Sunday, February 15, 2009

There is a Ghost Riding the Whip 12/27/08

Dear Ms. Primus,

PhotobucketArriving at the Cape Coast. (Ghana 2008)

I went to Africa. I tried to leave my burdens on the shores of the Atlantic, but there is a ghost riding the whip that beats me into my blessings. A junkyard is at the entrance to the graveyard. An old woman with a gentle face is sitting on the ground. She extends her hand to ask for money. The chief lives behind razor wire and painted walls. Protection. His son drives a benz over the back of my ancestors. Wow ... coconut colored skin can come with chocolate freckles, bright orange hair and eyelashes. Just like when the terracotta clay roads glow at dusk. She could be Ewe, Fonti, or Ashanti. My frame looks like sugarcane more than ever. I finally saw the bats sleeping in the day at 37. They look like dead flowers on trees. It was actually pretty cool. I'm not scared anymore. Now I laugh at the lizard with the black body, red face, and tail. Me and the not so small spider dance around each other. Both trying not to interrupt.

I ate snails because I need to be more like one. That's why I got sick. I was moving too fast.

PhotobucketAdia and Asia at "Bless the Mic" on Christmas Night.
(Accra, Ghana 2008)

Bricks and stones may break my throne, but all that heals me, heals eternity. Yes ... because if you heal a woman you heal a nation ... when the queen is sick the village is sick ... so I'm going to stop it, screw my lid on as tight as I can without getting cut and do everything I can to get well! Most things are easier said than done. Respect is recognizing greatness, practicing honor, and demanding truth. Everything is earned.

Brotha Shabazz says that crabs don't let go of whatever is in the first claw until they have latched on tight and are sure about whatever the next thing is in the second claw. Even then we might not let go easily.

Dear Ms. Primus ... help me to let go.

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