELESS. God is PATIENT. God is PATIENCE. God is the Alpha and Omega, which is only the Alpha. God is Self. Self is God.

Take for example the sky. God is the SKY. The sky can be seen. The sky is infinite. There is a belief that he sky exist. God is the SKY. God is ENERGY. God is CHOICE. Too many times people want to condemn God to a box to obtain comprehension. God is that box. God is COMPREHESION. God in all essence is the CREATOR of CREATION.

God is infinite.
God IS…
My Affirmation.
God…
IS.

I also have few poets that I consider my favorites when I am asked. But, my favorite in relations to painting my journey would be Saul Williams. He is author of many books, but my favorite hands down is titled, “said the Shotgun to the head.” I cannot help, but share his genius with you and share with you a few passages in his book. The book starts out with 2 quotes.

1. The man who accepts Western values absolutely, finds his creative faculties becoming so warped and stunted that he is almost completely dependent on external satisfactions, and the moment he becomes frustrated in his search for these, he beings to develop neurotic symptoms, to feel that life is not worth living, and, in chronic cases, to take his own life.-Paul Robeson

2. I can’t sleep. There is a woman stuck between my eyelids. I would tell her to get out if I could. But there is a woman stuck in my throat.-Eduardo Galeno

Introduction

Have you ever been kissed by God? Passionately (tongue, lips, etc.)? Or are you one who simply condemns God to the realm of the invisible? When do you feel most comfortable? When do you feel most loved? Perhaps it is in the warm embraces of your lover or in the assuring touch of your mother. Perhaps, like me, you have likened this person to God in your life and realized that do was loving you through them. Or maybe you don’t believe in God. Cool. Here’s a simpler question: Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your moth, like sealing a thousand fleshly envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again-the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world’s greatest resource is love and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a believe in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding.

This book is the result of a kiss. A kiss that brings symbols to life and fear-based shortcomings to their symbolic death. To be kissed by a deity is nothing short of a miracle. The mind altering/altering effects can last more than a lifetime. Here is the account of a man so ravished by a kiss that it distorts his highest and lowest frequencies of understanding into an incongruent mean of babble and brilliance. He wanders the streets disheveled and tormented by all that he sees does not reflect her love. He is a wandering man, sort of like a modern day John the Baptist, telling of the coming of a female messiah that he has known intimately. He is the babbling of a man you cross the street to avoid. He is the unavoidable end before the new beginning. He is a lover in search of a great love. SHE is One and man: Kali, the goddess of destruction; the Holy Ghost, which is to say, the woman restored to her right place in the Holy Trinity. No longer ghost, no longer virgin, SHE is mother of us all.

Good and Bad are Relative

Mom: Bab, you are so bad.
Son: I know. I AM bad.
Mom: What? You like being bad? Bad is not good.
Son: Yes, because I am so bad I'm good.
Mom: But, bad is not good.
Son: Uh, huh, mom.
Mom: No, good is good and bad is bad.
Son: Do you remember what you said to me when I came our ready for church dressed in my suit?
Mom: Yes, baby you bad.
Son: Exactly.

Good is good because things are bad. If, bad did not exist then good would not be good. However, good is bad when good becomes too good. But, bad is good when good becomes too bad.

Sacrifice

i was never born
i was reborn on the crucifix
the incarnate of me
sHe
who died
in the womb
and
gave birth
to heaven
and hell

Random Thought

My mind never runs out of breath. I suppose I should practice meditating.

Existence's Good Run

Run, run
Where the world
No longer can see
Run, run
Where the earth
Meets the sea
Submerge deeply
Into by
Being

random thoughts. capital letters are pretentious. i mean if god wants to capitalize His name He should at least tell me how to spell it.

I can't sleep. The moon won't stop whispering in my ears. Now, her voice is stuck behind my eyelids and I the shepherd has taken his sheep to bed. What should I do?

She stands quietly
Dancing in a wind of notes
Classical favorites
Strum her
Green leaves
Moving sensually
Hands on hip
Each branch smiles
Her earthly tone
A blushing harmony
Guided steps with angels
Illuminated in the sky
Reflection in their eyes
Melodic birth
Love reborn
Arise

sHe is beautiful.

Walk A Day In My Boots

It is mid-summer in Phoenix, Arizona and the weather is breathing its “hot and dry” breath on courageous victims, who dare challenge the heat advisory warnings. The trees are moaning for rain and the concrete is sweating profusely. Their union would serve the environment well, but the brown grass that stands between them refuses to give its blessing. Daily, I watch this mid-summer dream develop as if I were watching television in the comforts of my two bedroom apartment. But, I no longer have that privilege because I have been inducted into the fraternity of street people and I can only watch my so-called life from my new home’s rear view mirror.

The radio whispers that it’s 5:00pm and I’ve just realized it is too late to check into the local homeless shelter. Most likely all the beds have been given to my fellow homeless brothers and sisters that bravely waited in the heat since 3:00pm. The man in the rear view mirror grabs my attention. He looks into my eyes expecting to find an answer, but all I see is a shadow that covers my face. Who is the man in the mirror? A putrid agitation begins to scratch under my skin among other things I am sure. I raise my arm and a grotesque odor of sweat and alcohol stretch my pores and escape using my nose a hiding place. The last time I bathed was weeks ago. However, I am thankful for the local convenient store where I am able to lock the door and wash myself with paper towels and hand sanitizer. But, at the moment I can’t afford to make the trip to the convenient store that so generously allowed me a moment of reprieve from the summer heat.

The night was slowly creeping towards me and I spent the last of the change I possessed to reserve a couple of an old buddies for a few hours. Everyone else had abandoned me, including the United States Air Force, who had once promised to be a life-time friend. But, my two 40 oz. bottles of malt liquor have been with me daily. I continue to choose them over food because they ice my issues and allow me to sleep at night. I have contemplated where the time has gone. The hours and days are like oil and water. I know they are separate only because the sun and the moon freely dance behind the horizon. Time doesn’t matter to me today because I am just trying to survive.

I have always been fascinated by the homeless and their eagerness to survive by a street code. I frequented the local library to escape the angry heat of Phoenix and congregate with other homeless men and women. Once, I asked a fellow homeless man where he chose to sleep. He responded by telling me a number of horror stories that haunt the shelters that made me confident with my decision to sweat out the nights inside my car. I felt safest parked in the local Wal-Mart parking lot where I had my own personal security guard that checked on me throughout the night.

According to the recent reports from the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs, 107,000 veterans sleep on the streets on any given night. Despite a 18% decline in the year of 2009 the question that lingers is, “How did United States Veterans, who offered their lives to America, end up living on the streets ?” It seems that the United States has forgotten it’s Veterans who once lived to keep our country safe and ignore the fact that they continue to suffer and die daily on its streets. I am one of few who have made it off the streets and into an environment with walls and a ceiling. But, I continue to struggle like many Veterans trying to make the transition into civilian society. However, I continue to be a Homeless Advocate and volunteer my time to those who need not be ignored or forgotten.