Just do dumb shit. No really. As Long as you don't die, loose too much money, or don't kill anyone. DO IT!

 This may or may not be common knowledge but one of my favorite writers/human beings in the world is Maya Angelou. She is wise, principled, patient, and more together than Warren Buffets finances. She is responsible for one of my ALL TIME favorite phrases. 

"WHEN SOMEONE SHOWS YOU WHO THEY ARE. . .BELIEVE THEM"

 It means that people show us their natures through their actions and we can ignore it or we can believe it and remove them from our lives or keep them around. People have numerous chances to show us whether they are in our lives to help us or hurt us. Often people are around for a short amount of time and we keep them around for longer than they need to be because we are afraid of change. We are used to a habit even if it is a bad habit. Maya has dozens of sayings that make her a bonafide professor prophet. So I sat back and I thought to myself how did she get to be so fucking together?

I started by reading her autobiographical texts and I learned that Ms. Angelou wasn't always so smart or together. In fact she had many moments in her life where I imagine she looked up and literally said "How. Did. I. Get. Here?!".

It is at THAT moment that you sit and reflect and come up with some sort of really thoughtful and astute answer. So after one to many "How the shitballs did I get here" moments I'm sure Ms. Angelou was like let me go ahead and have a seat in this hear thinking chair 'cause I need a good change. So gradually she started to look for answers to her whys before she acted on her questions. BRILLIANT. She looked on the Chaos in her life with a new sense of dilligence and focus and decided to make a conscious change that would take her life to a whole new level. ** puts on thinking face**

 HOWEVER. Every lesson she learned while living wrong made all of the wisdom she gained the all the more worthwhile. It's ideal that we do stupid things in our youth and we enjoy the lessons from those missteps in our old age. That is exactly what life is for. We need those experiences. We crave those mistakes. We were built to fall and get up and fall again. When we are old we can tell the stories of our pirate days and our times on the road. Your bucket list should NOT be several pages long. Follow your dreams and see if they lead you to your destiny. 

Whatever that may be. Let it be one with little regrets for journeys not taken. For loves not chased. For moments not enjoyed and for fears we let hold us back. We can be heroes in our own lives if we just choose to brave enough to live our best existence, accidents, mistakes, hard times and all.

Oh Sister my Sister

"No one is ever going to want you all the time. You have to want yourself" - Frieda LoveJoy [this is so real. Celie had to learn it. We ALL have to learn it]

The movie Sister, Sister (1982) Staring: Diahann Carrol, Irene Cara, Rosalind Cash, is in fact BIBLICAL.

 I might have been born in the wrong decade. Rosalind Cash and that Afro are straight up testifying to me. Irene Cara's posture can do no wrong. Diahann Carroll's face was sculpted by the same person who worked on Adonis. No. Lie.


Sister,Sister is just LIFE. The movie makes me pretty much want to go back to the 70's live a hard ass life and come back to this era as a Chicago fried version of Mama Odie. This movie deals with the burdens of the dead, loyalty to false images, hopes, dreams, broken promises, human flaws, humanity, potential, and the way we are both helped and held back by family. It is just so beautiful and real and it is of course written by Maya Angelou. And whatever, I'm not going to hell for pointing out the visual similarities between Maya and Mama Odie. IT'S THERE DAMNIT. IT. IS. THERE.
 
 MOVING ON. . .to the devotional part of this here blog. Dear Jesus, The Buddha, Vishu, and all Slave Mothers who died during the middle passage. Thank you for Dr. Maya Angelou. She brought me Sunday morning in this movie.

There were no-good men, no-good fathers, righteous men, do right gangsters and gray colored preachers doing the right things the wrong way. There were flawed mothers, martyred matrons, divorced headstrong women who drank too much, and little boys trying too hard to be men. Lord PREACH.




And if Diahann Carroll's beauty and acting doesn't just make you want to pour out some Chardonnay in honor of the potential for utter fabulousness held in your very own ovaries then you are missing some links.
 She is the very ESSENCE of class and grace.
Everything about her makes me want to learn what all the forks and spoons at the dinner table are used for. Even when she engages in a FIERCE cat fight with Rosaline Cash near the end of the movie you think . . .oh these bitches are FIGHT-TING but I bet they don't break not one nail. And they don't. ** sips tea** ** genuflects to the classes bitches **  Diahann represents black style above and beyond what blacks were told they could. During the 70's black people were just discovering their aesthetic place in Hollywood. Diahann went ahead and set that bar to 10 and dared you regular fools to follow.  She is black and killing it ALL day long. When she shows up to an event she brings her own undertaker to clean up average bitches she has left in her footsteps. She just parts the green sea of jealous lesser women with a toss of her hair and a downward look of her perfect cheeck bones. Quite frankly she's made from the best stuff on earth.

Am I exaggerating? No. She's a bad bitch. I worship at her make-up table and I respect her shoe closet. If I could touch the hem of one of her Hermes scarves I bet my Lupus could be cured.

There are moments when I can see clear through to Heaven

And I have the ridiculousness of my mother to thank for that. Often she says things that lead me to just shake my head and whisper to myself "I. . just. . . can NOT with you right now. . ."

 But then I do listen and I hear her and I think oh. Well I know Jesus and he has brought this chaos right into my lap so that I can deal with all manner of foolywang out there in these hear streets.

Some of her better quotes include:

"You know the reason you are sick is probably because of your lifestyle" [ read: gayness gave me lupus]

"You have ruined all of your father and my hopes and dreams" 

"Your brother can't understand how you are living." [read: I'm projecting my confusion on to your brother]

"I'm not going to your wedding" [I'm not dating anyone. I have not sent out any invitations. I don't know what wedding she is referring to]

"I should have sent you to public school. Then you would have been exposed to more boys" [I went to co-ed schools all my life]

and my personal all time favorite

"We just want to know where we went wrong" <--- there isn't enough therapy in the WORLD. You would make that Jesus Lion from the Chronicles of Narnia loose his cool and tell you to have SEVERAL seats ma'am. Just peer over his reading classes from beyond the wall of water and tell you to go lay your burdens DOWN.

There is a BRILLIANT scene from one of my favorite movies; titled "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. I reference it often. I reference it because it is timely and timeless. I speaks about the burden of the older generations hopes and dreams on the reality of their childrens' realities.  The want the best for their progeny. They have worked their whole lives to make sure their kids are healthy and happy and have the best life has to offer but the problem is all of the "best" they envision is the best their minds could fathom. 

I love my parents. Fiercely. My mother is my biggest advocate and she is my most ardent cheerleader. She is strong willed and generous. She believes in me more than anyone and she is richly devoted to helping me achieve my goals. However my mother is human. . . .huh. When did that happen? It happened the day I was born and it has been happening my entire life.  Every so often she just shows up out of the blue with some weird anti-gay rhetoric and I refute with LOGIC and she just shuts down. Then she ignores the entire situation for a bit and a few weeks later brings it up again. 

My father frequently gives me the "How the fuck did I get here look". Sometimes I think he really does not like me. I mean I love me. I think I'm a damn riot and a half. But he just. . . RARELY amused. 

The situation is a weird one. I find my attitude statements more annoying than hurtful. I find their comments more tedious than backwards. I look at them with something more respectable than pity but I don't think that their opinions hold any true weight. She will deal with it or she won't. She has taught me the true meaning of patience and humility. She has taught me how to deal with difference and ignorance. I am in the middle of a life long romance with myself and my mother can't get in the middle of that. My mother helps me figure out who I am because in talking to her I am more and more certain of who I am not. 

I am not weak. I am not confused. I will not change my core being. I am who I was meant to be and this path will lead me to my own rightness. I have found a way to deal with chaos and conflict and in navigating those trying waters I have started to make a cloak of peace that I can wear in all seasons.

My Non-Imaginary Imaginary Friend

So my best friend K is amazing. She's kind of like what I would imagine as a friend for myself only she's real. Other people can see her. I'm sure of it. We met my freshman year in law school during a GLBT law club meeting. 

She was the co-president and I had a huge key chain and was still clinging on to my "bi-sexual" period (which she saw right through).  She was inquisitive and interesting. She invited me over to watch Law and Order SVU and then we went to get Chinese food. She asked pointed questions and because I had no reason to be guarded she had no reason to be jaded. We got along. We listened to each other. We heard each other. We got each other and then "we" were born.

 

Then came marriage. Platonic life mates. First we started studying together. Then she found out my room mate had a piano and she would come over to play it. She got a key and we became roommates (minus the little formality of actually having the same address).  

 We think the same things are funny. We are amused at the same stupid people (and MAN are there a lot of them). We have the same understanding of one another and same opinion of how we fit together. She is mine and I am hers it's that simple. Forever. Yup. There is only ever space between us.

When I got sick she was by my beside every day. She made me laugh and brought me ice cream and played games with me and saw me off when I was life flighted back to Chicago.  She encourages me to do better, to be better, to live better. She is always driving herself and that makes me want to run and catch up with her. She tells me that as long as I love her I'm doing everything I need to do to be in her life.

Having someone around who is that genuine and that true has been incredible. I know that if anyone truly ever harmed me she would find a way to legally set them on fire. I know that I can't have certain people in my life because she wouldn't allow it and she is right to make me set better standards for myself. She believes that she herself hung the moon and if she has decided to have you in your life then you better believe that you have done something equally as great. Having someone so phenomenal in your life who demands that you too be phenomenal is great. But she is more than that. She is reachable (if she thinks you should reach her).

She is my friend. She eats the frosting off cake.  She likes Paris Hilton. She wears funny t-shirts. She likes to veg out.  She cares deeply but she might not let you know it. She can be totally and legitimately aloof. . .and she WILL let you know she does not care. She is impossible to totally figure out but you MUST figure her out. She is just K. And together we are just magic. Super friends. Fabulous. Wonderful. We are just the coolest superstars you know. . .if we want you to see the story of us behind the masks we use to make faces at you average people :P

Let Me Tell You About A Boy

So. I am in love with this kid. He's not my kid but well I've had thoughts about stealing him and moving to Canada.

He's just three shades of amazing. When I see him my soul jumps out of my body, stacks krabby patties, does the cat daddy, and basically two steps through a cloud of happiness. I watch him two days a week and for real it's like the greatest part of my week. He has the best character. He's currently going through a "I don't like diapers" phase which is comical. OccupyFreePenis!



His name is Oscar. He's beautiful and funny and just too much for this life. My favorite part about him is his gangster stare/nursury eyes. Come get some ladies. OccupySexyBaby.

My second favorite part about him is his eating game. OccupyMyTummy.







I love the fact that I'm here from the begining and I'll be able to tell him all kinds of things and share with him all the important things in life. I look at him and I think to myself this child is so important to me and I have NO CLUE WHY. Even when I'm changing his poop diaper or his gas smelling pee. Even when he does his fake attention cry or is fussy because he wants a nap and won't sleep I love every inch of him.

I can't explain it. It's a mystery. I just want to make sure that he's ok all the time. He has AMAZING parents. A wonderful, caring, brilliant, modern, concerned, attentive, mother; and a supportive, affectionate, doting, intelligent father. He lacks for nothing. He's perfectly healthy. I'm superfluous in every way in his life but still.  . . there are moments when I'm singing to him and he's staring at my mouth and trying to imitate the sounds I'm making. Or when he's playing with my fingers and trying to figure out how his own fingers work when I think, what about this time is he going to keep?  Does it matter what he keeps? It is enough for me to know that I was here and then I wasn't? If this kid told me he wanted to go to the moon I would help him get there. And I can't figure out WHY.

There was a period when I was babysitting him when I was really sick. I could barely take a few steps without needing to take a breath. But I didn't even entertain the idea of NOT going to care for him. Every moment with him is precious. He's precious. He's a discovery. He's a reaffirmation of life. He's a mystery. I've learned what his cries mean. I've learned how to tell when he's sleepy or hungry.  He's a comfort and obnoxious and hilarious and confusing and frustrating and fantastic. He has straight up Divo moods that crack me up. And when he finally does go to sleep it's like a fit of narcolepsy that I'm dying to get on tape one day.

I believe that if you don't genuinely want to drop your child off at a fire station at least once a month then your child is BORING and you should get him/her tested. Oscar is right on schedule.  

Get Over Yourself

 BETTE DAVIS IS MY LIFE COACH!!




Chris "I'm having a flare up. I'm in pain. My life sucks. I woke up deaf the other day. Sometimes I can't see well. My feet are swollen and I'm like Rick Ross fat."
X: 

Chris: "Um. . . but. . .what about my TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS?!??!"

 X: "Seriously. It's a downer. I mean I know you try to make a joke out of it but at some point talking about your Lupus flare up really is kind of. .  . depressing."

Oh wait. You don't want to listen to me whine? Oh. ** swan dives dramatically off pillow top mattress**

Well. Damn. Oh wait I PAY someone to listen to me. Why am I trying to get people to do it for free?

** throws a bucket of cold water on my own face**

It's been five years since I was diagnosed with Lupus and the reality of living with a disease that consumes your body and seeks to consume your mind is a constant carnival of new experiences. The honest truth is that people care about me but they don't need to know every little development in the war of terror my body is raging against me. People want to know I'm doing well. But the reality of the situation is that there are only so many updates on bloating, swelling, shortness of breath, blood clots, headaches, joint pain, rashes, and temporary blindness/deafness a person can take before they are just. . .not interested anymore. ** looks around to the sound of crickets** ** feels my own fat settling on my back **

It's not that people aren't interested but they can't DO anything about it so they can't tolerate hearing about it. In recent weeks I have begun to give some updates because I'm SO amazed by the shit by body has thrown on me. I find it utterly comical but I realize not everyone finds it so. But then I remember this isn't everyone's business or battle. This is my tale.

When  (with a big L)  first noticed as a disease it was given it's name because the rash that was common to people with the disease made them look like wolves.




I have always been drawn to the fantastic and the impossible. I have always had an affinity for the improbable.

 When I was young I loved Thundercats and He-Man. I also loved Care Bears and the Wuzzles. As I got older I loved The Twilight Zone and The X-Files. Star Trek and David the Gnome were a way for me to escape.



The advent of the Science Fiction channel was like a specific boon sent directly from the gods to my television set.

During these times I can look to these things and find solace in the improbable because at one time my survival was improbable. All the progress we've made was made by people who ruled out the impossible and made it possible. Fantasies and dreams are the fuel of the future.


But seeing into the future is only possible when you aren't blinded by the limitations of the present. Focusing on what I cannot do is exactly what will prevent me from accomplishing what I am capable of doing. If I do need to wallow I can do that with some Muddy Waters, Ruthie Foster, Blind Willie, or anything from the Stax Volt. I can start a "bitch" journal and write until my heart is content. I can turn of my phone and sleep until I wake up with perspective. I can hit up iTunes U and learn something new. I can buy a coloring book and put those colored pencils to work. I have about 50 books I need to read. I have Comcast on demand and Netflix instant view. I am not hungry or exposed to the elements.  Perspective. I have this blank pallet in front of me with endless opportunities in front of me and as long as I remember that these hard days are temporary I can paint whatever picture my heart desires.  The point is there's a time for sadness because without it I could not cherish the happy days. But when that sadness has ended it's time for the FANTASTIC. I am bubbling with fantastic and I believe in the possibility of myself.

Journey

Starting a journey that will change everything as you know it is not done lightly. . . .

 Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within you the possibility of creating and forming, as an especially blessed and pure way of living; train yourself for that but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don't hate anything.  --- Letters to a Young poet

Einstein once said that he wasn't particularly smart he just had the patience to stick with the question longer than other people. During the past few weeks I've had to ask myself what is my purpose. My mobility is limited because of new treatment so I have plenty of time to sit and think about what I will do when I am able to do anything at all. I have two options: be patient or go crazy.  Patience gives the reward of comfort in silence. Ease in solitude and respect for thoughts that are born of loneliness.  Crazy makes me nervous and gives me a rash. . . so patience it is.  Lupus is latin for Wolf. When the disease was first characterized people noticed the rash gave people a wolf-like appearance. I find a comfort in this insane label. The wolf-disease. Like there's a patient strength waiting inside of me, helping me cope with the myriad of craziness that is my body turning on me.


To maintain poise in times of pain has become my new default position. With every passing discomfort that I survive I am left with a fresh perspective on how to beat the next complication. When the pain has gone it leaves behind the essence of gratitude, and with the release of tears grief is washed away.

I have found that creating my own history and defining my own principles are enough to keep me busy for not just this life but also the next. When you think for yourself you are also tasked with keeping other people from thinking for you. True and introspective self determination requires a hyper-vigilance that is not easily maintained. My desired personality is a well designed machine, and my natural attributes escape as byproducts of clash between personality and desire. The combustion of those things create a existential substance I have yet to figure out how to properly dispose of. There is an array of emotions and feelings that escapes like smoke from every pore in my body and varies like the Endless family created by the fabulous Mr. Neil Gaiman.

I look at these feelings rising up around me and I process them as best I can. I wrestle with them. I lose to them and sometimes I beat them. 

I have a sharp tongue and a wicked wit. I have a hot temper and I'm prone to hold grudges. I offer forgiveness before I've healed from a wrong. When my heart has been damaged it heals in stone lines not skin, making it ever more difficult to access.

It is my hope that by projecting the image of who I want to be I will speak that person into existence. She won't be second nature, she will be first and only nature. I am already well aware that chaos and creation are both sides of the same coin. You can only hate someone if you have some feelings for them in the first place. Love makes us better and hate is a useless emotion. I am brave enough to look at myself see my faults and address them head on. I'm not afraid to be with the person I'm creating and I am working on not judging others because they aren't ready to do the same.

In times of deep and stoic sadness I have looked up from the bottom of what I thought was endless loathing and found there are still depths to go. With the realization that there is more that can go wrong I am confronted with all that can go right.  I am soothed by my unwavering sense of self. I am confident in my belief in my own rightness and I am dedicated to the path that I have drawn for myself. I see that as long as I have a beating heart there is blood in my legs and I can use them to walk with honor. I aim move in grace. I fight to be good and I pray that my regrets will be few.







"If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." ~Winnie the Pooh

My Mumah

 

"Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed."   ~ G.K. Chesterton

I cast on my grandmother the light of hope. She was a vision of hope. She was evidence of hope.

Cornel West wrote this about Hope:

Optimism tends to be based on the notion that there's enough evidence out there to believe things are gonna be better, much more rational, deeply secular, whereas hope looks at the evidence and says, "It doesn't look good at all. Doesn't look good at all. Gonna go beyond the evidence to create new possibilities based on visions that become contagious to allow people to engage in heroic actions always against the odds, no guarantee whatsoever." That's hope. I'm a prisoner of hope, though. Gonna die a prisoner of hope.

My Grandmother was a stone angel. Compassionate and unbending in her moral code. She was hope on wave riding from continent to continent.

My grandmother recently passed away. To her kids and grandkids she was Mumah. What I loved the most about her was that she was utterly and apologetically human. I respected and loved this woman. She was internally and intentionally righteous. She set her moral compass and walked towards it with unflinching dignity.   I didn't always like her, I didn't always want her around. I didn't always appreciate what she had to say or her opinions about me or the world but she gave me a blueprint for how to be a strong woman. She was a survivor. She was a right proper bitch. She was the moon at its brightest highest point.

She was ornery, principled, opinionated, and obnoxious. As a grandmother she was a little distant but that is only because she had things to teach me that were more important than sweetness and sugar. She was born in her mother's bed. She knows what year she was born because someone told her and she had to remember. She was raised cutting sugar cane with a machete. She had to be brutal and careful all in one swing or risk loss of limb and income to her 8 brothers and sisters. My grandmother slept on wood floors then mattresses filled with with straw and hay. She married young for love and raised 6 boys while helping to run a store and a home.

When the Europeans arrived in Jamaica they worked the native population (Arawak Indians) to death and then began importing Africans who were better suited for hard labor. This worked out until the british empire decided to abolish slavery. When the slave masters received word that they were to emancipate the slaves they decided that the only freedom they would grant the slaves would be spiritual. During the night they burned the slaves quarters. Some slaves ran. Some didn't wake in time. Some saw the flames of other slave quarters and were ghosts before the flames were set. 

My Mumah told me real stories mixed with fantasies. She told me tales of Brother Anansi and all the tricks he played to get the things he wanted.  She told me about mistresses and witches and holy men and dreamers. My grandmother told me stories about mystical things not to stoke my imagination but to guide it. She told me horrific and graphic tales of Jamaican folk heroes so that their names would become second nature to me. She wanted me to be spirited with a purpose. 

 My childhood was significantly easier than my grandmother's but she knew that my journey would still be difficult. When my time came she knew I would need to have the self awareness and self preparedness to stand up against all that life would throw at me. 

Black, Female, First Generation, and ultimately gay. She knew that there is a secret joy and gladness in being of Jamaican stock. She knew that I was born with a crown but that the shine of that glory had to be earned.

Ossie Davis once said:

"We can't float through life. We can't be incidental or accidental. We must fix our gaze on a guiding star as soon as one comes upon the horizon and once we have attached ourselves to that star we must keep our eyes on it and our hands upon the plow. It is the consistency of the pursuit of the highest possible vision that you can find in front of you that gives you the constancy, that gives you the encouragement, that gives you the way to understand where you are and why it's important for you to do what you can do." 

My grandmother gave me a vision of being better. Better than what? Better than her. Better than my parents. Better than my share croping great-grandparents. Better than my shoe making grand-father. Not better in dollars. . .but better in the way I own my humanity.  I have the privilege of carrying the flame left on the backs of those slaves who could not make it out.  I have their courage to stand on. Everything I am is an interesting combination of a romantic optimistic ability to survive anything and a fearless desire to unleash all of the empathy I feel for those still wallowing in injustice.  

My grandmother was a grand beautiful silent breach of decorum. When she passed I didn't feel sad because I wasn't worried about her. I wasn't concerned that she hadn't done the things she needed to do. I wasn't anxious that she had unfinished business left to complete. My grandmother lived every day in a manner that held her accountable for her time. Now, that is something I can be proud of.  My grandmother will be buried in her homeland near her family. She will be laid to rest in the land that gave her the stories and the beauty she instilled in me. . . .