Monday, July 23, 2007

Reconciling the Path's Heart, pt. 1


"...Black men in America are being removed from the earth like loose sand in a wind storm..." ~Haki Madhubuti

....I divined for him, casting the Obi Abata, Akorani: A quarrel or difficult situation. Amosun has been fatherless for too long and now the shadow has displaced the sheet of tears once visible by shades of the sun. In the mirror, his stained face conjures memories of the missteps made while negotiating his manhood, pillaging the path. He celebrates the young warriors turned pimps and thugs, while basking in the absence of balanced love. The same balanced love that inspired his conception, that same balance of earth and wind that was once a harness for his strength, but are now weapons for his labyrinth. That charming ambiguity of his used to disarm all who dare to navigate its tangled roads without first acquiring a legend or without leaving three pennies for Latopa--the gatekeeper. He has learned to exploit the insecurities of those intrigued. Through self-discovery he observed that everyone has a void waiting to be plenished and most often welcomes unassuming, yet foreign solutions. This is a skill he inherited from his father. I asked Amosun did he find it ironic that even in his father's absence he managed to adopt the same traits that characterize his forebear, he replied "Irony don't mean shit, why resist your destiny?" He continued, "I'm not here for you to ask them questions, just tell me if it is safe for me to travel to Maputo or not." He wanted to visit a friend who spoke endlessly about the opportunities in Moçambique. The need for financial infrastructure(i.e. money laundering), the beautiful women and the bountiful land, all of which were all attractive enough for him to relocate forever. It also offered a welcomed change to the concrete cage that informed his lifestyle and worldview: Paterson, NJ.

I told him that going to Maputo was not such a wise choice right now, but that he should seek further counsel. He wasn't pleased to hear that, because that meant soliciting the services of Ifalodun Amusan, my father. My father always liked Amosun and treated him as his own son. I'm sure that's one of the main reasons why Amosun became part of the Ile. Being that my father was a babalawo, an olubata and overall a well-respected elder in the community, he functioned as a surrogate father to many of the young Black men in our community. For reasons I could deduce, he was hesitant to seek guidance from my father in this matter because he knew that my father would ask questions that, out of respect, Amosun would be compelled to answer. Instead, he came to me.

He would regularly ask me to divine for him, but my inquiries would routinely be dismissed. According to Amosun friends shouldn't broach such topics and those who do border suspicion. So, normally I would ask without prying, but this circumstance required deliberate thought and action. That being the case, after reading the Obi I pushed the questions and once again he disregarded my inquiry. I urged Amosun to speak with my father, because his situation warranted greater spiritual technology. Since I'm just an apprentice and not fully initiated, my father's the only person in north Jersey who can be of use. Amosun knows this, but doesn't want to be held accountable for his intentions.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

What Ever Happened To Billy Ocean?

So, for those who don't know I am an okayplayer, which means I frequent the website founded by The Roots' musical director, Ahmir "?uestlove" Thompson. But more than that, being an okayplayer is a way of life...I'll save that for another entry. Anyway, this is one of my favorite places to peruse and discover new artists, books, movies, etc. They support a host of my most loved artists and their message boards always generate interesting and often comical discussion. Today, I was taking full advantage of the overwhelming amount of idle time I had on my hands and decided to go to okayplayer.com and see what was new. I came across a strand on the message board that said: Billy Ocean. Trini-born and UK's biggest selling Black artist of all time, he is most remembered for his song "Caribbean Queen", which you can find here.
I love that song, my mama played the hell out of that record and "When The Going Gets Tough". What's interesting though is that originally the song was titled European Queen, but Clive Calder(Jive Records) thought it would "sound more exotic and appeal to a wider audience," if Billy was talking about a Caribbean Queen or an African Queen(which was recorded as well)... [silence]...no comment. Either way, I had an image in my mind about what Billy O. looked like. After seeing my mama's beat up Love Zone album cover like 126 times, I had that jheri curl and smile etched into my memory, securing Billy Ocean as the quintessential UK Black pop artist forever, in my mind. What was striking to me about the strand on the okayplayer message board was that someone commented that Billy Ocean was now a Rasta. I froze for a moment and thought about that, tried to imagine Billy as a Rasta....THIS is what is what flash figurizes in my mind when I think Rasta and not that there is anything essential about being a Rasta other than the belief in the principles peculiar to that spiritual system. But....Billy Ocean?!?! It just rocked me. However, it touched me that that brother found solace in this spiritual tradition after being consumed by the commercial music industry machine. It is a testament to our constant evolution as humanoids galavanting the planet in search of something more. Here's to new and life-altering/affirming experiences. Thanks Billy O. !

Thursday, July 19, 2007


Emotion Emigrant.

"Now, I dun made up my mind and I won't be moved on dis."
(c) Lazarus, Black Snake Moan.


I need to leave this place(the Republic of Emotionality) only because it makes it impossible to live a productive life. Being purged from someone's life is painful, much more painful than words allow our thoughts to commit to. And what's more, is that voidance reverberates for life encounters to come. It appears that there is a movement developing at this very moment, one of which I never had the foresight to predict or imagine. There is a concerted effort-by those who have occupied my life in some capacity or another- to evacuate and abandon the relationship I have with them. An odd phenomenon. Only because this vacancy calls to question how such an event can happen and not be connected to an elusive message/truth that I'm ignoring about myself. And I'm searching, wondering how I have traversed a path that begets such emotional violence. I feel like I must have been/am a relationship terrorist. That's my only explanation for being removed from the respectful commentary of someone's life. Destroying the lives of those I encounter with malice and blatant disregard for the moral imperative that should govern all human interactions. Maybe I have yet to honestly observe the palpable humanity of those I consider to be close to me. Maybe I have yet to act in that vein, failing to actively honor someone's worth strikes me as being more criminal(thus more punishable) than being ignorant of it.
This reminds me of a piece I wrote called Mr. Unspecial. It came at time that was somewhat similar, in that it was a moment of evacuation. These experiences always manage to organize themselves around extremely imperfect conditions, as if the universe is waiting until you're off balance to catastrophically disrupt/alter your life. While there is infinite value in the growth that is consequential to these episodes, the exhaustion and relationship death are not tangential. In fact, they are unredemptive and impossible to totally recover from.

So in my mind, it is logical to abandon my emotionality for a more rational state of being--read stoic. Why continue to submit yourself to experiences that torture essential aspects of your being--f*ck that, it's insanity. So I'm packing my bags and I'm emigrating to a new emotional(or lack thereof) home. I'm thinking this self-imposed exile will disparage any newcomers, saving my corner of the cosmos from the impending spiritual combustion. The universe has more than enough nebulous matter without the addition of my dysfunctional contribution.