Pretty Little Liars...

She turned to him, gazing upon his face. With the simplest smile, she places the pomegranate in his hand. "Eat it. A friend says we'll be wiser for it," she encourages. Without the slightest hesitation, young Adam swiftly lifts the fruit to his lips, piqued with hunger. He bites. The space around him begins to move slightly faster than his once beautiful wife who is standing in front of him. And yet, even she appears different. His body goes limber and he begins to fall. He closes his eyes and awaits the feeling of the impact of his head bouncing intensely off the ground. Later, he is awakened - a voice unfamiliar. His wife's face greets him in a sad, tender tone. "Wake up, dear." He's surprised. Yet, the bitterness he tastes is new, unfamiliar, terrible. He is angry. Something has gone wrong. This was not the promise she had made him.

It's always the ones you trust. And while I don't blame Eve for being tricked into sin, I still think the strong message from this story is one that alludes to the fact that the only lies that truly change relationships are those told between friends.

This is not to say that strangers don't do sufficient damage by their lies; It just feels different, though. I can easily brush off the lies of individuals with whom I haven't had shared experiences or don't necessarily encounter on a daily basis. Those people who rarely show up on my phone register or whose last names escape me in casual conversation. You get what I'm saying?!

Lies from a stranger sting but the lies from a friend hold more weight than one's universe can usually compartmentalize in one sitting. At least, that's the case for me.

Just as deceit separated man from God, so too do lies build true wedges between friends. Aside from the biblical allusion, how pitiful must one be to fulfill their immediate needs with a reality created to suit only their prescription! And yet, as soon as they are exposed, liars wonder why they are alone.

Don't confuse this entry or any others that I compose with judgmental rhetoric aimed at pointing out any one person. I've lied. So, I have no place to judge. However, I am learning that I need to surround myself with people who are, at least, trying to practice some form of integrity among friends. My only fear is that there aren't too many people left out there.

Nevertheless, I'll press on. I'm looking for that truth that no man can conjure up - the kind that truly makes you free. I just hope I don't have to make this journey alone.

Here's to you Adam and Eve.... you simple fuckers.

fin.

The Cognitive Dissonance of Forgiveness

–noun Psychology .

anxiety that results from simultaneously holding contradictory orotherwise incompatible attitudes, beliefs, or the like, as when onelikes a person but disapproves strongly of one of his or her habits

A phrase coined by Leon Festinger, a noted Psychologist, cognitive dissonance is a phenomenon that characterizes a person's mental state where what one believes is in opposition to their actions and feelings. It has become my excuse for people of the world who have told me that they are trustworthy and honest and that they show integrity but in actuality do the exact opposite.

I do this to avoid calling them FUCKING LIARS. 

Let's be totally clear about two things: 

1. I've lied before and have admitted it. 

2. I've lied before and will never admit it. 

I'm definitely not perfect - by any means. I've told my share of lies - both big and small - BUT the difference between me and most people out in the world is that I have an extremely difficult time lying to people who I know and love. My mom - haven't lied to her since I was 12. I just can't bring myself to do it. My friends - I never have a reason to be dishonest with them so it's never a matter of protocol. The guy on the corner who asks for my loose dollar - sir, you will get lied to. 

But I've inherited in this time, a bunch of people I who wear masks of trust, safety, and security - all to reveal how poor in character they really are as people. But why me? Sounds juvenile. But I'd really like to know why people think its okay to tell me lies just to "impress" me or to maintain an image. AND every single time, I've gone back and shown genuine forgiveness. 

However, as I enter into my first year of pharmacy school. my priorities have changed. My tolerance for the dumb shit is at an all time low. I know my purpose on this planet and I just don't have the time to share that with people who aren't worth my time. And yet, through forgiveness, I have come to realize that I show a great amount of cognitive dissonance! 

See, I forgive as an investment in my own forgiveness by God the father. I usually have to couple this with forgetting, letting go of all the anger, pain, heartache, feelings of distrust, etc. And yet, I have moments that, though i've forgiven these people, I want nothing to do with them. On the contrary, there have been some "friends" who have lied repeatedly and my heart just won't let me alienate them from my life. SHIT! 

Maybe I'm no better than those who experience cognitive dissonance. I happen to exhibit all the signs. Ugh. 

I just can't win. I guess I'll have to hold people at arm's length until they can prove themselves worthy of the title "friend." 

We have stopped listening...

He was a tall man. 6'2" at his highest. Though old age had riddled his spin in a bowed shape over the past 20 years. The richest color of negro black, this man held a young boy on his lap, who by contrast, one would imagine he shared no relationship. The comfort and joy found in the almond shaped, grey colored highlights of the boys eyes told a different story. He was indeed a relative - or, at least, perceived as one. The caramel colored youth sat quietly, as if he was pacified by this old man's heartbeat alone. Story after story, he told the boy - who sat in awe at the sounds his imagination created. Dogs barking, water hydrants pelting human flesh, grass been shuffled briskly under the feet of men and women looking for a better life. A smile connected this youth to the old man. He didn't know if the little boy was too young to understand the underlying messages of his stories. But, he told them still. At a minimum, he could tell that a bond was strengthened by his voice. That made the old man smile. 


I did understand, Paw Paw.

Not so deeply as I do today. But enough that I am forever grateful for having a reality that my very footsteps trod on grounds freed to me from 2 generations of separation from Jim Crow laws and institutionalized slavery.

And even I have gotten comfortable.

I've parlayed with the majority, ate at their table, lost myself in their fictitious "culture" of hamburger bun fantasies of the American dream. I stopped listening. I neglected to remember. I've done exactly what kids my age were taught to do. Hate myself enough to forget what truly matters.

At the age of 18, I made a life long commitment to Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. - the first intercollegiate fraternity for men of color and the official start of the negro civil rights movement. 7 young courageous men had the audacity to demand equality and support from the white majority while empowering other disparaged blacks to take ownership in a country they had built. Today, on the anniversary of Bro. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s holiday celebration, a local chapter of this same fraternity hosted a frat party at "The Frat House," a club that only 6 months ago upheld and enforced a policy that young [black] men with long hair were prohibited entrance into the establishment.

We have stopped listening.

But, I sit here blogging about it. I did nothing to stop it. I did nothing to educate those brothers about the party at all. So, I really am no better than those young boys. And yet, no other older black man (or Alpha, for that matter) said anything either. Steel has neglected to sharpen steel. This is why events like this persist. Boys with dreadlocks being asked to "step aside" becomes a policy that is accepted by not only whites, but blacks (like me) who don't fit the stereotype. Collective suffering has ended. I am no longer my brother's keeper. In fact, I've been saying "fuck you, brother - 'act whiter and quit causing trouble.'"

We have stopped listening.

I've specialized in self-hate for far too long. Civil rights for blacks is being threatened on a different front these days - and we have to be equipped with the necessary tools to encounter it. I share the same blood as my Paw Paw, whose body inherited permanent reminders of the cost of freedom and equity. I'm not exactly sure how to go about operating in the framework of society today - especially since I haven't honed my skill set to address these issues effectively. But I know what the problems are. My Paw Paw warned me of them 20 or so years ago. I owe it to him - at least - to do something.

I am listening.

Sometimes I cry....

I can't say what I just experienced was an epiphany. It was closer to a revelation.

I've been in love.

There. I said it. I guess, it wasn't until just now that I felt it.

It's amazing the places music can take you when you just sit back and listen. Eric Benet didn't just belt out a few harmonic notes. He made a written confession, where the sound dripping wet from his microphone was the only remaining evidence of the crime he had committed. And as he pushed through each note, I took ownership of an experience to which I wonder daily if I will ever partake.

I. MISS. HER.

I've moved on. Honestly. It's just hard for me to sit and stare at this computer screen 3 years later and think how hindsight has been my greatest teacher up to this point. It's frustrating.

Times like these I need a good mirror and razor, so that I can stare at myself and strategically cut away all the mistakes I've made in the past. The wear and tear of my immaturity show in the fatigue of my eyes. And while I know God does everything for a reason, I am worried that I may have messed up my one chance - at love.

I wasn't open or vulnerable enough. I wasn't warm or accommodating. I didn't text "I love you" when I felt it in my heart. I didn't think about her as much as she thought about me. I was a pissy little boy who was used to being catered to and I took complete advantage of that. Now, as a grown man, I hate that my timeline includes such point. It's interesting, though. Every other thing I've done in my life has set me up for this next phase. Well, everything except that. It seems like my goals for career and professional aspiration have fallen neatly in place. Emotional, romance, intimacy - these all tell a different story.

Since that relationship, most of my interaction has been meaningless. I don't compare other girls to her but I haven't looked a girl in the face and immediately felt what we felt. Had I only been humble enough to know the temperament of her heart, I would probably be married with kids today. But I foolishly fulfilled my selfish wants by entertaining myself with people I honestly couldn't care much less about. Fake "friends," fair-weather yes men and women have since occupied my time offering nothing more than a distraction. Fools.

Maybe my expectations of finding another like her are too historically based. Nevertheless, I need some rubric to measure from. I guess time will tell. One can never know. What I do know is this: I am praying that God send me love - whether it be staring me in the face or out in the world waiting to be found.

I need to write Mr. Benet and thank him. Though I am still unsure that I am entitled to love again, I at least have a starting point and a slew of lessons learned from the past. I'm looking forward with an open heart.

She would want that for me.

fin.

This Treehouse is For Boys only!

I was 12. That's the last time I saw him - or what was remaining of him. Having experienced so many firsts together, it never dawned on me that he would be the first to die and I would be the first to watch him deteriorate. For some reason, that "first" was never considered. Yes, we were kids - I thought we'd live forever. A part of me still holds to the idea of immortality - even though I get a rude reminder of my impermanence every time I have a close encounter with death (or his offspring, sickness). Nevertheless, the day I walked up to that casket and saw his greying appearance, thin fingers, and sunken face, my innocence was raped - taken from me quicker than I would compartmentalize. We were protectors of the treehouse, a safe haven for our Power Ranger toys, comic books and fruit snacks. NOBODY else was allowed in. We would talk - to each other - over each other - for hours uninterrupted, save dinner or lunch time feeding. When he died, I never returned to the treehouse. I would only secure it, making sure no one could get into it or that  no one would be able to threaten its existence.

We were just kids.

See, these were the times where children were allowed by adults to stay children. Taboo topics were kept among the conversation pieces of adults while children were given imaginary license to be and do whatever they wanted. Talk of leukemia was as familiar to me at that age as was sex - nonexistent. So when he died, I got the typical "God needed him" or "He's an angel now" speech. And yet, I resented him for leaving me. My best friend had lied; we wouldn't be friends forever.

Fast forward 15 years. [Reflecting]

On this Christmas day, I look back at how I have responded to this loss. I have accrued a good bit of prosperity due to hard work, intelligence and grace. Because of this, I've attracted a great bit of people in my life that have become "friends," both fake and real. Folk who are yes men and women, saving their spot in my VIP section or party so that they could drink for free, behave riotously and have much to talk about the next day. I've asked myself over the years, "How many of you know my favorite food?" "What is my biggest fear?" "How many siblings do I have?" The majority of these people would get a righteous "F" as a grade in Johmyrin 101. Yet, I've kept them around because a part of me needed to fill that void.

Need[ed] - past tense

I have since grown up. I owe my best friend about 15 years worth of apologies. In essence, they have infiltrated the treehouse - or at least they've tried. I'm thankful nevertheless that I have made better friends, those who have added to the treehouse, instead of taking away from it. Theron would have appreciated that. Those others, I thank God for them as well. Moochers, back-biters, nay-sayers, bobble heads - all of them. I've learned as much from you about what real friendship is as I have from the blessings that have entered into my life.

I'm thankful this Christmas day - as I am everyday. I'm still growing, being very careful about who enters into the Treehouse. I pray that this next phase of life brings me great joy and more true friendship!

Merry Christmas

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

It's always been an obstacle for me to say, "I miss you" - until now.

I've poured myself into so much, seeking gratification from guilt and hiding in the fears of my own talent. Had I just taken a minute to think, reflect. I only needed one minute to become that child again, unexposed to men and women who make themselves kin to the brutal realities of life's bad side. Somewhere, in the crevices of my mind - those spaces between thought and action, one might call stillness - I've searched all over for you with no compass to guide me.

I've been using a map all this time. With its landscape of possibilities, I've been walking in that desert for 25 years, with the smallest amount of mana to sustain me. Body beaten, mind run down, and soul searching, I saw a star shoot across the skyline of my soul - leaving behind a trail of brazen gold that laid a path that inspired my journey. The more gold I picked up, the tiniest flashbacks started to return. My eyes opened a little wider, my nose accepted the smells of intrigue. I was in a familiar place with only a few steps taken.

In front of me is this child, a reddish-golden haired lightly sanded skin-toned 7 year old whose appearance caused me the greatest tears. He smelled of my grandmother's downy drowned sheets and the slightest hint of baby powder. His head had not quite caught up to his ears in growth though it was variably bigger than the rest of his body - MY body. I looked into his greyish-brown eyes and saw myself. I had  neglected me - forgot what makes me happy, what was true to me. But that little boy knew. So we sat, had a conversation, where he walked over, picked up things and started using them, mixing them, breaking them. He showed little concern for getting dirty or taking a chance that might end in nothingness. It was the exploration that meant the most to him.

Somewhere, somehow, I lost that fearlessness. So wrapped up in my next degree, accomplishment, and success that I had forgotten what God had infused within me at birth - a love for change.

I carry this kid on my journey now. He whispers in my ear every now and then to tell me when he feels like he is fading away. When he does, I know that my truest self is dying by a decision I have made. I'm thankful for my reconnection. I have missed him. I have MISSED me. I have MISSED my passion. This rediscover of self has open up the floodgates for me to love hard, take emotional risks and maybe one day MISS HER.

No longer will I walk around chasing other people's expectations for me. That little boy wants to play and I won't do anything to stop him.

Lights at both ends of the tunnel

Never can say goodbye
No no no no, I
Never can say goodbye

Even though the pain and heartache
Seems to follow me wherever I go
Though I try and try to hide my feelings
They always seem to show
Then you try to say you're leaving me
And I always have to say no...


If only what I said mattered. If only my words could keep you here just a few moments longer. I want to say my goodbye. The same goodbye I refused to speak because the selfish part of me stood firm on the idea that God would never take you away. I was - special. Different. I did what I was supposed to do. I maintained a stature and lifestyle that were both pleasing to you and others. And yet, that just wasn't enough.

Revelation: There are no prerequisites for death.

I typed it. And, it seriously just hit me. I guess there's a part of me that secretly believes that my stay here is permanent. How do you reconcile something so universal/inescapable? Think about it. Philosophy speaks to the impermanence of knowledge, a craft filled with men and women who fool themselves with glorifying the process rather than the goal. And yet, life points toward a goal, an end. One which can NOT be avoided. One that can NOT be predicted. One that can NOT be understood. Yet we are all required to partake. In fact, we have all exited eternity for this stint of time only to be unknowing siphoned back at any moment.

Why give us:
smiles, laughter,
pain, anguish, sadness,
accomplishment, failure,
love, hate,
commitment, infidelity,
experiences, stillness,
passion, depression, purpose,

All for it to end?

I've done my best at coping. Most times, I put it out of my mind, along with the foolish sayings of many of the people who offer false comfort in times where loved ones have walked through that one way door. This was all God's will. Things will get better. You're strong enough to handle this. Pardon me. How does one make judgements on something about which we know so little. Maybe, utilizing knowledge as an avenue for clarity is the wrong approach. That's possible. But, what do I use instead.

At its least, this was therapeutic. I'm not afraid of the unknown. I just want to make sure that those I care about that have passed that way are okay as they reenter eternity. But I can't be sure.

Therefore, I'll continue to be a fool - and hope for the best.