1.31.2006
Behind Every Great Man, Is a Great Woman
Hate is too great a burden to bear. It injures the hater more than it injures the hated. ~Coretta Scott King
Certain news just doesn't sit well early in the morning, and the death of Coretta Scott King is just such news. My heart hurts. I feel as if I've lost a mother, a grandmother, a friend. Over the years her presence, strength, grace and fortitude has meant so much to me. I still can't believe she's gone. I will pray for her family today. I will keep her memory alive. I will not disappoint her, or the million others that died so that I might be free.
ABC NEWS | Jan. 31, 2006 — Coretta Scott King, widow of slain civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr., has died. She was 78.
Scott King was admitted to Atlanta's Piedmont Hospital on Aug. 16, 2005, suffering from a stroke that left her weakened on her right side, unable to walk, and barely able to speak.
Family Blazed Trails
Coretta Scott was born April 27, 1927, on a farm in Heiberger, Ala. Though the family owned the land, it was often a hardscrabble life. The young Coretta, her sister, Edythe, and brother, Obie, all had to pick cotton during the Depression to help the family make ends meet.
The Scott family was resourceful and blazed trails for blacks in its small corner of the world. Her father, Obediah, was the first black person in the area to own a truck, and he eventually opened a country store. Her mother, Bernice, hired a bus to drive all the black children to and from Lincoln High School — nine miles from Heiberger.
An intelligent and hardworking student, Scott King played trumpet and piano, and graduated from Lincoln High at the top of her class in 1945. She followed her older sister to Antioch College in Ohio, where Edythe had been the first full-time black student to live on campus.
At Antioch, Scott King majored in music and education. When she graduated, she decided she wanted to pursue music instead of teaching. She received a scholarship to study violin and voice at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, where she met her future husband, Martin Luther King Jr., who was studying theology at Boston University.
The Kings were married in 1953, and the following year, they moved to Montgomery, Ala., where King began his ministry.
Civil Rights Activists
Scott King spent much of her life devoted to raising their four children — Yolanda Denise, Martin Luther III, Dexter Scott and Bernice Albertine — and to supporting her husband's work in the civil rights movement.
Scott King was often seen beside her husband during freedom marches, traveling abroad and giving speeches. Though she had essentially retired from her music career, she conceived of and performed in the Freedom Concerts, which combined the poetry, stories and music of the civil rights movement.
Scott King became an activist in her own right, as well, carrying messages of international peace and economic justice to organizations around the world. She was the first woman to deliver the Class Day address at Harvard University and the first woman to preach during a service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
When King was assassinated outside a motel room in Memphis, Tenn., on April 4, 1968, Scott King channeled her grief into action. Days later, she led a march through the streets of Memphis, and later that year took his place as a leader of the Poor People's March in Washington, D.C.
Scott King continued working for equality, peace and economic justice for the remainder of her life, both in the United States and abroad. Her travels took her to Latin America to speak out against poverty, South Africa to fight apartheid, and back to Washington, D.C., to mark the 20th anniversary of the historic March on Washington with a second massive gathering of human rights groups.
Honoring Martin
Scott King also devoted much of her time to developing the Atlanta-based Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change as a memorial to her husband's life and dreams. Scott King served as the center's leader until 1995, when she turned over the helm to her son Dexter.
She also led the campaign to make King's birthday, Jan. 15, a national holiday in the United States. By an Act of Congress, the first national observance of the holiday took place in 1986.
Scott King focused much of her energy during the last decade of her life on AIDS awareness and curbing gun violence.
Certain news just doesn't sit well early in the morning, and the death of Coretta Scott King is just such news. My heart hurts. I feel as if I've lost a mother, a grandmother, a friend. Over the years her presence, strength, grace and fortitude has meant so much to me. I still can't believe she's gone. I will pray for her family today. I will keep her memory alive. I will not disappoint her, or the million others that died so that I might be free.ABC NEWS | Jan. 31, 2006 — Coretta Scott King, widow of slain civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr., has died. She was 78.
Scott King was admitted to Atlanta's Piedmont Hospital on Aug. 16, 2005, suffering from a stroke that left her weakened on her right side, unable to walk, and barely able to speak.
Family Blazed Trails
Coretta Scott was born April 27, 1927, on a farm in Heiberger, Ala. Though the family owned the land, it was often a hardscrabble life. The young Coretta, her sister, Edythe, and brother, Obie, all had to pick cotton during the Depression to help the family make ends meet.
The Scott family was resourceful and blazed trails for blacks in its small corner of the world. Her father, Obediah, was the first black person in the area to own a truck, and he eventually opened a country store. Her mother, Bernice, hired a bus to drive all the black children to and from Lincoln High School — nine miles from Heiberger.
An intelligent and hardworking student, Scott King played trumpet and piano, and graduated from Lincoln High at the top of her class in 1945. She followed her older sister to Antioch College in Ohio, where Edythe had been the first full-time black student to live on campus.
At Antioch, Scott King majored in music and education. When she graduated, she decided she wanted to pursue music instead of teaching. She received a scholarship to study violin and voice at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, where she met her future husband, Martin Luther King Jr., who was studying theology at Boston University.
The Kings were married in 1953, and the following year, they moved to Montgomery, Ala., where King began his ministry.
Civil Rights Activists
Scott King spent much of her life devoted to raising their four children — Yolanda Denise, Martin Luther III, Dexter Scott and Bernice Albertine — and to supporting her husband's work in the civil rights movement.
Scott King was often seen beside her husband during freedom marches, traveling abroad and giving speeches. Though she had essentially retired from her music career, she conceived of and performed in the Freedom Concerts, which combined the poetry, stories and music of the civil rights movement.
Scott King became an activist in her own right, as well, carrying messages of international peace and economic justice to organizations around the world. She was the first woman to deliver the Class Day address at Harvard University and the first woman to preach during a service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
When King was assassinated outside a motel room in Memphis, Tenn., on April 4, 1968, Scott King channeled her grief into action. Days later, she led a march through the streets of Memphis, and later that year took his place as a leader of the Poor People's March in Washington, D.C.
Scott King continued working for equality, peace and economic justice for the remainder of her life, both in the United States and abroad. Her travels took her to Latin America to speak out against poverty, South Africa to fight apartheid, and back to Washington, D.C., to mark the 20th anniversary of the historic March on Washington with a second massive gathering of human rights groups.
Honoring Martin
Scott King also devoted much of her time to developing the Atlanta-based Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change as a memorial to her husband's life and dreams. Scott King served as the center's leader until 1995, when she turned over the helm to her son Dexter.
She also led the campaign to make King's birthday, Jan. 15, a national holiday in the United States. By an Act of Congress, the first national observance of the holiday took place in 1986.
Scott King focused much of her energy during the last decade of her life on AIDS awareness and curbing gun violence.
1.24.2006
Love: One Man's Definition
"I have again and again been faced with the mystery of love, and have never been able to explain what it is..." ~Carl Jung
One day you wake up and you just know. And while there seems to be no rhyme or reason for it somewhere, buried deep within you, you know it makes all the sense in the world. After all, you've waited your entire life for this moment, for this feeling, for this person and now after years of preparation, it's here.
And so, you begin the journey seemingly prepared, overwhelmingly cautious yet all the more eager to embrace all it has to offer. You open your heart, open your mind and shun the naysayers. You begin to see and feel its power; you begin to understand why, out of all the people in the world he chose you. You begin to understand her moods, his truths, and your world. It's there in that one sacred place you begin to feel comfortable enough to let your hair down, relax and breathe and know with every breath you take you won't be judged, or ridiculed or made to feel insignificant, needy or even expendable. In his arms you are safe and wanted and valued. You are seen and heard and admired. You are truth, light and honesty. You are in a word, love.
And so, you grow together, laugh together, exist together. And though it's never easy, you understand fully: it is what it is, and so you appreciate it for what it is, ups, downs and in-betweens. That in a nutshell is my definition of love. What's yours?
One day you wake up and you just know. And while there seems to be no rhyme or reason for it somewhere, buried deep within you, you know it makes all the sense in the world. After all, you've waited your entire life for this moment, for this feeling, for this person and now after years of preparation, it's here. And so, you begin the journey seemingly prepared, overwhelmingly cautious yet all the more eager to embrace all it has to offer. You open your heart, open your mind and shun the naysayers. You begin to see and feel its power; you begin to understand why, out of all the people in the world he chose you. You begin to understand her moods, his truths, and your world. It's there in that one sacred place you begin to feel comfortable enough to let your hair down, relax and breathe and know with every breath you take you won't be judged, or ridiculed or made to feel insignificant, needy or even expendable. In his arms you are safe and wanted and valued. You are seen and heard and admired. You are truth, light and honesty. You are in a word, love.
And so, you grow together, laugh together, exist together. And though it's never easy, you understand fully: it is what it is, and so you appreciate it for what it is, ups, downs and in-betweens. That in a nutshell is my definition of love. What's yours?
1.18.2006
The Boondocks on A Revived Short-tempered King
I've yet to take in this cartoon, but found this forward too interesting not to post. My main purpose was to see what you thought of it. Be warned, it is rough, controversial but yet, in some deep dark way, honest. At least, as far as I'm concerned.
1.10.2006
The Color Purple
"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." ~Alice Walker, The Color Purple
I must have seen the movie a thousand times. Almost everyone I know can quote a line, a memory or a song from its script. It’s almost impossible to watch anything Tyler Perry has brought to life, and not see its inflection weaved throughout his stories. It is a cinematic masterpiece whose heart wrenching story has captured the hearts and souls of countless devotees for more than twenty years. Most recently it is a Broadway play. But before any of this, it was simply a voice trying hard to make its way into the world through its muse and author Alice Walker.
What makes good fiction good fiction? What makes a story move beyond the pages of a book and become living breathing entities we can touch and feel? What makes them real? These are the questions I ask each time I find myself before a computer pecking away. These are the answers I must receive and/or discover if I am ever to become the writer I dream. And that dream has little to do with monetary success as much as it has to do with my ability to act as a reliable medium for the voices trying to come through; a medium that doesn’t challenge what he hears, but, accepts it as it is; a medium that doesn’t attempt to direct the flow but rather, goes with the flow. If I can accomplish this, then, maybe someday I can produce something as miraculous as The Color Purple.
Alice Walker was truly a medium. She listened to Celie. She understood Celie. She became Celie. She allowed Celie to be Celie, no cover-up, no excuses, no political correctness. Because of this we were able to fully explore Celie’s psyche and watch her as she grew from a weak, timid, permissive little girl, raped by her father, shunned by her mother, sold off into marriage, beaten and humiliated by her husband to a strong, independent, charismatic force that believed, forgave, loved and moved on when others might have withered away and died. The idea that I felt I knew Celie and Nettie and Sophia and Mr. and Shug is no accident, simply because Alice allowed herself first, as the medium, to know them. And so it is only right that I too, upon digesting this novel, would know them as well. What an adventure. What a gift. What a blessing it must be to shut up, and listen. Shhhhhh...
As a writer, a struggling one (in every sense of the word), I spend so much of my time playing God——telling my characters how to think, what to feel, what they want and from whom they want it——I barely allow them time to think, breathe and function on their own. Because I believe they are my creations I offer them no will of their own; in retaliation almost all of them refuse to comply and as a result I often find myself lost for words, unable to pinpoint their feelings and quite incapable as a writer; a position that leaves me surfing the net for idle purchases, instead of fulfilling their individual prophecy. In life I have a tendency to avoid stiff, one dimensional, cardboard cut-out characters, so it is only natural in my writing and readings I tend to ignore these characters as well. And now, I know why, I’m not listening.
Having spent the last three days reading The Color Purple all I can say is Alice Walker laid it down in this novel, just as James Baldwin did in Another Country. Both have a way of capturing the essence of the human spirit and presenting it in such a way you can’t help but notice it, and see it for what it is: good, bad or indifferent. And one day, having fully learned the art of medium-ism, I too will stand among the greats. Wish me luck.
I must have seen the movie a thousand times. Almost everyone I know can quote a line, a memory or a song from its script. It’s almost impossible to watch anything Tyler Perry has brought to life, and not see its inflection weaved throughout his stories. It is a cinematic masterpiece whose heart wrenching story has captured the hearts and souls of countless devotees for more than twenty years. Most recently it is a Broadway play. But before any of this, it was simply a voice trying hard to make its way into the world through its muse and author Alice Walker. What makes good fiction good fiction? What makes a story move beyond the pages of a book and become living breathing entities we can touch and feel? What makes them real? These are the questions I ask each time I find myself before a computer pecking away. These are the answers I must receive and/or discover if I am ever to become the writer I dream. And that dream has little to do with monetary success as much as it has to do with my ability to act as a reliable medium for the voices trying to come through; a medium that doesn’t challenge what he hears, but, accepts it as it is; a medium that doesn’t attempt to direct the flow but rather, goes with the flow. If I can accomplish this, then, maybe someday I can produce something as miraculous as The Color Purple.
Alice Walker was truly a medium. She listened to Celie. She understood Celie. She became Celie. She allowed Celie to be Celie, no cover-up, no excuses, no political correctness. Because of this we were able to fully explore Celie’s psyche and watch her as she grew from a weak, timid, permissive little girl, raped by her father, shunned by her mother, sold off into marriage, beaten and humiliated by her husband to a strong, independent, charismatic force that believed, forgave, loved and moved on when others might have withered away and died. The idea that I felt I knew Celie and Nettie and Sophia and Mr. and Shug is no accident, simply because Alice allowed herself first, as the medium, to know them. And so it is only right that I too, upon digesting this novel, would know them as well. What an adventure. What a gift. What a blessing it must be to shut up, and listen. Shhhhhh...
As a writer, a struggling one (in every sense of the word), I spend so much of my time playing God——telling my characters how to think, what to feel, what they want and from whom they want it——I barely allow them time to think, breathe and function on their own. Because I believe they are my creations I offer them no will of their own; in retaliation almost all of them refuse to comply and as a result I often find myself lost for words, unable to pinpoint their feelings and quite incapable as a writer; a position that leaves me surfing the net for idle purchases, instead of fulfilling their individual prophecy. In life I have a tendency to avoid stiff, one dimensional, cardboard cut-out characters, so it is only natural in my writing and readings I tend to ignore these characters as well. And now, I know why, I’m not listening.
Having spent the last three days reading The Color Purple all I can say is Alice Walker laid it down in this novel, just as James Baldwin did in Another Country. Both have a way of capturing the essence of the human spirit and presenting it in such a way you can’t help but notice it, and see it for what it is: good, bad or indifferent. And one day, having fully learned the art of medium-ism, I too will stand among the greats. Wish me luck.
1.06.2006
A New Beginning
"When you change your thoughts, you change your choices, you change your life." ~Actor Terrence Howard
Back when I was twenty-seven I started searching. If you had asked me back then what I was searching for I probably couldn't give you a straight-forward answer because even then I didn't know. All I knew were the questions bouncing around in my head, and the dissatisfaction I felt at not being able to answer them. Now some years later having clearly defined my search and since discovering a multitude of answers I still cannot fully connect the dots, for the old questions have birthed new ones, and the new ones are as frustatingly confusing as the old ones. Still, despite the frustrations of the questions I must honestly admit I love the journey. Why? I'll tell you.
Before the questions I employed external locus of control. I was a victim of life and felt threatened by its inability to set me free. I was always lonely, always desperate, always needing. I lived for the validation of others and felt helpless, empty and incomplete if by some chance they didn't or couldn't offer it to me. I was the greatest of pretenders, professing love of self while simulanteously hating every thing I said, did, believed and felt. I didn't or couldn't feel good about myself unless or until someone else felt good about me. I was weak, and shallow and foolish. But above all else, I was normal. Most of my friends, my family, my co-workers all believed and perpetuated the same thoughts I believed and perpetuated. My needing someone to love me in order for me to love me, wasn't strange to them because they too needed that "someone special" to complete them. Like me they were defining themselves through their stuff, through their accomplishments, through their associations. We were our diamonds, the size, the cut, the clarity. We were our clothes, the name, the fit, price. We were any and every thing except ourselves. And our belief that we had no say or control of these things kept us, me stagnant and trapped. But the journey, changed all of that.
Today, some six years since my twenty-seventh birthday, I'm a totally different person. I'm significantly more in control of my life, my beliefs, and my emotions; and as a result, I'm so much more happier and satisfied and useful to myself, to my friends, to my family---to the fucking world! But above all of that, I'm free from all the bullshit that used to cause me so much fucking pain. And while there are times when I question the past and seriously contemplate whether or not I would relive some of those intense moments that caused me so much pain I realize, like Faith, yeah I've felt a lot of pain, and yeah I've seen a lot of things, but if I had to do it all again I would not take away the rain because I know deep in my heart that rain made me who I am. And while today, this moment I am happier than I have ever been in my life I realize the battle, or rather, journey to my authentic self is just beginning. I've only recently stumbled onto the road. And like Michael and Diana, I'm dusting myself off and readying my heart, mind and soul to ease on down that road.
I'm excited about this new year. I'm excited about turning 33. I'm excited about living. I'm excited about giving. I'm excited about learning. I'm excited about sharing. To be quite honest, there's very little I'm not excited about; I don't know about you but, in my book that's a very good thing.
Back when I was twenty-seven I started searching. If you had asked me back then what I was searching for I probably couldn't give you a straight-forward answer because even then I didn't know. All I knew were the questions bouncing around in my head, and the dissatisfaction I felt at not being able to answer them. Now some years later having clearly defined my search and since discovering a multitude of answers I still cannot fully connect the dots, for the old questions have birthed new ones, and the new ones are as frustatingly confusing as the old ones. Still, despite the frustrations of the questions I must honestly admit I love the journey. Why? I'll tell you.Before the questions I employed external locus of control. I was a victim of life and felt threatened by its inability to set me free. I was always lonely, always desperate, always needing. I lived for the validation of others and felt helpless, empty and incomplete if by some chance they didn't or couldn't offer it to me. I was the greatest of pretenders, professing love of self while simulanteously hating every thing I said, did, believed and felt. I didn't or couldn't feel good about myself unless or until someone else felt good about me. I was weak, and shallow and foolish. But above all else, I was normal. Most of my friends, my family, my co-workers all believed and perpetuated the same thoughts I believed and perpetuated. My needing someone to love me in order for me to love me, wasn't strange to them because they too needed that "someone special" to complete them. Like me they were defining themselves through their stuff, through their accomplishments, through their associations. We were our diamonds, the size, the cut, the clarity. We were our clothes, the name, the fit, price. We were any and every thing except ourselves. And our belief that we had no say or control of these things kept us, me stagnant and trapped. But the journey, changed all of that.
Today, some six years since my twenty-seventh birthday, I'm a totally different person. I'm significantly more in control of my life, my beliefs, and my emotions; and as a result, I'm so much more happier and satisfied and useful to myself, to my friends, to my family---to the fucking world! But above all of that, I'm free from all the bullshit that used to cause me so much fucking pain. And while there are times when I question the past and seriously contemplate whether or not I would relive some of those intense moments that caused me so much pain I realize, like Faith, yeah I've felt a lot of pain, and yeah I've seen a lot of things, but if I had to do it all again I would not take away the rain because I know deep in my heart that rain made me who I am. And while today, this moment I am happier than I have ever been in my life I realize the battle, or rather, journey to my authentic self is just beginning. I've only recently stumbled onto the road. And like Michael and Diana, I'm dusting myself off and readying my heart, mind and soul to ease on down that road.
I'm excited about this new year. I'm excited about turning 33. I'm excited about living. I'm excited about giving. I'm excited about learning. I'm excited about sharing. To be quite honest, there's very little I'm not excited about; I don't know about you but, in my book that's a very good thing.
