Looking in the Mirror

Spiritual Revelations for those seeking Humanity in Humans ~~CordieB.

Archive for Unity

Lasting Change is Never Forced…though it is often created by example

Strength, Courage and Wisdom--CordieB

Strength, Courage and Wisdom ~~CordieB

One of the greatest gifts given to me by God is the ability to change my mind ~CordieB.

Let us stop wasting valuable energy trying to change the minds of other people.  It is not our job.  How and what people think is advanced or limited by their own experiences–their own life lessons–and how well they apply those lessons. 

In our presense, other people have the opportunity to grow and perhaps even learn something.  Our actions in of themselves will promote change in the hearts of others.  When we express ourselves as being capable of loving, listening, sharing, and understanding, we promote the change we so often try to force upon others. 

Let us be an example of that we wish to change.  Let us spend less time worrying about what other people are thinking or doing and more time creating positive change in ourselves.

The Rock Cries Out to Us Today

©2007-2008 =alexiuss

In light of the upcoming election, the tensions of race, political, religion, sexuality and other issues that we allow to separate us; often destroy us — and after reading Paisley’s poem, fuerzas irresistibles , that reminded me of this one today, I simply had to share . . . . Both poems challenge us to look beyond our egos, prejustices, and other differences, look towards the rock, the river, the tree . . . oh how they must cry today; how sad they must be . . . .

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers–
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours–your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes,
Into your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
~Maya Angelou

 
 
 
 

 

OK, perhaps I’m prejustice about some things, but I’m working on it!

©2008 ~motherwarxx

 

Normally, I stick to poetry or art, but every so often, I write an opinion/article.  I had planned on writing a quasi-xrated poem today, but this morning after reading Angry African’s post on racism , I decided to speak out.  So, blame AA for my writhing this post instead of the quasi-xrated poem I intended to woo you with today.  In his post, AA admitted that he was a racist at one time, and didn’t even realize it.  I prefer to use the word prejustice in AA’s situation, rather than racist.  I think there is a difference . . . He gave us a scenario of how he passed up one hitchhiker without a second thought due their color, and thought about picking up another, because it was, perhaps, "a preferred color."   AA did not say which color he preferred.  I assumed when I first read this article that he gave more thought to picking up the white passenger than so the black passenger because AA is a white male.  But after further reflection, I really don’t know, because he is also an activitist who may have felt more passion towards a black man than a white.  I don’t know.  I hope he never tells.  The point is, racism is racism.  Why is it that he felt compelled to pick up one more so than the other based solely on the color of their skin?  AA challenged us to look at ourselves and admit to our own racisms.  This is something that we do not communicate about in mixed race situations.   Perhaps it is not PC to do so; perhaps we feel that we will offend someone.  But unless we look our actions and our thought patterns then the cycle of racism will continue.  Unless we selfexamine, we will not be compelled to eradiate these ignorant thoughts.  So I said to self, "Self, how am I racist." 

 

Racist Act No. One.   I don’t consider myself to be racist, but I suppose I have preferences based upon color.  Is that racist?  I prefer relationships with black men; I’ve never been attracted to white men.  Does that make me a racist?  Perhaps yes.  Because, truth be told, I’ve never ever considered trying such because of what’s been handed down to me by society, family and friends.  Oh, I’m perfectly acceptable of others in mixed race relationships; I have many friends who are married to people of a different race.  But me personally, I have never even given such a second thought.  Period. 

 

Racist Act No. Two.   Now here is another form of racism I have, similar to that of AA’s maybe, maybe not.  I’m walking down a dark street.  On one side of the street are two white men in business suits, on the other are two black men with hoodies and baggy jeans.  As a black female, which group would I feel more comfortable walking past?  Answer – The white men in business suits.  Crazy huh?  Racists huh?  True though.  This is due to what I’ve learned; what I see,  what I’m told by the media, not what I experience.  My thought pattern has nothing whatsoever to do with the people themselves; as I don’t even know these people.  I’ve never been mugged, I’ve never been raped.  I usually walk past either without any interaction whatsoever.  So what has given me this ignorant fear that I’d rather past two white men in business suits than two black men in hoodies and jeans.  It’s simply ignorant.  And, I have to consciously stop this train of ignorant thinking; because I’m passing on this bull to my daughters and sons, either consciously or unconsciously!   A recent study showed that black women would prefer to pass individuals on the street by race and gender in this order – (1) black female (2) white female (3) white male (4) black male.  The black male is last in the pecking order, even by the black female.  Don’t you find that somewhat disturbing.   I feel the same way, yet it is very, very disturbing.  What have I allowed to sink into my head?  What fears have manifested into my belief system?  Wow! 

 

The Irony of it All.   Now even though I would not  give a white male a second look in the prospect of marriage, I  would rather pass him than a black male   on a dark street!  Ain’t that ignorant!  Think about it! 

 

Peace, Light and Love . . . CordieB. 

 

P.S. Don’t tell anyone, but I thought that Angry African was a black man for weeks when I first started reading his blog – why?– Because he’s an Angry African Activitst!.  I’d stereotyped him too.  One day I looked up and I saw those beautiful piercing green eyes in the header and it was then that I looked deeper into what he was.  Not that it should make a difference, right?  Racism is pure ignorance!  We need to check ourselves!

Photo Friday – Old Cars (Sunday Afternoons After Church) ~By CordieB.

Initially, I had not planned to submit for this week’s Photo Friday because time did not permit me to take a picture of an old vehicle. Additionally, I did not have any photos that I had previously taken. But the rules were adjusted somewhat this week, whereas we can submit pics that we did not take. So I thought I’d share a picture taken in the early 60’s of my mother and aunt Anna. Both have gone on to another realm; bless their souls.  To see this pic in a larger view; please visit my photo blog or click on the pic .

Sunday Afternoons After Church

Sunday Afternoons After Church

Sunday afternoons after church in the 60’s were so full of neighborhood and family values: Families and friends gathering together for Soul Food, good conversation–everyone wearing their Sunday best – so full of love and tradition. Boy do I ever miss those days. I myself often carry out the Sunday tradition; but unlike the days of old, it’s always me doing all the cooking and most of us did not come from church! Wow do I miss the days when many of the women gathered in the steamy kitchen talking trash, laughing – whilst the men, admiring their families, talked “business” in the dining room. Now I know that we’ve progressed so much from the 60’s; but some things, in my opinion, did not promote progress, but a sense of individuality bringing forth separation that saddens me. No longer do I see the community and family unity – everyone’s for self now. This, in my opinion, has caused depression, poverty, violence and a malady of social problems. So today, let’s strive to live that life of the 60’s, and bring family and community together.

Sunday Afternoons After Church ~By CordieB

Oh how I miss the days of old . . .

When family unity was the goal

Of every bright or weary soul

Oh how I miss the lost tradition

When helping hands was the mission

When we knew all our neighbor’s names

When we’d speak to all who peacefully came

walking down the clean sidewalks

stopping for friendly gossip and small talk

When neighbors would watch over the young

and everyone knew every one

when neighbors could spank that ass

for talking smart or acting fast

and then I’d get another one

after the neighbor told my dad or mom

When children still played hide and seek

When strong families always helped the weak

When unity meant what it should

and not simply another cliche’ buzz word

When fathers could not abandon theirs

without humilitation, points and stares

and of course lots and lots of old folk’s prayers

When the corner store owner lived in the neighborhood

and there was no such thing as “living in the hood”

And people usually acted like they knew they should

The Sunday afternoons after church dismissed

When family and neigbors gathered to reminice

And laugh and cry and love each other

and every one was treated like a sister or brother

I miss it all, but alas life goes on

So at least I’ll carry the tradition on

So if you miss those days, come visit soon

My home on Sunday Afternoons

~Written By CordieB

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Have a soul filled Sunday!