i’ve seen ancient horizons
setting against the sun,
i’ve heard the sound of the universe,
when the universe was one.
i’ve worn a thousand faces
they all feel the same,
distinguished only
by the tone of a name.
i echo the rhythm of nature
like leaves in the wind,
elements in motion,
since my time began.
beautiful harmony of paradox,
in the absence of time,
a wonderful wanderlust
both intimate and divine.
by K. Osei
When blackness concedes darkness there’s sure to be light.
How does blackness in America express itself in the context of the spiritual — beyond the church; and what does it look like in productive service to blackness? Religion/theology as practiced by African Americans, as an instrument appears to be in default. more than two hundred years of practice apart from captivity and patience remain the dominant theme. It seems blackness has yet to grasp the dark or attain mastery of their God. A belief where everything of value appears to originate from without; none of which has provided even a rudimentary path to wholeness, at least not as evidenced by the numerous hollow fractions within and without; requires at least a second look. Failing to attain basic appendages in this life, would make it highly reasonable to believe that it will at least rival this in the next, that is, if we accept balance and compensation as a ruling principle of spiritual/natural law. Nature’s compensation plan is always pursuing balance, not charity. Only that which contributes to wholeness is supported. Separation appears to be the great paradox. When has lack ever been rewarded, except when it ceases to be lacking, at which, it never was.
What are the tenets of black theology in America and do they qualify as a sustainable and beneficial resource from the perception of tranquility or subsistence as portrayed in, say, buddhism or judaism? Where is the adjustment made? Many of us who grew up under various christian denominations can attest to a deficit on both accounts. Maybe more consideration should be given to qualities beyond the pulpit – both in matter and spirit. If church is the holy matrimony black folk may be well within their religious right to seek divorce for breach of obligation. Though it has been impossible to document amongst archeologists and historians alike, theological faith continues to claim a literal presence amidst african history. This outward approach to the spiritual has failed — enriching preachers rather than people. Is there meaning beyond the literal interpretation of scripture that can provide a balm for blackness? A more reflective quest for meaning may be required if black folk are to find present usefulness in religion. Exactly where does salvation exist? In the after life? leading black sheep to an afterlife of riches may be the age old shame of shepherds. That there are no sustainable or pleasing pastures on the planet, seems to be a contradiction of birth, or perhaps, presumes reincarnation somewhere other than earth. Blackness is much darker than their current practice of religion credits them of being. A vast reinterpretation of scripture would likely bring about the most beautiful collaboration of blackness. One where black is not simply allowed in heaven or banished to hell but recognized by themselves as a viable part of humanity on earth rather than after. https://youtu.be/vKKGAo30s84?si=nDgJ5EjSy-6TC2FY
by K. Osei
As a young boy, My mother would often remind me; “we preach our own eulogies everyday, by the way we choose to live.” A good life leaves very little to be said at the end. I’ve been to many funerals, though I can not recall the words that were spoken — I do remember the lives that were lived.
Ricky’s life was one of the most inspiring eulogies I’ve ever observed.
In my ear, I can vaguely hear his voice; “ hurry up, keep it short cousin, your gonna f@ck-up my life’s work with your words.”
So I’ll be brief.
I was fortunate to have had a cousin as my closest friend. He was a socially irresistible guy. I was always challenged by his way of dealing with people. He had a way of being comfortable and making others feel the same. A confidence I’ve always admired.
He was consistent. I’m sure we each have our own versions of Ricky, but If we were to compare them, I believe they would all look surprisingly the same.
Ricky was a practical man. He required things to make sense, and have a useful application.
He was among the most reasonable people I’ve ever known, and I loved him dearly!
COUSIN
Cousin Ricky, how can I write you? you have left us – and I find you to be most difficult to describe.
what words can I use, or language to symbolize my feelings. It seems that feelings are all there is, in silence – they have no use.
the most magnificent sound ever whispered, seems to linger, like the last of fall’s golden leaves, reflecting the radiance of the sun.
knowing you has been the pleasure of my life.
the wonder of you was not in the doing, nor the learning we shared – your being was bountiful.
there was but a single existence between us – and still. for what was will forever be, and the glee of your memory is the vision forward. https://youtu.be/YwLgxyVjwk4
by K. Osei
light comes
silence break,
morning dew,
songbird’s wake
grass to trim,
errands to run
to buy a cake.
a daughters focus
on perfect setting.
a sons labor
absent fretting.
clocks ticking,
august heat,
all are sweating
to unveil the smile
of Leo’s child.
no, swatting
at bugs
nipping away
the delicate dance
of backyard butterfly,
southern breeze
flutter the leaves,
as trees gently sway.
all in harmony
converse with joy
amid this feline day.
sun fades,
evening shades,
as tiki burns the night.
by K. Osei
meaningless meaning
resembling dreaming.
meaning flourish not its own
for nothing we know
breeds alone.
tutelage tells it be true,
imagination claims
a different view.
even life i scramble to live
is held by meaning
i strain to give.
all iS One with many names
yet all is nothing just the same.
that i suppose, behold or feel
is the intent that makes it real.
lessons of meaning perhaps a sham?
can nothing mean
as it seems –
or particles of hologram?
by K. Osei
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