Today is the 4th And I will claim peace As I pray to my God That my angst will decrease Today is the 4th And today I still weigh Whether protestations for equality Will ever hold any sway Today is the 4th But what does that mean When carotid chokeholds still murder Unarmed Black and Brown dreams Today is the 4th A day for which many of my ancestors Bravely and hopefully fought While others of my progenitors Were trafficked, sold, and bought Today is the 4th And I want so badly to sing But notes of antiblackness Still dampen Freedom’s ring And people still feign ignorance Don’t understand why they shouldn’t cheer and jeer “red skins” Or why they should welcome “huddled masses” Who dream to enter in And further question anger from those who’ve had an overfill Of decades of trauma beyond the 4th That have made liberty unreal
However…
Today I WILL celebrate the 4th Not for what it is, but for what could one day be I will claim in faith and work That we can all be free In law and soul and spirit We will strive for all-the-better We must believe it’s possible That we can craft and fashion and tether A way that we might celebrate A National July 4th A Freedom Party Genuinely Together
I am weary of liturgies and requiems I’ve written to still my soul I am weary of emerging horrors Perpetrated by blue hearts frozen cold I am weary of watching my babies die As they walk the halls of hate As they run the streets of disdain and fear As they dance through beguiling gates As they are ambushed by dark spirits Seeking release for anger and power Shadowed in corners, prepared to pounce Brown-bodied victims of the hour I am weary of pouring love And not returned the cup I am weary of loose-lipped rhetoric That promises “Things will change. Look up.” I am weary of waiting on others To decide that they will do right My gut cannot absorb the lies Cloaked in sugary melodies and light I am weary of watching history repeat Politicized plagues, unmasked and militarized streets Fashioned nooses, licensed lynchings Fickle help on legal benches Tears that mourn for the opressors’ stone glory Absolute feigned ignorance of our stories I am weary of watching small gods strut I am weary of crying “My God! What would you have me to do? Cast them down, Lord! Bring us through! “ We live in times with naked kings, and Subjects circle to let their praises ring And right is wrong And Evil drops the dance and song At our feet While we look for saviors To orchestrate marvelous feats And wear cloaks of perfection So keen to live in protection We become confused And employ the anciently used All or nothing familiar ruse And flawed logic permits many to choose Yea, choose the enemy or downright refuse To engage in our own escape… I am weary I am weary And my words, on their own, are not enough
So on today, I just want to stop and reflect on the concept of “freedom” as it exists in this land, particularly with the boundaries of the United States. On June 19, 1865, approximately 2 1/2 years after the Emancipation Proclamation was given, the word regarding the freedoms that had been established on January 1, 1863 finally reached Texas. This, as it relates to the physical freedom from bondage, is the date that those, who were once counted as 3/4 human, were no longer required to toil on plantations, within homes, or anywhere else within the United States without pay. The awareness of this commemoration, in recent years, has become a celebrated occurrence even outside of the state of Texas, as many around the United States continue to ponder and insist on ever increasing freedoms, equity, and equality for all. Therefore, it is fitting that we celebrate what has happened, as well as consider what needs to happen in order that we might better dwell in peace, prosperity, freedom, and unity.
You don’t have to speak my language for me to love you. You don’t have to worship as I do for me to love you. You don’t have to be my shade, racial mixture, ethnicity, nationality for me to love you. You don’t have to love as I love for me to love you. You don’t have to be like me or like mine for me to love you.
I just have to love you.
A Start…
I see you trying while we’re dying
Weaving back and forth between the phrases
Your mouth may have never felt compelled to form until now
Wanting to say the right thing
(It is a start)
But when it comes out
Your flesh struggles to separate the years of “no need” from the apologies of the new day
Words fumble and jumble, and the need to protect your fear slides in to lessen the impact of your attempts
As well as the wind it took to push it forward
Your message received, but the relief flees when
Your words are regurgitated in the mouths of those who have believed
That it was awkward, unenlightened, insincere…
Those who have anxiously waited to believe that your years of disdain and flawed perceptions had totally shifted
While they were dying for change even as they buried their dead
Between tears and fatigue, they dwell on what you said
Hallowed Grounds: Sacred Sites of African American Memory
Hallowed Be Thy Name…
In my mind, there are sacred sites of striding and struggling
Striations of strain and strength
In memories I once lived and those I inherited, I marvel at how they and I “made it over,” as if I floated in on the broken but braced backs of a superhuman ancestral brood…
For how on earth, Heaven, or hell could I have moved clay lips to laugh, lie, cry, love, preen, protest, speak life, and dodge death…
And I’ve come to realize that these sanctified places of terror, trial, and triumph are ordered in my thoughts, a reminder that true freedom is always bought with a price of great sacrifice and and justified only through an ointment of redemption
And so the Spirit moved among these places
Gave a massaging message while they were moaning while in manacles
Hallowed be thy name…
Inspired their holy dance while in deprivation
Hallowed be thy name…
Gilded the Grace that would carry them
Hallowed be thy name…
Answered prayers whispered only in their thoughts
Hallowed be thy name…
Cloistered me in an ancestral seed
Hallowed be thy name…
Birthed me on a bank of better
Hallowed be thy name
Reined in my reckless
Hallowed be thy name
Gave me strength to fight the feckless
Hallowed be thy name…
The Spirit has moved in many times and places, yet today can be seen in faces of those who know in their hearts that they are but a small part of a greater plan and can still cry “Hallowed be thy name…” in wholly fickle lands
Regina Yvette Carter Garcia
I am Regina Yvette Carter Garcia, daughter of Evelyn Jean Simpson Carter, daughter of Bessie Lee Teel Adams Simpson, daughter of Carrie Teel Adams, daughter of Margaret Carroway Teel, daughter of Cinda Woolard Carraway.
A powerful lesson that my grandmother Bessie Simpson taught me during a time that I was having a crisis of faith was that whatever I believed had to be something that I knew for myself. I needed to be able to see it proven in my life. She never told me that I had to believe what other people told me, to believe one ideology or another, but to believe what I saw working in my own life. Then she shared her testimony with me. It rocked my world! As I applied and tested, my faith in my Divine Power grew stronger…Everyday, I praise my God for who and what she was in my life.
I know that I am at least one day late and about $5 short in regards to a weigh in on Candace Owens. A few reasons for that, the primary one being is that I didn’t know who she was. My faith system doesn’t carry me in her direction. I don’t know her mama an’ nem, and I don’t watch much religious media programming. My spirit can’t roll with all of the masked agendas. However, since I had more than one person inquire regarding my thoughts, I decided that I needed to go back and watch her video so that I can speak intelligently.
🙄
I don’t even quite know how to begin except to say that hearing her say George Floyd was not an “amazing” person, to hear her indicate the black community panders to the “least common denominators” within their communities made my stomach turn, and that, outside of anything else she has to say, tells me these things:
She is not to be taken as a spokesperson for the black community. This is not because she is not black. Certainly she is.
However, she is not adept at explaining the black condition. Why this is the case, I can’t explain with certainty. Perhaps she is operating in a shame of black association. I don’t know her childhood, her experiences, her rejections. I’m not sure if she, on occasion bore the “Oreo” label (Smart kids, that’s a tough label. I know. I’m good, though). I don’t know if she is taking out her revenge on some culture of poverty that she escaped by flinging around a “bootstrap mentality.” I’m not even sure if she is emotionally repaying someone who insists (overtly or implied) that she continue the oppressive narrative of the generational carriers of the colonizers’ mindset. I don’t know what promises or gold stars await that would prompt or enable her to condemn the situationally unarmed incapacitated dead.
Conversely, I don’t know who accepted her in her development, whether the acceptances were conditional or unconditional. I’m not sure if someone or someone(s) told her, showed her, or implied that if she promoted the narrative of the racially-based class apologists she could get a pass that would propel her up the structure.
All I know is that some itching ears were just waiting to have an excuse to ignore the societal imperative of equality, equity, and protection under the law, as well as “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” for all people, in particular black and brown people carelessly “handled” by those within the government and justice systems.
Some of them who waited call themselves Christians. They were waiting to hear from other folks who call themselves Christian to give them a Christian word, as opposed to looking at what the teachings of Christianity espouse.
They were waiting, and then…
She handed them a box of bullets.
Bless her heart.
All that I know is that the Bible consistently conveys that “we are our brother’s keeper,” “not one is without sin,” “all praises belong to God,” “all flesh is grass.”
All that I know is that none of us is “amazing” all of the time.
All I know is that we need to stop looking for reasons not to treat each other right.
All that I know is that idol gods take many forms.
All I know is that worshipers of self abound and tear down.
All I know is that the meek matter, the oppressed matter, the poor matter, the caged matter, and…
Black Lives Matter!
I’m telling you this because I want you to get it right, whoever you are because #YouMatter
Come on now! You better let God into your heart.
You know. Real God.
❤
Black Thought…
Just a thought…a Black thought…my Black thought
What if Black was unconfined,
Not restricted, soul, body, and mind?
And what if Black could see itself
With all of its glory waving, issues unshelved?
And what if Black could escape the box
The one with all the indiscernible locks
And whisper chains secured ’round maintained by those yet free and those still bound by those without and those within, jailers and wailers, sanctified and full of sin, standing close and afar while they moan and grin?
In the time of revolution, empty words and promises create convolution. La Profesora is finding her space to add breath to revelation in order to evaluate and contemplate a solution to the wrath, injustice, and confusion!
When relevant commentary and poetry meet the air, Embrace The Fire!
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