Category: Meditations

Pitch

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

WordS for Cousin Rick

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

WeEDs

“shout-out to all the weeds
growing through the cracks,”
keep on pushing 
keep fighting back!

today a weed
tomorrow a tree,
strong and firm
as conceived to be.

thrusting
to majestic height,
around obstacle 
reaching for light.

unsightly appearance,
a nuisance they say,
cuttin and sprayin
won’t keep you  away.

Indigenous to land
tethered to earth,
provisions for man
organic birth.

no paved road
or cement walk,
repel the pressure
of nature’s fault

Random surface fractures may be the most insignificant, yet compelling indications of a force greater than our daily conceptions of life. They are unconsciously passed over. Asserting themselves upon frailty and age, whether a crack in the road or a wrinkle in a mirrored reflection. It signifies something far beyond observation. An unyielding determination of something invisible, constant and consistent, spontaneous, unpredictable, incomprehensible law. Nature will be what it is determined to be — and so it is with man. It is an endless riddle and we are all conspirators in the plan — willfully or not. An eternal reminder of inevitable existence, sovereignty and subjugation harmoniously intwined. It is putative of everything and nothing. The weed and the crack are beautiful collaborators in the lesson of life. Within the cracks lay the mystery of contraction and expansion, creator and creation. The balance of power between the two – yet there is only one.

by K. Osei

Moments

i’ve lost more life in the moments

than the months.

measured by minutes absent of want.

to sit by the shore, to see the sea roar – that is life.

To understand that the good that is mine can not be taken, only squandered by time. To have an aim is natural but to strain in obsession is the folly of contemporary men. Awareness is the bliss we search for in happiness and the attention we crave from others. It is the overall satisfaction and efficiency rewarded by attention to the moments of life. The offense is neither in the possession nor absence but rather, being confined by them. That the need or craving for things exists in a collective conscience, is evidence of its innate naturalness and proof of purpose – that it can not be secured or quenched through an external source is mastery. Moments missed neither tarry nor return, though another may appear, our corporal opportunities are finite. Attention to the moments matter – it is the way home. The often over used adage, “Home is where the heart is,” is more than cliche,’ it is maxim. Within the moment we find more than useless contentment, we uncover intense appreciation and joy for both possession and presence, regardless of quantity. It is wholly independent. From this perspective the rich and poor are merely different sides of a single cent, but that is not to say that either can’t experience greater wealth than the other. For the true value we place on anything is merely a reflection.

by K. Osei