A Universe expressed through a Window of Experience


Nationality vs. Ethnicity





I was engaged in a warm debate over titles. I almost feel guilty because of it (it’s petty! More divisions? [smacks lips]), but the source of the debate erected from the verdict of the Trayvon Martin case. I’m lightly compassionate towards those who feel disgruntled or angry, but my sword of apathy swings at those who aren’t channeling their energy into something constructive to make it heard through the use of their constitution liberties and divine power. A friend (and I do mean that) that I know has the tendency to rant about racial conflicts; ironically that’s his comfort zone for discussion since he’s all about black unity. He’s good hearted, but he exhibits a sort of hyper-imposed black power type of consciousness. He has friends of all hues and ethnicities on his list, but he discredits most views that don’t agree with his or is not from a black person. He’s the type that hates the system, rants about it, but you never see Instagram photos of him fighting the system through protests or community meetings on legislation. He will post against interracial relationships and the western indoctrination before he makes a posts stating that he’s at a college or elementary school educating the youth. As I once stated “he’s like granddad from the Boondocks”. But, I still love the dude. Terrific artist! So, this part of the story begins like this:

I am not American. And neither are my fellow brothers and sisters. We are Africans who happen to BE in America. If we were AMERICAN we wouldn’t have to “Rally” or “Petition” for RIGHTS & LIBERTIES given in the Constitution. If we were AMERICAN our tax dollars would go to a GOVERNMENT that protects the interests of us AND our CHILDREN” – Angelo H.

If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, then you should be wearing the doo-doo brown stink face – yea, it smells sh!tty. But don’t distort my position; I see his intention. He’s partially correct, and partially incorrect. It would seem that I assumed hater status with my replies, but truly, most people who are friends with this guy knows that he talks out of his left nut without supporting works to uphold his claims. This post received 50+ likes, and I’m thinking “um, did anyone think about what he just said?” So I chime in with…

No matter how you reword it, you are an American. The African portion pays homage to your race/ethnicity/lineage, but by proximity and allegiance to the Constitution, you are American. If you have a social security number, you are an American. If you pay taxes to the IRS, you are an American. If you have a job that falls under the umbrella of US Department of Commerce, you are an American; because you are legally employed. If you purchase a passport and you go to Africa, guess what? They’re not going to view you as an African; their government officials will ensure that you are aware of the location of the AMERICAN embassy because in the event of a crisis, you will be accounted for there. Until you change your residence status to a dual citizenship, in which you are partly a resident of Africa, you are an AMERICAN. Otherwise, you are an illegal alien.

You have to remember bro, even the Native Americans had to FIGHT for their freedom. That was their form of a rally and a petition.

Don’t forget, tax dollars are FUNDING the programs on the below website. You’re welcome.


The link (which is authentic) was to remind him that there are government funded programs within the nation that support the impoverished, the elderly, the young, the sick, and the veterans. I follow up with…

Let me also add this….the government is COMPOSED of people that are just like you and myself. In the event that you don’t like how they are managing tax dollars, or governing the people, YOU possess a Constitutional right to petition.

“the United States right to petition is guaranteed by the First Amendment to the federal constitution, which specifically prohibits Congress from abridging “the right of the people…to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

That means you have a voice JUST IN CASE the government is consumed with power because God and humans know how corrupt and unstable we are. Keep in mind the that the BPP were not just n!ggas with guns. They studied the system, and they made it WORK to THEIR advantage. They devised their own rallies because people in power became corrupt. So they took some of it back to restore balance. Sometimes you need to rally and petition, so that elected officials can remember where the true power comes from……THE PEOPLE. And when OUR own are acting out of character you hold them accountable, and you take them out of office using your constitutional rights and your divine power.

Being American has little to do with corruption, because corruption is a spiritual problem…

Then for a while, we started playing tennis with a few ad hominems. I left the through room; dropping the ball. Or so I thought. He then rehashes in a fresh new status update with….

“Negroes are funny. They want to be “IDENTIFIED” with being AMERICAN so bad, want to be so PATRIOTIC. Why are we so LOYAL and FAITHFUL to a SYSTEM/land that has proved time and time again that we are subhuman? A system/land where our ancestors were brought here AGAINST their will(excluding Moors and Negro Indian tribes) and FORCED to WORK for FREE? Then forced to fight WARS for the same people who oppressed us? When the Emancipation Proclamation was signed we switched from CHATTEL SLAVERY to ECONOMIC SLAVERY. But you still want to identify YOURSELF as AMERICAN when your tax dollars don’t protect the INTERESTS of your PEOPLE? You gotta “Rally” or “Petition” for RIGHTS & LIBERTIES given in the Constitution. The same Constitution that said YOU are 1/3rd of a HUMAN BEING? Which is an OVERSTATEMENT” – Angelo H.

I’m thinking “come on; first you tie a rock to your leg, and now you’re going to throw it in deep waters?” (smh) And his entourage was in the front row throwing flowers, screaming “preach”, and going all Spliff Star on the brother, hyping him up. When he said “I wish John Nicholson could GET IT!” that’s when I felt compelled to interject.

No bro, you don’t get it. Until I can LEAVE American soil and legally RENOUNCE my citizenship….I have this brand attached to me. You hate the system, but you aint doing sh!t to change it except talk on Facebook. No apologies here, but I’m more practical than that.

If any of you have ever traveled outside of the continental US, then you would know exactly what I’m talking about. You cannot go to Iraq, Europe, Africa, Cuba, or the damn Virgin Islands saying you’re African when your passport says United States of America. When you travel ANYWHERE in the world, they wanna know what you nationality is…”what is your citizenship status?” It’s going to be America. Sure you are African by LINEAGE…but you are a CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES, bro. Legally. I could walk around on us soil saying I’m African, all day everyday….but guess what? I’m still on American soil while LEGALLY classified as an Afrikhan AMERICAN. If I’m going to renounce being American, dammit, I’m going to renounce my citizenship. You do it right! I am currently under DUAL CITIZENSHIP. America and Kuwait. That’s how the sh!t works. When I renounce my citizenship….THEN…I am no longer American.

Saying I’m not American doesn’t make it true if I still have a citizenship. How can you NOT get that? (laughs) I’m funny…no no no (finger waves) YOU’RE FUNNY!

This was an argument about nationality, not ethnicity. And again, you have people liking his status while I’m wearing the stink face. (chuckles) Am I hating or just setting the record straight? Now, for breathing room, some of the onlookers connected with the meaning of my content. You cannot deny being an American when that’s your nationality. Even white South Africans cannot deny being South African because it’s their nationality. Until you renounce your citizenship, you retain a legal allegiance to your designated nation.

Through this jungle of words, I did learn a lot. In the trunk of my conscience, I’ve retained a handful of curiosity of what measures would need to be taken to establish permanent residence in another country if I ever decided to divorce America. Angelo’s post chauffeured that hidden curiosity that I stashed away in my well of subconscious thoughts to the front stage of my conscience. I love the dude; even though many of his posts are normally contradictory, racially fueled, limited, and often deprived in legitimacy. All of this was also linked to an inquiry for my homework assignment that requires me to construct a presentation on a place I’d like to visit. And surely, Africa is one of them. Where at specifically? Well, a few places; Egypt, Ghana, Zimbabwe, Cape Town, Nigeria, JoBurg, Morocco, Kenya, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Rwanda and maybe Congo. I wrote about a dream that I had previously, which involved me being transported to a store somewhere in Africa. I held on to that dream because I felt like I would be there. And now, I’m setting goals. The plan will trail behind as well as the execution when I discover the time (and that rhymes). After my journey to the Middle East, I have developed a hunger to travel to other places. My plate is full; I just gotta reach out and digest. I wish to be able to say that I’ve went to Africa; and whether I stay or not, I wish to be able to say that I’ve lived there with my own account of what it means to be culturally in tune with my ethnic roots. Plus, it really shuts people up in debates when they say “why don’t you go back to Africa?” When someone counter argues with “I did….for 3 years…and I decided I wanted to be an American again” then it really crunches eyebrows like “Oh…well…I would’ve stayed with my people” (side eyes)….right….because you know that life in Africa is better than in America. After living an American way of life, it’s a cultural earthquake adapting to another…especially when it’s not as enriched and convenient as the previous. From all of this, I’m just thankful that I’m not an extremist for black love and black power. I’m thankful that I’m not prejudiced and particular of one culture, ethnicity, or race. I feel like…why choose one when I can taste them all? Why only limit myself to Georgia when I can be all over the US. Why only study Christianity when I can study Taoism too? Why be Conservative, when I can be Liberal today, Communist tomorrow, and Democratic and Republic within the hours of each other? Loyalty? Well I tell you what, when the tide changes, sometimes the things that you are loyal to become your travel guide to destruction. Human’s have survived and died from commitment to their values. I just seek more options; more resources, meaning more freedom, in case I need to adapt to the changes of the tide. Every culture and belief system is designed for a set of conditions. And since conditions change, I want to be able to adapt.

Intelligence should be fluid always, and mechanical when necessary.


One Father’s Day

Zae and Dad Weird Face 4

Today, I feel a dash of apathy in my flavorful soul. I really didn’t want to write this because I don’t want people to know how I feel. I don’t want people to see me this naked and unprotected. But as one of my assignments from my psychology class, I figured I’d medicate myself by breathing life onto this blank landing pad. I said that I’d work on my emotional intelligence by stating how I feel. It’s always “what do I think” because I’m always in my head. The truth is that I feel more solace in my head than I do with my emotions; chaotic to the idea that emotions speak in a way that the mind cannot comprehend.

Oh, how brittle I feel in this unpinned moment.


I saw your picture today, pop; and it almost seems unfair to me that it came to me faster than these words are arriving cordially late on this blank landing pad. I’m enduring a psychology class that deals with relationships, and in this moment I recall an assignment where I was to select 5 relationships that mattered to me the most. Out of those fabulous 5, I was to select one that I felt that needed development. You weren’t even in the top 5. And I remember at age 5 that you were. I remember at age 6 that my eyes deployed tears as if they were going to flow to you. And that you would recognize that there could only be one reason why there was a tiny stream of tears in your path. The imaginations of a little boy; faintly innocent huh? I’ve been in my skin for almost 29 years, and I’m thankful that little boy is not dead. Sure, he’s a bit buried by the webs of experience, but he’s still alive housing my imagination. And it’s rare when my imagination grips me by the palm, and takes me to those golden days when we were close. Instead, the logic that I’ve inherited from you has cuffed me by the wrist, and pulled me to the eternal now saying “those days are over, move on, bro”. And on most days, I move farther and faster than the Man of Steel. But do I want to be that hard? How Super of a Man would I be to attempt to save the world, and leave my son to suffer?

Overwatching Zae

One of my most penetrating fears is that my son will feel brittle about me with the same texture that I feel about my father. That he will one day develop an uncanny ability to poeticize and philosophize about life as a consequence of not being able to express his feelings….about me. I fear that one day he will look at me, mid-20-something, accomplished, handsome and distinguished, and say “dad…what took you so long to come back for me? I know I heard you say that you were going to come back for me. What happened? What were you doing? Did you get lost? I mean, you stopped calling to the point that I forgot how you looked. My mom had to remind me that I was created in the image of you. My mom had to remind me that you went chasing money as a means to find a way for us to be together. So what did I do? I went chasing money as a means to find a way for us to be together. And here I am today; 20 years later, pop. I’ve always had the money for us to be together; you taught me how to love money without even having to be here. What took so long for me to reach out was…. was that I was afraid….I was afraid that you weren’t as sensitive as I was about seeing you. I denied my feelings for so long, that I just stayed in my head. Heh, but check it, though; I’m one of the most distinguished professional in my industry because of how pragmatic and dedicated I am. Like, word up, I make soooo much money for my company, pop. We gets it in! They nicknamed me Terminator, cuz I be killing the game; machine-like, ya know? (chuckles) Am I married? Nah, heh. Most of my relationships didn’t last no more than 6 months. They always say that I’m bottled up and sh!t, and…and that I don’t express how I feel. They say I’m repressed and…and….that I close them out. You know women be trippin’ though, heheahah; overly emotional over nothing. And they’re supposed to be understanding, right? Hehe, perfect gentleman, though! Charming, intelligent, spiritual, generous, articulate, and all of that blah. They be loving how a brotha put it down in the bedroom (chuckles). It’s crazy pop! When they threatened to leave, I’d shrug them off, and let them go; not one tear from me! Nope. I’d even pray that they found someone better, because I knew I wasn’t enough. I never believed that I was enough. (shrugs) but… whatever. I’m happy with being alone, ya know? I am who I am.


The thought of receiving a dose of this poison makes me want to implode. “They’re just words”, I would convince myself. I’d do this just to stay in my head; further away from my emotions with thoughts at the speed of sight.


I called you yesterday, pop. My ex-girlfriend inspired me to call you. I don’t really celebrate Father’s Day, so I figured I’d call early just to talk. I left you a voicemail. But I knew you wouldn’t call back. I heard through my mother than you were in jail late May, so I didn’t expect you to have your phone activated. I just….didn’t want anyone saying that I was irresponsible in trying reach out. Last time I reached out to you, I wrote a letter and sent it to you on Facebook. But, heh, I know you’re not active on social networking. Maybe, inherently, I knew you wouldn’t get that message. Heck, it took me years just to add you as a “friend”. (chuckles) does that mean I perceived you as the enemy before? I don’t know. I did my best to avoid some the choices that you made. I made sure that I took plenty of pictures with my son, so that he will know that he was made in my image. I want him to know that I travelled the world and back just to see him. I quit jobs and turned down job offers just so that I can connect with him; hard times together are more valuable than easy money, sometimes. I never resorted to pimping, prostitution, gang-relations, weapons or drug trafficking. But I was a consumer. I never went to jail, and I never hit a woman. I did raise my voice once to my ex-wife, though. It was just that one time out of the 8 years that we were together. It was when I discovered that she was involved with another man; a man who was emotionally available for her. What did I expect, there? (shrugs) And as of today, I only have one son. It was surprising to know that I had an older sister, and more surprising that I had another younger one. I’m doing my best not to be the antagonist in this life, pop. And I’m doing my best to make sure you’re not perceived as the antagonist. I don’t hate you. I do understand why you are the way you are. I had to go through it myself. And I don’t think people understand that about fathers who abandon their kids. I did it too; just so I would know. Just so I wouldn’t judge and impose my views, but rather accept things as they are and change what was my responsibility. Today, I understand you and a lot of men in this world….even if I don’t agree with the choices.


As I write this, I’m hearing a little boy outside of my hotel room calling for his dad. “Daddy……daddy…..dad……….dad” Coincidence? Maybe. If it’s one thing that I know about becoming a man, it’s accountability. Mom taught me that. The education system taught me that. The US Army taught me that. And I know that I’m accountable for my relationship with you and my son. I haven’t perfected my solution, but I’m still in the process. I still feel undeserving in a lot of ways. Like when my son sang a song to me yesterday when I called. He sang “I love you, and you love me. Cuz I love yoooou, and you love me.” For almost 2 minutes. And no matter how sentimental that moment seemed, it could surmount the reality that I’m here, and he’s there. I almost felt numb; but I didn’t let my ego block this blessing. I wanted to apologize to him, ya know? I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for him to give me his version of a Father’s Day gift. I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for his graduation to the 2nd grade…or his first day in the 1st grade. I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend more quality time together this summer because I’m out here seeking higher education and a job so that he’ll have what he needs to live. I’m sorry for not having a house after all of those years of paper-chasing. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to welcome him to Earth when he was born; I was preparing for my deployment to Iraq. I’m sorry for all of the extensive moments of emotional absence. Seeing him twice a year isn’t enough for me either. I’m sorry I that I don’t call as often as I should. I’m sorry for placing so much distance between us. I’m sorry that we can’t play the XBOX together on Saturday mornings, exercise together, or read books and study in the same space. One of the reasons I kept this content concealed is because I always get >>> “Don’t be so hard on yourself, John”. That’s not what I want to hear. (sighs) I guess that’s why I write my feelings down before I reveal them to others. The paper is more of a mirror; it reflects. It doesn’t talk back; it echoes. Heh, too hard on myself….ya know… it’s ironic because my son’s mother says I’m too soft. Again, this isn’t a rant or a call for encouragement, sentiments, or compassion. I’m a good father, this I know. I have the experience, the witnesses, and the pictures to prove it. And I don’t even think my father is a bad father. He’s been with my little brothers during their childhood; heavens, at least they were fortunate to know him so well. I understand my father and the reason he made his choices, which gave rise to our distant existence. I take so many pictures to capture these quick-paced motions through space. So that one day, when my son asks “where did you go all of this time?” I can show him that while I was gone, I was growing. I was preparing. And when he sees the places I’ve been, the things I’ve done, the people I’ve met, the life I’ve lived, he can say to himself that despite all of my works, I gravitated back towards him. He can say to himself “wow, that’s my ..my dad right there. If he can do all of those things, so can I


I feel a certain way when people give praise to “The fathers and not the sperm donors”….I’m like “what exactly do you seek to accomplish there? To me, that’s an ignorant distinction. First off, without that sperm donor, um…would that child even exist? And I definitely don’t feel better about the distinction considering that I am a father legally, biologically, and by experience. Making those sh!tty ass distinctions doesn’t make me feel good about being a father. A portion of my fatherhood depends on my donation of a sperm to the egg. This means that my genes are in that seed! My influence is with that child before television, school, and culture are. I understand the intention, but if there was any reason to possibly inspire a few irresponsible men to become more fatherly, making that distinction ruins it. A man being present in a boy (or girl’s) life doesn’t automatically qualify him as “father status”. You see this dude every day at home; he’s f!cking your mom and living with ya’ll like an extended roommate. He doesn’t help you study. He doesn’t teach you how to be a gentleman, or what to look for in one. He doesn’t teach you how to play Call of Duty or make dreams more dense. He whoops your ass when you make bad grades, but doesn’t say sh!t when you make A’s and B’s. He doesn’t ask what you strive be when you grow up, or even cares about your passions. He tells you to do things that his ass wouldn’t do; authoritative ass. He straight up doesn’t know you and doesn’t care. But you love him because he paid the bills, and keeps your mom in a decent place sexually. Have you ever heard a boy tell his step-dad “you’re not my dad!!!”? Imagine being a step-parent; told by a child “you’re not my real mommy/daddy….you’re just a provider!” Some would get mad! Why? Because there’s some truth to it. You’re not the biological parent, but you’re a legal guardian. You’re partly a father/mother. We often give more value to the nurturing/disciplinary/providing aspect of being a parent, and diminish the biological contribution. Many children feel a connection with their biological legacy, and seek to resolve the separation in their own way. My son has had numerous step-father’s in my absence, yet no matter how present they are, it cannot surmount the inherent desire of him wanting to be closer to me. To feel complete by knowing where he came from and who’s image was he made in, despite the fact that what matters most is who you are forever in the moment of now.
Below, we have a man who’s present in the little boy’s life. Yet, what is the assumption here?

Son: “Daddy, I fell in love & want to date this awesome girl!”
Father: “That’s great son. Who is she?”
Son: “It’s Sandra, the neighbor’s daughter”
Father: “Ohhh I wish you hadn’t said that. I have to tell u something son, but you must promise not to tell your mother. Sandra is actually your sister.”

The boy is naturally bummed out, but a couple of months later

Son: “Daddy, I fell in love again n she is even hotter!”♥♥
Father: “That’s great son. Who is she?”
Son: “It’s Angela, the other neighbor’s daughter.”
Father: “Ohhhh I wish you hadn’t said that.
Angela is also your sister.”

This went on couple of times and the son was so mad, he went straight to his mother crying.
Son: “Mum I am so mad at dad! I fell in love with six girls but I can’t date any of them because daddys their father!”
The mother hugs him affectionately and says: “My love, you can date whoever you want. Don’t listen to him. He isn’t your father.”
Son Fainted


All in all, I just want to say joyful Father’s Day to the educated who educate their children, and the under-educated men who try. Joyful Father’s Day to those who protect, provide, and discipline. Joyful Father’s Day to the sperm donors; whether responsible or irresponsible, without you, the child wouldn’t exist. Joyful Father’s Day to the uncles – because yea, sometimes when the other man isn’t around, you’re the substitute. Joyful Father’s Day to those who pay child support and have no visiting rights – if that little bit you paid was sh!t to nothing, she would dismiss the court order. Joyful Father’s Day to the women who claim to be mothers AND fathers; if you’re a father and a mother, then you’re asexual in nature. And by my standards, that’s the only way you can celebrate both holidays.


Praying that my emotional intelligence elevates in time; I actually felt more here than I thought.


After writing this…I feel like my inner child was reaching out to me…..(sighs)

TNT: Triumphs and Tragedies

           triumph and tragedy

It seems that I’m losing my momentum….again. I’ve spoken to my son’s mother just to gain some insight on their situation. The pressure increases, and I’m reminded of the impact my financial contributions have made over the years. Suffering in close proximity with the family is a guilty privilege, it seems. I’m reminded of all the times I served in the Army. I joined for many reasons, but serving my country was never one of them. I always felt like I was serving my family and my future. My 2.9 year marathon in Kuwait was a continuation of that ideal. And I always wondered where my money vanished to after all of those years. Being home, I sense it all now. I have more to show for it than I can truly appreciate. Despite how I feel these days (and how unwilling I am to speak on it), I value how unique my story is with all of its tragedies and triumphs. Small mishaps sting me emotionally, making me slightly irate, silent, and recluse. And through it all, I discover moments in the form of gems that inspire a little laughter…and a few seconds of smiling. The anxiety feels like carpet burns within me as I ask “am I waiting or am I being waited on?

My minute contribution to my son’s mother has been a building block that has led to the collapse of her household. I felt helpless as she steamed her sorrows via telephone; but I felt blessed being able to even hold a civil dialogue saturated with sincere character. We had a rough beginning when I married Angie instead of her. It may seem like a b!tch move to some, but my intentions weren’t to marry Reka in the beginning. It was a summer love. We enjoyed each other’s presence during our military service. It was the equivalent to the college experience, but more intense. There was still a lot of about ourselves that we didn’t know about. With her, I learned how women (and men) can mistake forevership with youthful love. I’ll one day be able to reiterate to my son that I loved his mother back then, and I still love her now despite how I abandoned her. It seems now that she’s circling through a similar situation with her current partner. They’re the guardians of a newborn, yet their relationship is staggering like a drunk in a dark alley. One of the biggest gripes that her partner jabbed in her face was her lack of discipline in housekeeping. It was one of the reasons why I knew I wasn’t going to marry her. I’ll fuck a woman, no issue; but if she can’t maintain a clean house (finger waves) she’s getting the d!ck and a little love for a few months, but she’s not getting a contract. Why was she shocked that I knew that her renewed cleaning habits would only last for a few days? She’s grown in some ways, but her cleaning habits are about as constant as night and day.

But I’m digressing here….

She leaked how the rent was partially paid with the electric bill mirroring a likeness. Ironically, she could build a house out the debt she’s accrued. Dre has a lot of pressure on his back and shoulders as the provider; I once alleviated some of that pressure. We had a mutual understanding too; and it was comforting to know that we weren’t alone in supporting her and the kids. These days, there’s a haunting sense of inadequacy that whirls within me. I can imagine that he feels the same. The expenses outnumber the revenue like a genocidal war. And the kids are innocent civilians. The weather has been fitting for the theme – it’s been gloomy and wet. However, we intuitively know that a luminous hope still lurks beyond the depressing weather – we just need to allow it to pass like any emotion.

I didn’t exercise today. I could’ve seized the opportunity, especially since I slept 2 hours earlier than usual. I felt lazy, and I didn’t eat breakfast. But, I felt a spurt of energy from Reka’s text message which said “Just want u to know that our son is a great reader. He has read my daily quotes to me and [the] rest of the family” Blessing counted; it’s definitely worth smiling about.

Sometimes, I wonder what life would’ve been like if Reka would’ve remained enlisted in the Army; at least till the completion of her obligation. I really hope that she is able to summon a job into her life; additionally, I hope that she’s able to afford daycare for her newborn. But hope is such a mystery. There was a scene on X-Men 2 about anger and faith that latched on to me today as I left with my mom to grocery shop.

Nightcrawler: Someone so beautiful should not be so angry.

Storm: Sometimes anger can help you survive.

Nightcrawler: So can faith

I paint that idea the color of intriguing because there’s some truth to what he said. Consuming faith from a possibility does yield a desirable fruit, at times. Is this wave of experience all a test of faith? The religionist would easily say yes. And I’m inclined to concur. I’m  just so eager to get back to the point where I was reading books and philosophizing about life with my head in the clouds, and my third eye extending towards the universe. Instead, my focus is on wrestling with these daily strongholds. I had space to do that with all the financial weights being lifted. I’m not complaining, but it’s definitely not exciting period.

Today, my mother, Donte, and I journeyed to Talecris Plasma Center in Albany in an attempt to make a little money. I guess it would’ve been more convenient to call first, and gain some intel on the status of the institution. We arrived around noon only to leave as soon as we walked in. The place was smothered with stoic faces whom were eager to exchange their life-force for money. For some, this was a legit part-time job. However, the trip wasn’t born in vanity. Mom salvaged our efforts by suggesting a visit to Patrick’s house to show a little love. It was a warm visit, and it compensated for the feeling of being unaccomplished. We spoke about a lot, and even joked about my mother dating a white guy; yet in the fabric of seriousness, I advised her that she needs to consider the pond she is fishing in. Personally, as much as I admire the women here in the south, I’ve rarely come across any that really grasp my attention for marriage. Yes, there is some hint of generalization in this statement, but it’s based on personal experience. What I have learned about prejudice is that instead of me getting upset about someone’s prejudice, it’s more profitable to be the difference and allow the effects to alter it. For now, mom and I have agreed to yield safe friendships while in this pond…..

…it’s good to know that we’re saving for the same flight into other ponds though…

Kita and the nephews also voyaged from the house today with Titi. It seems that their support system is profitable. Kita is becoming a little more organized, and she’s learning a lot from her sister. It’s great to see these young women nourishing and educating each other during these struggles. For the Capitalist, life is a race. Who will seize the opportunity first? For the consumer, life is a marathon. How much stamina do you have? Jaiden is developing fairly well, and Amari is also despite his physical limitations. I’ve really summoned some patience with Jaiden. At times I tend to relapse, but I balance myself as I recall that he’s still learning, and repetition harvests results. He seems to be enjoying the toys that I bought him (thanks to Comfort, who supplied me the funds – what a woman!). And I’ve noticed that he’s been crying A LOT LESS these past few weeks. I guess all of that time spent with him is really effective. Getting him these toys really boosted his spirits too. He’s been speaking better, and displaying his intelligence significantly. Aside from that, I think it’s a terribly wonderful thing that he still reserves faith in his father. The family preserves his innocence ignorantly by allowing him to perceive his father in a heroic hue. I don’t know who’s more fortunate, Jaiden, or his father; because his father surely doesn’t know how much his son truly admires him. I can’t camouflage my feelings of being touched by his love for his father. He doesn’t know of the demons that shackle his father in servitude. And right now, adding that ingredient to this young one’s perception…..is irrelevant.

My introductory class has been streaming along smoothly, and there’s no need for me to elaborate. The first entrée will approach in a couple of weeks. And my fast from Facebook has been successful as I realize how much it has affected my focus and my mannerisms now that I’m living without it. And I’ve been writing more lyrics lately too. My TranscenDance mixtape didn’t receive the marketing attention that I wished for it. I’m working on another project just because. There’s going to be few expectations for this one, and it definitely won’t be for everyone to listen to. And really, I don’t give a fuck.

Although I broke the handle on the bathroom sink, I did enjoy movie time with my mom and my brother Monte (for the 30 minutes that he stayed) as we were sucked into Pains and Gains. It was an effective medicine to dissolve the symptoms of worry and anxiety even for a short while. And as the movie ended, the symptoms began surfacing slowly as reality settled into my conscience. Above all, I’m still waiting on a response for this truck driving path. It’s becoming intolerable to be here in this experience, knowing that there’s more beyond this veil.

But I say things like this when I’m sweltering in my emotions….and this is why I stay in my shell. Saying how I feel can be an irrational event…(shrugs)….and in my stride for better days, Hip Hop carried me to the words below…..she is one that hardly ever disappoints. So reliable. So trustworthy. It’s no wonder why I married her….the things she makes me say…. (sighs)

Showered in the sunshine, dried off in the shade

Spring gave birth to a hot summer day

…..Fresh air, long walk, short stride

Exercise my body as I calm my mind

Yea, peace in, peace out

Increase the hope, decrease the doubt

The aroma of forgiveness in the atmosphere

…..All love, no fear

My little brother got a new day job

Politics and religion took a day off

War didn’t get Paid, so it Quit

I got a Wealth of Health and Donated a Gang of Blood to a Crip

….And I’m feeling more clever

Ever so strong, but I’m stronger than Ever

At least for today, running with me is my imagination

These are my vibrations

……..Will finish soon….


Heaux’s Glory

^^^First off…wow….she’s beeeeaaauuutiful. The shape of the eyes, her hair, her skin tone, and her fabrics. Seeing the subtitles really makes this disheartening…which sets the tone for this post.

I was absorbed in a jaw-dropping, eye-widening documentary called Whores’ Glory by Micheal Glawogger. First off, I applaud the director for being so objective and unbiased. There’s balance in the movie. There’s no nudity until the end, and the focus seems to be the testimonies. It can’t be easy to extract so much information on such a popular topic. Next, I love how all of the commentary was from those being interviewed – it gave the film more realism without added explanation, and created a closer relationship with the topic.

So, I was scanning through Netflix seeking something refreshing to the senses – something that would give me a different type of pulse. Then, I graced across this documentary which begins with the prostitution culture in Bangkok then curves over into Bangladesh, and then finalizes in Mexico. I stamp each reality as captivating yet nostalgic. In some places, like Germany, prostitution is just a regular job with occupational hazards. In others, it’s the consequence of coercion and poverty. While the director didn’t give clearer distinctions between the two, he still captures the oddities and the business-like ambiance. It’s eyebrow-raising to see the blend of religious beliefs with the profession; maybe because it’s unexpected. This reality seems to be spoiled with controversy, but it’s sensible. When you’re in the trenches of such obscenities, you’d seek to solidify it with a foundation of morals rather than a quicksand pit of chaos. Observe their living conditions that overshadow their dreams and you witness the boisterous cues of a scuffle for survival. You still notice the hints of humanity in this murky realm – one that seems to be the bastard of a patriarchal society.  This reclusive community provides a service that’s enslaved to scorn and shame. Yet, all the while the women are abandoned as they supporting each other. There are even traces of a stern, elderly mother-type acting as a beacon of wisdom to stabilize the frustrations of the women. She counsels them. She nourishes them with soft-spoken, harsh truths. She hugs them, rubs their shoulders, and wipes their tears. And after receiving some revitalizing compassion, they’re shunted back on stage – one that assumes the form of a prison. Some of these stages are elongated concrete boxes with transparent windows. And in them are dolled-up beauties with assigned numbers pinned on their chest. Some of these stages are crumbling hotels, while others stomach the resemblance of actual prisons. Certainly, the dystopic environment invokes depression as you witness these women showcased in the standardized materialist fashion. Displayed like merchandise as clients shred them into objects of pleasure with their razor-sharp, lusting eyes. However, there’s a low tone of dignity and respect. There are rules. There is a self-preserving philosophy branded in the hearts and minds of these women.

He’s purchasing a few minutes of pleasure with the body, not your soul.

Most whom are intimate with this industry know what love is; furthermore, they acknowledge a higher power. The center of this entire schematic is money: the main ingredient which offers bittersweet zest. Each girl cradles their own ambitions and fantasies. But in the other palm rests the uncompromising weight of barter for their bodies for survival. You hear personal accounts of the types of clients they encounter. Some speak with a light dew of remorse about their production numbers: 1-5 clients a day. Others flaunt their production numbers ranging between 15 to 20 clients a day; and they express this proudly. But these are old numbers spurting from older women reigning in their forties. The struggles of a has-been litters in all professions, it seems. As a surprise to some, it is common for these women to have boyfriends and husbands who are very aware of their discouraging job. This suggests that the local economy lacks jobs to supplement better living. Some families are pressured into this form of servitude with burdened mothers selling themselves…or their daughters for a year or more.

The clientele incorporates a plethora of men of various ethnicities and races whom express their reasons in partaking in this forbidden fruit. Few speak of sexual abandonment from their spouses, while the majority concisely strut their insatiable sex drives and their infatuations with bizarre erotic acts that girlfriends refuse to charter. The prostitutes expound on the personalities of their clients exposing the educated and uneducated, the wealthy and poor, the gentlemen and the assholes, the family guys and the bachelors, the boyish virgins, and the experienced seniors. We can imagine the many pains that come with delivering service. The girls protested how some d!cks are too big in girth and length, how others are flaccid (which means more time spent with the client than desired), and some take too long to orgasm. Some men come in drunk and reek of cigarette smoke that’s as stale and harsh as their attitudes. Some are fat, some handsome, and some with missing limbs. The women were very blunt in expressing their philosophies of the business, which are very comprehensive if you permit them. I empathized with all of the elements of this machine: the prostitute, the client, the passerby, and the attendants (somewhat like a salesperson/pimp – they get commission for sealing the transaction), and even the beautician. There was even a thrust of awe when I observed that this profession was indiscriminate towards males as well – barboys are what they’re called in Thailand. Some of them are gay, while others are bi-sexual. Yet they share a common platform of being handsome, clean, warm-hearted, and professional. All of these real-life personalities….enchanted in this net of unapologetic commerce. And then we have the spectators….us….in the bleachers….blasting cold-shouldered fouls and divisive commentaries; adding our ignorance to this concoction of sugary-staleness. We say things like “I’d rather die than resort to this level of existence” or “you’d never catch me in living like that” as we chase our toxic judgments with socio-economical and religious rhetoric. Some of us would even jeer and joke about the reality as we rest securely in our own. It’s easy to speak about a solid reality from a faint, moist realm of imagination. Yet, when you’re under the lens, and you’re imbued in their circumstances, your motives become slightly warped. Environments inspire character. It’s similar to being incepted into a dream. You’re teleported to an unknowable location surrounded by stimuli, and above all, you’re seeking to fulfill an unrealized purpose. It seems that there are more ways to die than there are ways to live. The odds lay a barrage of punches which corner you into the crevices of this business. Either you choose to submit or you keep fighting aimlessly in hopes to discover yourself as a victor.

Most of us would rather take a beating from the odds than to surrender….

Let’s keep in the forefront that prostitution retains a competitive nature as any business. It’s easy to get in the game when you’ve networked with the right people. It’s hard to leave when you have nowhere else to go as most of the prostitutes have murmured. A spectator could assume that their souls have been sold, but a businessperson would correct that assumption – materials are sold; a soul cannot be.  

The prostitution business is the trafficking of human sexuality for money; and this opaque depiction of organized carnage is justified by causality. Whether you’re religious or educated, you’ve gained a whiff of knowledge about the historical imprint that prostitution has made in religious scripts and social studies. In Bangladesh, one guy explains that the absence of the local brothel would pilot the men to the point of raping the women due to their enslavement to desire. Other options are homosexuality and bestiality, which are actually taboo worldwide. He furthers the justification by saying that it provides a service especially for the families who have no other means to provide for themselves economically.

I ponder: would the collective’s existence be better if the matriarchal order was enacted? Many writers, historians, and anthropologists would say yes, since the Paleolithic Era held women in higher esteem than men. Men were deemed as interchangeable workers and seed-providers, while women crafted technology and art. Sounds like a reversal to me. But I’m digressing here. The intention is not replace consequence with a scapegoat. This is actually just a call for compassion, and maybe even appreciation. Maybe this call may inspire our triune selves to love each other a little more with less judgment…..at least for a couple of weeks. Maybe it’ll incite more judgment…(shrugs)

Personally, I’ve even had a first-person experience as a customer. I speak that with little shame because I’ve accepted the fruits of the decisions that led to the experience. I know what I did and why I did it. I remember even paying for sex and just engaging in conversation (and friend of mine was like “pfft…only you would do that!”) because I knew how cold this business is. I won’t cast this off as a decision of stupid youthfulness. I dove in with intentions, and I surfaced with a deeper compassion for women in this profession….and the consumers who support it. Most could say “John you could’ve done better”….and I could’ve done worst; it all depends on who’s measuring, anyway. No regrets, here; and I speak that proudly.

This documentary acted as a reminder of how enslaved we are to corporeal desire as we excavate the material world of resources to new limits of profanity and profoundness. The dreams of others create nightmares for many who endure an indefinite life sentence of antagonism.

How uncanny it is to love money till you reach the finish line of exchanging it for the love that you lost….and the love that you never had

For the love of money, but for the will to survive….how deep are you willing to go?

Ultimately, I just wanted to recommend this documentary for anyone interested in something a bit more dark, real, and extreme. Lemme know your thoughts if you’ve watched it (110min). My next movie will be the 2nd of the director’s three-part globalization series titled Workingman’s Death. A reviewer claims that it will make you more appreciative of your job as it expounds on the limits one would push in order to earn income.


A Taste of the Post Traumatic Sexist Disorder from a Feminist



She’s been fighting tirelessly for so long against what appears to be an endless sea of controlling, egomaniacal, manipulative and oppressive men. Yet she crosses paths with a male who actually understands her struggle – she combats him, unapologetically. “It’s a disguise. He’s just like one of them – he’s bound to reveal his true identity”. She assumes defense mode impulsively as she struts forth antagonizing him as if he was a soldier in the Army of Irresponsible Men that antagonizes her. The illusion of the enemy is what she paints on him with her imagination. He’s camouflaged, yes, but she’s the artist. But she’s not to blame – she’s reacting to buzz words emitting from his tongue based on his gender-association. Post Traumatic Sexist Disorder. Its women like her that has the most difficulty trusting a man. She’s been misunderstood for so long, that she has no room from understanding men like him. She knows nothing about him, and doesn’t care. The battle ended before it even begun because he wasn’t there to fight. She dismantles his words and mannerisms with surgical-precision with the intention to expose him. Yet all the while, he expressed his neutrality and understanding for her cause. “Friendly fire”, this has become. He sought to remove the camouflage paint that she guised him with in order to bring clarity. And when it was finally removed…. he left…as she continued to pawn him off as weak and unworthy instead of realizing that he’s not a warmonger or a warfighter. He fashions his inner peace….by choice. He’s a revolutionary, just like her – just a different breed. He’s the Buddha, Gandhi, Mandela, King Jr. and she’s the Malcolm, Huey P., Angela Davis. She says “men are intimidated by women like me”….he says “I don’t have time to war with hyper-vigilant women” She’s been fighting her oppressors for so long that she’s mirrored them. But, tell her that and she will assume defense mode, justifying her tactics, I mean actions….just like her oppressors.

And both, her and her oppressors tell me that if I don’t stand for something, I will fall for anything….
The other alternative is that I rise above the battleground


Feminist for a Day


Please stop spouting foolishness such as “men are providers and protectors by nature” and in the very next breath, “women are nurturers and domestic by nature. If that were the case, we’d come here ready to do such. Each and every one of us have to be taught how and what to do in that regard. I know some men who are cleaner than some women, who keep house better than women.

If you’ve ever been with an ex-convict or military man, you’ll know what I’m talking about, not that that has to be the case. But they are instructed and forced to uphold a certain standard of cleanliness and hygiene. Oft times, they carry those lessons with them throughout the rest of their lives.

Please learn the difference between instinctual behavior and learned behavior. I’m kinda of tired of having the same old argument with folks – Ebony Imhotep


^^^ That statement was my initiation into the realm of feminism. As a male, you hear about this movement, but your curiosity usually isn’t aroused enough to want to dive in. So, I essentially remained submerged in a separate Jacuzzi of immense cognitive dissonance on the matter. I was numb to their cause – usually shrugging indifferently towards their convictions. I mean, there are so many misconceptions and misrepresentations of the feminist movement that the male psyche is enslaved to the assumption of the movement being violent towards all men. As they say “if you don’t know, get educated”, but naturally, I assumed that I was the enemy, which reinforced my apathy. It’s like looking at a gate that says “keep out” – maybe I just needed a new eye-glass prescription. But, I always felt unwelcomed in this uncharted territory that my conscience never became aroused to explore. My Facebook news feed would precipitate a light dew of feminist remarks. Some of these remarks holstered an aggressive tone, while others were assertive in calling out irresponsible men for making foolish remarks against women. Ultimately, I adopted the façade that feminist women just didn’t want to be involved with men. (Shrugs) Stereotypes. But in this dialogue, I assumed the neutral position; I know a little about a lot, but in comparison to the women, I felt an “I”- exchange….inspired than intimidated. Intimidation is a response to a perceived threat – what’s the threat here? It’s a challenge to our knowledge-base….our culture. Men have been cultured to behave a certain way. Can it be said that this radical rebellion threatens a way of life?

A guy named Brian defended the traditional views of a matriarchal society like a valorous Spartan in the face a large battalion. He purported the cause of the division of the black family to be attributed to the implementation of the Willie Lynch Method by American slave owners. By the way, there was never a William Lynch from the West Indies in the 18th Century America, nor is there a Willie Lynch effect. Anyway, he furthers his claim by stating that this method “reversed” the natural order of the black family. My response to his comment was the beginning of my shift into the realm of feminism:

….This topic is based on the “assumption” that when men are born….their genetics automatically inform them to be protective and providing or nurturing and domestic. Your argument fails you because you mention “CULTURE”. Without culture, there are only genes and instincts [in this context of our discussion]…take a man out of his culture and you strip him of an identity. The essence of “what” he is remains. Cultures give you an identity.

..…..[it is through] cultures [that] people inherit LEARNED BEHAVIOR, which means any African identifies with “what they have been taught”

…. Human behavior may be motivated by “some” genetic traits…but it must be “cultured”. You only know women to be as they are because of the cultures [they’ve been associated with]…if your argument was true and consistent…you would never see a b!tch made man and a butch woman

He suggested that “nature” determines who is biologically fit for certain societal roles, and that by virtue of biological constitution, men are naturally and instinctively protectors and providers. I couldn’t accept this as truth knowing that in the absence of culture, a boy has no inherent informer whispering to his conscience like “hey, we must protect and provide the family”. If his claim was truth, men would not need to guide their sons – the guidance would arise from their genetic dispositions. It felt like a word game as I arrived at this statement:

The assumption that men are naturally and instinctively protectors is an incredible one. Instincts are not the same as “potential”

Men have the POTENTIAL to be protectors based on their physiology << that is acceptable. Men have the INSTINCT to protect themselves <<< that is acceptable. Men possess the INSTINCT to protect their families. <<< that is unacceptable. Men LEARN to protect their families << that is acceptable.

I was flooded into the awareness of the conflict between the patriarchal views vs. the matriarchal view. Realizing that the matriarchal culture’s influence on the male psyche, it made me question the order of human civilizations throughout the past 4000 years. Brian refused to adopt any other view that would defy his teachings. He was steadfast in defending his views:

My arguments are backed by historical facts so you can keep living in your world where men are not the protectors and leaders and that there is no such things as natural roles associated with cultures, have fun with that.”

….we should care about which gender is the head of the household cause that is supposed to be a man and that’s one of the main problems in the black community the man isn’t there and the woman is head of household that shit is backwards ,it is not in a man to be following after his woman and following her lead that is backwards and that’s what the slave master implemented, when a woman is around a real man that is doing what he is supposed to do and being that alpha male she almost always yields to him and that’s her NATURE as much as you want to say its only culture it is not, my thinking is not flawed it is realistic.


I realized that he carried a misconception that I had about the movement. Women aren’t trying to replace men or eradicate their existence. It’s a matter of equal treatment + equal opportunity. No…it’s a matter of justice A woman should be afforded the platform to actualize her potential, and exceed her limits in the same manner as men. We’re talking about evolution. How can a species evolve, especially if the counterpart is placing limitations on the other? I help you evolve, you help me evolve.

And from there, I realized that feminism is yet still its own culture; one that shares a spirit that is similar to the Civil Rights Movement: balance. This confronts the traditional order, and calls it to be accountable for repressing the potential of the prevailing female generations. These male-dominated traditions were permitted because that’s how it’s always been, and it works for us. And history has disposed a critical need for a platform in which women can establish a true identity for themselves based on their actualized potential rather than interests coiled from a male-dominant culture. I pondered throughout the discussion: “why do I even care? This has little to do with me”. But, I empathized as a historical scroll of feminine warriors, teachers, healers, pioneers and leaders unrolled before me. And then I saw virtues as spiritual faculties absent of gender-orientation. I saw this fabricated lie called “natural order” as a man-made organism rather than a disposition of the planet’s ecosystem. And here before me, I witnessed a small aperture view of woman-made organism, sponsored by the creative feminine energy. I was now aware that its creation was an innate response to the limitations of the environment. It was no different than an organism in the wild – one that transcended the harsh limitations, and evolved. It reminded me of the X-Men. I was infected with a hint of intrigue as to how many women repressed their secret identity to conform to the pressures of the fear-induced matriarchal order.

What I will reiterate is that some women forget that a lot of men are under the spells of a patriarch. For the black community, the Willie Lynch letter just motivates more scapegoating, and removes acceptance of personal shortcomings. Let’s add in the predisposition of low self-esteem that’s encouraged by religion, peer-pressure, social media, and career-competition. Now let’s add the presence of women whom are well-cultured and genetically endowed with high self-esteem outperforming the male; one who was raised to under patriarch-influence. The gravity of all of that can be intimidating because the conditioning is so subterranean. 20+ years assuming it to be your identity – it feels like an attack. It’s a natural fear response. And we use tactics to reinforce the conditioning. This is the stuff that slave mentalities are made of ….cultures. Brian even used the animal kingdom as a reference to support the patriarchal paradigm. He definitely wasn’t partial with an excessive use of the term alpha male as if there was no equivalent. Yet, to my surprise, the common knowledge library known as Wikipedia states that “In social animals, the alpha is the individual in the community with the highest rank. Male or female individuals or both can be alphas, depending on their species. Where one male and one female fulfill this role, they are referred to as the alpha pair”

“…look at every single one of our great African kingdoms and cultures and you will see there were way more rulers and leaders that were men by far over women…Why….Cause that was and is our NATURAL role! Even in nature it is the alpha make that is the leader!”

I thought about this – history reveals the influence of the male-dominated order. And in nature, the same reflects….in some species. Yet what I noticed is that there are hints of a democratic order. If the alpha male is accepted, then he holds the position. Yet without the consent of those who voted the alpha male into the group’s position, the alpha male is a wander or assumes another role. The group’s culture adapts to the environment. <<<that is paramount because the evolution of a species depends on its ability to adapt to the environment. Genetics are passed on to offspring as a consequence of the adaptation in order to promote the continuity of a species.

I admit that I was getting schooled on the sly. The “lion and primate” argument that he presented was clever, but not strong in comparison to the women’s approach. They’ve showcased brilliant experience in providing “facts”.

A cocoa butter-skinned, soft-eyed Roshell Williams gracefully states that Male lions are the muscle while females are the providers and teachers. It’s a give and take relationship. Female lions have been known to kill their mates and attack males

Ebony Imhotep with her Brown-sugar hue, stern glare and full lips chants nonchalantly: I also guess they don’t know that the lioness hunts, AND TEACHES THE MALES TO DO SO, thus making sure he eats. Yeah, I don’t think they know.

And with a look of sagacity, Carmel-fleshed Adrienne Roach exclaims: Gibbons and Bonobos…now Wikipedia those. And, while you are at it, look at the hour long documentary Stress, Portrait of a Killer to see an interesting CULTURE change in an isolated group of chimps.

Yeah…you still get no dice on this quarter. It’s CULTURE, not nature.

In a thicket of discovery, I shake my head, covering my mouth as I was filled with amazement. I’m verifying their facts as the posts pop up, looking for faults, reaching the realization that these women know their stuff….probably with experience.

It was a circular argument, but it wasn’t in vain. The dialogue propelled my interest like a catapult. Does this make me a feminist? Am I full supporter? Naaah. And that wasn’t the intention here. This was an informal introduction that may lead me to fathom the feminist consciousness and possibly assist or bridge some gaps in my future human interactions. This was a peek in the window. I know there are more issues on weary shoulders. I know there are books and such. The resources have always been there. I will say, for now, that my awareness is open to the movement….no matter how fashionably late I’ve arrived.

Adam and Eve Revisited (Rites of Passage to Godhood?)


[….Meanwhile, at the Garden of Eden]

16 Unto the woman he said,

I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception;
in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children;
and thy desire shall be to thy husband,
and he shall rule over thee.
17 And unto Adam he said,

Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife,
and hast eaten of the tree,
of which I commanded thee, saying,
Thou shalt not eat of it:
cursed is the ground for thy sake;
in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life;
18 thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; Heb. 6.8

and thou shalt eat the herb of the field:
19 in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,

till thou return unto the ground;
for out of it wast thou taken:
for dust thou art,and unto dust shalt thou return.
20 ¶ And Adam called his wife’s name Eve; 3 because she was the mother of all living.
21 Unto Adam also and to his wife did the LORD God make coats of skins, and clothed them.
22 ¶ And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, Rev. 22.14 and eat, and live for ever:
23 therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.
24 So he drove out the man: and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.


I’m not religious. I used to be. I’m not a Christian, but I used to be. But when I saw a post by an intelligent friend of mine, I decided to chime in. I felt this connection with my “former self”. And after journeying away from that self for so long, I saw something new in this passage. I’ve always been told that Adam and Eve were punished for their actions. There was always the impression that the lesson in these passages was to…be obedient! Listen to God! Don’t challenge God! Follow the rules! This time, I saw the complete opposite. And I was so exhilarated that I decided to respond. If you don’t share my vision…that’s ok. But this vision I have is such a blessing to me. To have another OPTION…or another perspective about this commonplace story is refreshing. My response to this was:

“This portion always made me wonder…was it really a punishment? Or was it simply a result of action? God uttered all these sayings after they were “judged” for their actions. Why wait till the after-action to express the details of the consequence? And the death…death is not so bad when you think about what it really is. Death is a liberation. Obviously they lived…just a renewed life with different conditions.

For one…we ASSUME that they would’ve been happy/joyful forever INSIDE the Garden of Eden. It’s an assumption. Just imagine…sure, you have everything you NEED…but curiosity is what expelled them from the Garden. Eventually, they were destined to eat that fruit of knowledge. Eventually, they would seek to venture beyond the Garden of Eden..and even more so…their current state of consciousness. Come on!! Curiosity is innate in humans. God INTENDED for them to be casted. God INTENDED for the serpent to tempt them. God KNEW the implications and the risks! If it was not in God’s will it would NOT HAPPEN!! This was not so much a test of their obedience/loyalty, but more so a prerequisite to CREATION! We assume that Adam and Eve were perfect. No…God has no purpose to create something in the lack of a process. God created conditions so that Adam and Eve would expand and grow. These two would’ve been sheltered from evil for eternity…never to grow. Never challenged. How is the Creator glorified if the creations aren’t challenged perpetually? How can the Creator’s creations reflect HIM if they’re [edit: NOT given] the freedom?

If this story is true…I thank them for disobeying; because without that rebellious attitude (although a premature form) we would not challenge authorities of our OWN likeness. That’s what Adam and Eve did…they challenged God. And the serpent was the catalyst. Without the serpent…the idea of free will would never manifest. Free will would NOT exist if we could not challenge God. This post…this dialogue would not exist!!!

The impression in this story is that they were PUNISHED….I don’t see punishment…I see consequence. I see opportunity. I see freedom. This was like their rites of passage into godhood…for now they knew good AND evil….just as the Elohim”

Think about this. Meditate on it. Assuming this story is true, would any of us be here if Adam and Even followed the rules? We assume we would. But, would you be where you are today if you followed ALL of the rules? Didn’t you rebel or challenge authority in your lifetime? Sure there were consequences…but…as depicted in these scriptures above…

…one door closed….the other opened.

From what I observe, this was a mark of graduation.

You tell your child to do something…they dont do it…you question them. It’s not about what YOU know, it’s about what THEY know. You ask in hopes that they assume responsibility for the power you gave them!! By creating options, you create a playground for them to be themselves. You’re not choosing FOR them, you’re allowing them the freedom to choose for themselves. And you are creating a system in which they receive the fruits of their labor. Whether wrong or right, we cannot move forward if we’re not aware of where we came from! “How did we get to this moment in our existence?”, we ask.  It’s the sign of a conscious creator. We live for an everlasting exchange of INNOCENCE for EXPERIENCE. It is in experience that we KNOW ourselves. It is in innocence that we seek to know ourselves.