A different terrain

We all know that life gets busy and unfortunately sometimes the first casualties are our friends. Friendship is one of the things that help make life a little smoother and a little easier. We learn a lot from our friends. Our friends soften the sharp edges of life and help us when we are in the deep dark valleys. They also ride with us in the sunny times of our lives. A true friend smiles and supports us as we reach for our goals. They encourage us to keep going. They are gifts from the heavens above. One knows when you have found this gem. You can recognize them in disagreements as they never leave your side no matter how much you may not agree. They are willing to share themselves and take time to listen in spite of their busy lives or other relationships. I have been blessed with a few of these gems in my life. Although my friend lives thousands of miles away, we know we are there for one another and no dark cloud hovers without us under it together.

Unfortunately many of us are lonely and we reach for friendships that may be inappropriate, one sided, or hold on when it no longer fits. For many it is a sad day when a relationship ends especially one in which a lot of energy was invested. The ending of relationships often comes with clues. We notice our relationship has become one sided. We are the ones to always call, always arrange dates, always us doing it all. Our friend is no longer available. If you listen really closely you can almost hear the energy drop like a ton of bricks. However, we continue to hold on thinking maybe we are misinterpreting the information. We feel we no longer click. We no longer make time for one another. Sometimes other relationships or new friends displace the old and the old is no longer valued as important. Immaturity often plays a part as some may feel they only have enough to maintain one friendship at a time. It hurts to lose a friend make no bones about it but we have to be willing to let go. When one leaves, others often appear. To have a true friend, we must be a true friend. Many of us have come to understand the shortness and the fragility of life. Time is fleeting and nourishing and cherishing those that add to our fleeting time is a beauty to embrace.

The other day I read an article about a poor stray kitten that was horribly disfigured and left in a garbage dump.  The poor little guy was infected with maggots, missing an ear and in such bad shape it is a miracle that he survived as long as he did.  Every day thousands passed him without a glance as he cried pitiously day and night.  Not even a glance or a morsel of food.  That is until a 7 year old girl heard his plea for help.  Once in a while someone comes along that gives a shit and makes someone’s existence better.  I like to think of them as angels.  This little kitty was blessed as he cried and she answered.  In her little 7 year old body beat the heart of a caring and gentle soul averse to the suffering of the world around her.

So many in our world look the other way, they don’t want to get involved.  Years ago a young woman was beaten almost to an inch of her life in Central park in New York as many heard and listened but did nothing.  Every day people pass the homeless refusing to make eye contact lest someone might ask for help.  We get into a crowded elevator without a word with our eyes cast to the floor.  One might ask, what the hell have we become?  We have become hard and indifferent.  We have been taught to “look away, don’t touch, it might bite, leave it alone, don’t get involved you might get hurt.”  We have lost our humanity and have learned to save our own skins at all cost.

Last year while traveling with my parents, we stopped at the local cemetery to put flowers on a grave. Out of nowhere came a 4 week old kitten heading straight for me wet from a recent rain.  He was hungry weak and had obviously been dumped.  Flies were nipping at his small weak body and I knew I could not leave him.  My poor parents questioned my sanity and wondered what exactly I planned to do with him since we were far from home.  I too wondered.  I made the decision to take him to an emergency veterinarian and bundled him in rags and off we went.  The vet was able to take him in and I guaranteed payment for any care he might need.  He was infected with maggots and eggs and severely dehydrated but they told us he seemed ok.  We left for the night with plans to pick him up the next day and head home.  After shopping for him and returning to the vets office, we learned that he had died in the night.  My sadness was overwhelming and I shed tears for him.  How could anyone have done that to an innocent soul?  I soon began to feel a sense of peace as I knew I had given him a last night of warmth and love.  He died knowing kindness and warmth and the flies no longer bit him.  I named him CJ for cemetery Joe.  I, like that 7 year old girl cannot tolerate suffering and can no longer remain mute.

We are the creators of our world and have a responsibility to stand up to injustices and suffering at all cost.  Sometimes it might cost us but it will always benefit our world.  I give thanks to people like that little 7 year old girl who answered the call of a soul in need.  By the way, the little girl and her rescued kitty are now inseperable and he is healthy and well.

I am going to tell you the story of the day I almost drowned for a monkey.  I was all of 9 years old and I had always had a love affair with monkeys.  I grew up watching Tarzan and dreamed my monkey would be exactly like Cheetah, the cute well dressed primate that strolled along with Tarzan every week.  I envisioned my monkey walking with me hand and hand dressed in the finest tee shirts and blue jeans that I could afford.  I knew all my neighborhood friends would envy me and my monkey and plead with their parents to fulfill their desire of having their very own just like I had done with my parents.  I saw my monkey in my dreams and had his name all picked out.  I was going to call him Lewis.  I thought the name Lewis would fit my monkey as it had a sort of artistic, intellectual flair.  All was planned as to how my monkey would fit into my life and become my best friend.  My dad had agreed to the plan with only one requirement, I had to learn to swim.

Now I loved the water and loved playing and cavorting with my friends at the local pool but I never went deeper than I could see my feet.  That was the rule.  On beach outings my parents admonished often “never go further than you can see your feet.”  I obeyed and learned to play it safe in the water.  My dad had always wanted his children to learn to swim as he often gave his reasons as we would be able to save our lives should we perhaps fall overboard into deep water.  I never understood from where I would fall overboard and I certainly had no intention of not being able to see my feet in the water. Since no other thoughts lived in my mind except getting Lewis, I agreed to take lessons. Every morning I would head to the pool easing my little body into the Chlorine filled lake. Week after week my ritual continued until the big day when I would have to swim the length of the pool. It was expected that I would dive from the board into the deep waters and swim my way to the shallow end arriving victorious. I had a vision of that day. I imagined my dad had already purchased the monkey and had him hidden at a friends house. I knew once I stepped out of the pool in all of my victory, my dad would be standing there hand in hand with Lewis wearing a striped tee and a little pair of baggy overalls. As I closed my eyes I could smell his pungent monkey fur and would kneel as he came monkey running into my arms. My moment of bliss was interrupted by the sharp shrill of a whistle. It was now my turn. As I stood on that diving board peering into the deep blue cold water I knew there was no turning back. It was now or never. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lept into the abyss of blue. I swam with all of my might, piercing the water with knifelike strokes. I was gliding and moving inching my way closer to the goal. All of a sudden my body said no. I panicked. I no longer was gliding but I was sinking. Struggling and fighting the water like a boxer in a ring I gave in and sank to the bottom. Screaming as I swallowed large amounts of chlorinated water yet no one could hear. Lewis flashed into my mind waving his little monkey hand good bye. He knew like I knew that there would be no monkey this time around for I had failed. When I thought I could fight no more, a hand reached into the cold water pulling me to the side. Coughing and gagging I laid there for a moment fighting back tears and embarrassment. Finally regaining my composure I made my way to the dressing room defeated, realizing I had just lost my best friend to be. I was silent with my dad and dared not ask if I could still get the monkey. My dad being the compassionate fellow that he is attempted to heal my hurting heart with a present, a doll, not a monkey but a doll. Although a nice gesture, this was not what I wanted. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry and disappear. I wanted Lewis and I wanted him now. What would I say to my friends? I had planned for him. I had thought of all of the things we could do together. I had his outfits chosen. Lewis had taught me a lesson. I learned that no matter how much we want something, sometimes we have to let it go as it was not meant to be. We can spend forever hitting our heads against a wall or almost killing ourselves for a dream that will never materialize. As an adult, I realize that a monkey in my house would have been far from perfect. Monkeys require work and care and have a nasty habit of flinging feces whenever and wherever. That would not have been a good thing. I knew I had to let him go. Years later i asked my dad what would have happened had I passed the swimming test, would I have gotten the monkey? With a smirk on his lip, he replied, “I would have told you the stores were all out of monkeys.”

In the past day or so an incident of road rage gone bad has left a woman in Las Vegas dead. After being accosted by a man with his car, the woman apparently went looking for him with her armed son.  The end result was not good. A family has lost a wife and their mother over senseless violence that has become epidemic in a sick and malignant culture.

When we hear these tragedies, the anti-gun folks point fingers and scream about outlawing guns.  Some claim no one needs a gun unless you are a police officer.  They point to numerous incidents of children mistaking guns for toys causing massive damage or death.  We read and hear about innocent school children slaughtered by a mentally deranged man in Connecticut and immediately send up an alarm cry “no guns.”  In a safe haven and mentally stable world there would be no need for guns.  If we all respected one another and cherished and valued life, guns would have no place in our world.  Sadly, that is not the case. We have become an angry, seething and hostile society. We are also afraid. We want to point a finger, we want a scapegoat. We want to look for the cause of our screwed up collapsing world so we can fix it or remove the culprit. We look hard for reasons crime happens; maybe they were in the wrong part of town, maybe they were out too late, maybe they knew the person and had a fight. We figure if we can find a reason, we can excuse ourselves from getting too emotionally wrapped up, it won’t happen to us. We fail to understand that it is us. We are the problem.

The pro-gun folk see nothing wrong with ownership of automatic weapons and will argue the constitution to their rights to bear arms. I don’t think our founding fathers had any foresight to what fire power would be available as they were loading their muskets. It is not about the gun but our inability to deal with our own emotional sickness as a society. We have become a society that pits its members against one another; white against black, rich against poor, young against old, women against men, straight against gay and it goes on and on. We cast a suspicious eye upon what we consider to be “the other” while at the same time speaking of our moral religious standards. We pray in a pew on Sunday and denigrate others on Monday. We have come to the fork in the road and we are in trouble. We point our self righteous fingers at those we see as outside of us claiming “they are jealous and trying to destroy our American way of life.” We fail to realize we are the ones destroying us like a cancer eating away from inside. Terrorists cannot do what we are doing to ourselves. If they were smart, they would just take a front seat and watch.

Ok folks here we are in the month of February.  This is the month of Valentines Day where men everywhere run into the grocery store at the last moment to purchase wilting flowers to profess their love.  Couples everywhere march into restaurants offering dinners for “lovers’ to glance lovingly into eyes they see every day. It is the day of love. Forget a lifetime of love but this is the day or the month in the case of Black History.  

Ahh February a time to celebrate all of the sacrifices, famous black folk, and of course the culture of African Americans.  Never mind it has been over 200 years since slavery and black people are now a part or supposed to be a part of the fabric of America.  Never mind that many among our society have no idea what black culture is other than what they see on a television.  Often times the portrayal of black culture by the media circus is one depicting gang bangers, large women using foul language and living in the ghetto.  We see young black men with the seat of their pants hanging to their knees.  We see our prison population with primarily black faces peering from the cells.  Every time an unspeakable crime is committed our society expects the perpetrator to be black and express surprise when he is not. We see our senate and elected officials disrespecting the leader of the free world in a way that has never been witnessed.  What society fails to see is a black culture full of pride.  Many do not see into the black churches and understand the spiritual strength.  We fail to see the communities that are cohesive and nurturing to the young. Yes, they do exist. Instead of a month where we all proclaim our love of black culture, how about fair and equal treatment, end of racial profiling, and the ability to live in a society without bigotry?  As a black woman I have assimilated into a multi cultural society and have learned how to move with ease.  I understand and know the sacrifices my ancestors have made so that I can enjoy that movement of ease.  If we are to ever become a concious society we all have to become a part of the fabric woven together to make one piece of cloth.  As long as some of us are seen as the “other” we can never be concious.  We as Black Americans must also take responsibilities and cannot continue to blame “the man” or take on a victim mentality.  As long as we see ourselves as victims or downtrodden, others will treat us as such. Strengths and values of all cultures must be appreciated on an ongoing basis. Black History is a part of American history. To have a special month is akin to giving a dog a bone.

There is a saying that when life give you lemons, make lemonade.  It might sound trite and naive but it does have a bit of truth.  Make no bones about it, life can be tough and if we are breathing there will be some days with a lot of lemons.  In my mind if life were a mental disorder it would have the characteristics of being bi-polar.  Unfortunately life cannot take a pill and cure its ups and downs.    In my thoughts life is a gift and many days are spent drinking that lemonade but we all know with life there comes loss, sadness, pain and despair.  We lose those that we love, we lose our vitality and we lose our own lives.   There is not one of us that will not need that recipe for lemonade.  I marvel at the human spirit and its resilience.  I see people who have surmounted incredible difficulties crossed the abyss and come back even stronger.  I sometimes wonder what makes resilience and how adversity changes us and those around us.

Eight years ago I was diagnosed with a rare and deadly form of cancer.  There were a few lemons in that bag and I just did not know how to make lemonade.  I lived in fear of the outcome.  I also lived on the internet which can add a lot of fuel to the fire of fear.  Every 3 months at followup time there it was, my own private panic attack.  I was one of few surviving and oh how I searched for others.  I wanted company and the reassurance that all would be well.  Sometimes there just is not a map and we have to be willing to take one step at a time and peer into the abyss.  Cancer is a strange entity.  It not only messes with your body but it messes with your mind and sense of well being.  It also has a strange effect on those we hold close.

Fear comes in many colors and friends may disappear along our journey through the abyss.  Many fear another’s pain and grief and cannot or will not be a personal witness. When we are going thru our personal hells we come to know our true friends, what is important and how much sugar to add to our lemonade.  If we are lucky, we eventually find a place for our sore spots. They become a part of us but do not define us. One day my sore spots will heal and I too will have come to the other side.

I woke up this morning concerned and sad.  I worry about us as a collective society.  I worry about our divisions and our animosity towards one another based on our cultural or racial differences.  I wonder will things ever change, if we can rise above our human conditioning to see the bigger picture; to really see our connection.  Can we ever hope to see the man made construct of race, class, religion as a smoke screen?

The world was surprised and hurt when Muslim extremist burst into a magazine office killing twelve and injuring more.  Freedom of speech became the buzz word.  How dare anyone attack freedom of speech, our very core?  Protestors marched by the thousands. Islam once again  attacked as being a religion of violence and hate.   In the meantime in Nigeria 2000 women, men, children were slaughtered without as much a word. There were no protest, no wreaths, no flowers and in all likelihood no surprise.  When it comes to Africa, we have become immune.  We are all too familiar with its killing and famine.  12 died in France while 2000 died in Nigeria.  What does this tell us?  What have we become?

Yes I am sad that violence has become so commonplace and that some are seen as more important than others.  Their deaths matter too.  Yes it is Africa and perhaps many turn a blind eye for their own reasons but it is as newsworthy and important as those dying in France.