The HOOD Needs aLOT of help

The faith system that I subscribe to suffers from the maladies of what surmounts to be bad PR, and brittle leadership at the very least; in columns where the world is to believe that we are a pillar of hope to the world. I follow a faith system where glee and joyful banter drown out the suffering of those who are sleepwalking in the slums of skid row and ghettos across the nation. This is the only time in history that anyone can pride themselves on coming from the ghetto, but during WWII ghettos were a place where people went to be killed. It still serves the same purpose in my time; but it is a shame that the inhabitants of these ghettos don’t see the star that marks them for death. In fact it would be an insult to the creator I know to call the sense of pride some of my brethren call living in any ‘hood’ here in Philadelphia or anywhere else. To be a star by definition is a beacon of the creator’s providence, love, commitment, and eternal love for his children. like the halo that is donned by my fellow Americans that inhabit the ‘ghettos’ of America’s metropolises to the plight of the sodomites in the Old Testament. Those people were offered a better alternative to the life that they were living, and the instead choose to carry on their mindless lifestyle. I am not condemning homosexuality, as this story is repeatily misconstrued to condemn the actions of out brothers and sisters in the gay community. The sodomites were condemned for abusing their earthly vessels, because they insisted on raping the angels (visitors) that came to town, and rejected the offer of Lot’s daughters. Lot was just making his guests feel welcome by protecting them from an impending rape from the local towns people. I know it sounds messed up and sexist but children were extremely pious towards their parents, and of Lot told his daughters to go out and offer themselves to the mob they probably would have done it without any protest.

To return to my point in the above paragraph; I believe whole heartedly in a faith system that shelters leaders that pound a nail in the flesh of the crucified  Christ on a perpetual basis. I have seen churches that are housed and established literally; garrisoned in the heart of west Philadelphia, which unfortunately means that there are dozens of drinking establishments and delis in a dozen directions (no an exaggeration). I guess the question I am trying to pose if any is that what is the role of the contemporary black church in reparing thier delapidated communities?

Faceprint

We are soliders






Chorus


We are soldiers in the army


We got to fight, although we have to cry


We got to hold up the blood stain banner


We got to hold it up until we die






Repeat






Verse


My mother was a soldier


She had her hand on the gospel plow,


But one day she got old


She couldn't fight anymore


She said 'I've got to stand here and fight anyhow!'






Chorus





Mediatation:



When his disciples asked Jesus taught them the Lord’s prayer. When I pray or mediatate I focus on certain things, perhaps and ideal that I’d like to understand on a deeper level, andI let it float in my mind’s eye for a moment or two. I usually do better when I am in a moment desperation, for example in my perpetual search for a steady job I kneel before the Almighty in the search for answers. When I was in the military we had a mantra, or as soliders call them ‘battlecries.’ A battle cry can be anything to get a unit through a particular set of training like a 3 mile road march with a 5 bound rucksack, or something as simple as morning PT. I said that to say that the result of the training is a specific skill set, or at least the solider has come out a bit stronger than when he or she entered a specific training engagment. And we all know the old adage "there are no athieist in foxholes;" wiether it’s true or not I am not sure. I don’t think God would hold anything against you if you showed up in heaven after being killed in a foxhole.

If I could ask Jesus I’d ask him how can I put my prayers and deepest desires to practical use to best serve the world? And well multi task while perpetually upgrading myself. I’d Tell Jesus I know the story and I just want help. I’d tell him that I know scholars have none of the answers I am looking for, and while angels are pretty they can’t help me either. I can imagine me and Jesus sitting on my favorite METRO bus or train in Washington over a cup of tea trying to find a feasible solution to my latest query. I look to him out the corner of my eye waiting for an answer. But deep down I already know it, and he smiles at me because I know that the answer lies within me. Unable to bottle my anger and frustration any longer I’d ask him “What the Fuck man? “ Publically crying, I assume the fetal position in his lap. As drool and tears fall from my face and stain his jeans, he strokes my face in a kind of silent assurance. My whining and weezing slowly lulls me to sleep; and as I enter a dream state I dream of being in a room with my father who has been dead for ten years now. We are in a room that is familiar to the both of us. It is the room he shared with my mother in his waking hours; in the house that we lived in when I was a child. Sitting at t the foot end of the bed he squints at me from the other end of the bed. He looks diffrent, from the last time I saw him in the ICU at Jefferson. He seemed to have a glow about him, not an angelic or celestial one, but as if he had gotten really good sleep the night before. I remember thinking that this astral visit thing isn’t as hard I throught it would be; albiet I am laying in the lap of the Lord of Lord,King of Kings, Prince of Peace. He was yampering on about something while I am tuning himout trying to figure out how the hell I am talking to a man that has been dead for nearly ten years. When I finally tuned back in he’s talking about how proud of me he is about getting into college and graduating. Then he asked me why I didn’t cry much at his party, I am like ‘dude what party?’ Then he flashes an authoritative expression, and I get a glance in my mind’s eye. He talking about his funeral. I remind him of the time when I was a kid and my pet dog Bam-Bam died, and he told me that “real men don’t cry.” So I told him “ I was just trying to be a man” I told him “that shit was kinda sudden,” he smiled slapped me on the shoulder and told me to keep pushing.”

As I pulled my eyelids open, and wipped at the dried tears and mucus from my mug, Jesus is telling me that our stop is coming up, and that I should get my bag. As I looked out the window I could see the sunlight bounce off the marble monuments, and the faces of the tourists bumbling from one end of the mall to the other.

As we stroll toward the Lincoln Memorial I am telling Jesus about all the historic things that have happened here; including the time a guy by the name of Dr. Martin Luther King gave a famous speech in this very space. As I ramble on Jesus stops me to explain the importance of dreams. I guess he wants to revisit what I was crying about on the bus earlier. I continue my excited rant about Dr. King and how I think he’s a modern prophet, and how his speeches remind me of Jeremiah in the Hebrew Bible. He’s walking on the grass, and I am balancing on the edge of the Reflecting Pool. Since we are both tired from the walk, we chill by the side of the pool. As I stare at the ducks and the old people feeding them Jesus asks me to revisit the root of the problem I brought up on the bus earlier. I am trying to explain myself but it’s not coming out right. So I went on rambling it sounded something like this. “Look man I am an American, and I have a bug called success. Spawned by a virus called ambition.” I glare at him and ask him is there anything wrong with wanting money. “So one time me and my cousin went to a strip joint, and I couldn’t give into the illusion that all these beautiful women were taking all their clothes off for me. I just couldn’t.......” He motions me to breath. “What about you Bikim, what do you want?” Here I am in the heart of this beautiful nation and I have no clue what it is that I want. He asked me he fucking asked me and I couldn’t produce an answer. My head is spinning, this guy carried a 2 ton cross up a hill in Palestine and I can’t pull one goal out my ass. So I took a deep breathe and said “ I just wanna help these crazy ass niggas!” He smiled at me, all day and I finally got a smile that wasn’t corny. He patted me on the back and said “lets walk.”



(To be continued....Maybe)



Repose:



At the end of the day it’s kinda like life is like the red headed girl that Charlie Brown was always trying to wrap to but he could never quite work up the courage to do it. He would just look at her, and stand in awe of her beauty til he fell on his back trying to split the upright, but always ending up on his back. Then as he lie there in awe of the blue skies and clouds it commands, he’d surely utter “good grief.” I guess when I am trying to say is I am always looking at the beauty in life so hard that I sometimes get cought up in the picture, the movement of it’s smaller parts. Sometimes those smaller parts are people, sometimes those parts are the things people do. And the red headed-girl is she’d have to be unmistakably metaphor for all that I want for myself. I guess the football is the point of it all, I know the point really I guess I mean the vehicle by which will travel, or rather make it happen.

Dead Presidents and Charged Shards

Mediatation:

My Spirit teethered to my soul

hoovers overhead like a ghetto-bird

omniscent view of my body

piercing view of my mind

dreaming about five star lobbies.



Slowly close my eyes

peer into the sky

searching the blue space

for a brief escape

panoramic view

this place is askew

is this morning view on my face

no its emotional condensation

accumulated from much prayer

and contemplation.



Rip:



Our father who art in heaven,

we thank you for the human connection.



Give us this day our daily bread,

sustain our bodies to face adversities while the world pounces on our heads.



Forgive us our trespasses,

because sometimes I can’t give to myself.



As we forgive those who trespass against us,

because without you there is no way out.



Lead us not into temptation,

because of grace and freedom there is enough out there for us.



But deliver us from evil,

because as your children of God trying to get our niche filled we spill blood.



Thank you for giveness.



For thine is the kingdom,

the one in heaven we all aspire to.

The power,

that none of us poses our own.



And the glory,

all of which belongs to the heavens.



In Jesus name I pray



Amen.

Only Fools Fall in Love

After letting things breathe a bit I think it is fair on my part to say a bit more about the tragedy that plagued my country eight years ago. Terrorism is akin to gang activity on a global scale, and new and innovative methods are needed to not only protect citizens at home and abroad, but diplomacy is the only course of action. I am sure that those who are charged with protecting our rights and freedoms are working to protect us in this matter. The human heart is the most complicated thing known to humanity, it is so admired through that ages that it was the only organ in the body that Egyptians placed back in the body when mummified in the hopes that it would guide them in the next world. The book of Psalms a collection of prayers written by King David expresses himself very candidly in the presence of the divine. In the 120th Psalm, David the Psalmist cries to the Lord in the spirit of breveavment over his course of action, in response to something that was causing him a great deal of pain. I am not sure what his course of action was after the fact but he is hailed as one of the greatest men who ever lived. The last line of the Psalm goes: I am a man of peace but when I speak they are for war. No one knows what happened after this but the creator and David, but one could assume that the best course of action was taken to cause the least amount of harm. His successor, and son Solomon spread wisdom like seeds on fresh fertile soil; in his offering of Proverbs he speaks a lot to the frailties of the mind and heart of foolish men. The perpetrators of 9/11 were very foolish men with no sight of what the true aim of their spiritual tradition beckons in all that choose that path.

The divine has been trying to reach us via his messengers for ages, and like stubborn children we have been hanging up the phone. The perpetrators of the America’s new day of infamy were lonely, tired souls, who may have been taken advantage of because of their affinity for the Divine. The spiritual tradition that I subscribe to tells me to love my enemies, but I never forget that I am counseled by Christ in that he tells us “to be sly as the serpent and innocent as doves.” I am not opposed to war just unwise unjust wars. I know peace can sound all corny, and Lennonesque (John Lennon that is) but if you know peace you understand. After being urged by Thich Nhat Hanh, Martin Luther King spoke out against the war in Vietnam he quipped in response to the ‘political’ climate at the time “ my nation is the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today” Dr. King gave his heart to the country that he loved, as did those men and women in uniform today that lay their lives on the line to protect what we call freedom here in America. But I challenge it is extremely hard to sell a ‘product’ like peace and democracy at the wrong end of a rifle. I think what Dr. King was saying in reference to the raging war in Vietnam, when he said ‘one of the greatest in the world today’ is that there is a possibility of change and redemption. Even for a nation’s collective sins.

God Bless the Dead

Today is we pay homage to those whose lives were cut short on that tragic day that jarred the minds and hearts of Americans and the world community at large. Those towers that we held so close to our hearts will never lift themselves from the ashes at Ground Zero. The classic literary device known as a Phoenix is one that burns every night and rises from the ashes every morning. The Twin towers a we knew them will never exist again. In Genesis chapter 11 the people of earth built a tower called Babel, the aim of his tower was to reach the heavens so that they could “make a name for themselves.” The Creator came down and saw this and was quite disappointed, so angels were sent down to scatter the height of the tower and send the people confused so that they didn’t understand one another. The creator may delight in our hard work, and diligent effort but I am sure that the Divine frowns on those who take shortcuts.

Having lost those close to me in the past, my heart goes out to all those who lost a loved one. But I offer this the constant toiling of those who passed on the dreadful day will not alleviate the wounds we suffer as a people. I believe that they are on a much more peaceful plan of existence, their suffering was hash, but like time it has passed and they have moved on. If we really want to honor and pay homage to our fellow Americans, we could keep our tea bags in cups of hot water; and urge our lawmakers to legislate universal healthcare, and peace to our brothers and sisters across the globe. Memorials that force us to carry the baggage days like today remind me of an instance in the gospel of Matthew (8:22) where Jesus is asked by one of his disciples if he could go bury his father. Jesus responded “let the dead bury the dead.” The only reason I offer this is because of what drove the offenders of Islam to do what it is that they did on that dreadful day. They were what us People of the Book call “dead in their transgressions.” Their crime was baseless in that they involved innocent souls in a quarrel they had with others. If one examined the holy book known as the Qur’an it is one bringing a message of peace and prosperity.
There is no right or wrong climate for recovery from mourning, the morbid nature of death on any scale small or large drives the human spirit to take drastic measures in order to make things right. As we memorialize our dead on this day I also ask that we take time to consider our brothers and sisters in the hills and mountains of Afghanistan and the sandy Oasis that is Iraq. Our response to our tragedy has caused them great harm too. While we as a people have uprooted a very unjust regime in Afghanistan we have created new wounds, and given way to fresh tears of mourning. The best thing we can do to honor our fellow Americans is make right some of the things that are wrong, and make right some of our collective sin that our legislators have created. We are all capable of mistakes and making rash choices in the heat of the moment, but the creator didn’t pull us out of the dust to continue on this disastrous trail.

Hail to the Chief

So far this summer I have been working with and around a number of grassroots non-profit organizations, that are transforming the communities that they are in. Some would call the individuals I am talking about ‘community organizers’ but from what I have seen these people have large hearts in a big pond, and are up against a mountain of weeds and lots of opposing forces that may or may not mean them harm. Sometimes it can just be a logistical nuisance. One community in particular that is moving deep in a community in North Philadelphia is called New Jerusalem Now. Their story compels me, and the lives of the people they are changing are diamonds in the rough. No one is perfect, the way I see it our tasks on this earth is to cleanse our hearts as best we can, without contaminating those around us. The founders of NJN are what I would call grunts in the trench. There is no grandstanding or attaching themselves to any particular cause. Their passion found them; it is one of the most organic communities I have ever seen in my life.

To me the term community organizer is someone who’s occupation it is to move and organize people to uplift a community, which puts them in the tense of a ‘the player’ in the lives of the inhabitants of the lives of the inhabitants of this given community. The people I mentioned in the former paragraph are in a class of those who have chosen to take imitative and shift negative influences out, and install positive ones. The most effective vehicle for this is inspiration from the divine or some higher power. I personally call it the creator. In a sense they have elected to become the pawn to incite a beautiful chaos. Agents of change is too weak a title to describe the contribution these people are making to the world at large. The only reward for them is a silent ovation among the choirs of angels.

I have no real criticism of President Obama, I think he is one of the most extraordinary presidents we have had since Jimmy Carter. None of his executive decisions deserve scrutiny in my eyes thus far. But 4 years is a long time. I ask you all to consider his human frailties, and not be too disappointed in the event that he makes an unpopular decision, no matter who it effects.

The Streetz of Philadelphia

About a year ago today I began to share myself with you all concerning the state of things in Washington as I saw it. My biggest issue was with the homelessness epidemic that I witnessed in the nation’s capitol when I was living there. I am sure that the issue facing displaced American citizens hasn’t gotten any better overtime; and that the disposition of American politicians is still as apathetic as it was when I left.Well on this pseudo anniversary of the blog that was borne of my frustration with my own unemployment while living in Washington,coupled with my frustration with the epidemic facing displaced Washingtonians I am delighted to tell you that I am one step closer to being in a position to do something about that state of things on the streets of my hometown Philadelphia. Since my return to the city I have called home since I was a child I have allied with a beautiful organization called Broad Street Ministries. It is a departure from the Salvation Army in that they are significantly smaller (a good thing), and their commitment to the homelessness epidemic in Philadelphia is like nothing that I have ever seen in my life. You may notice that I am using the word epidemic and not ‘problem.’ and this is only because it doesn’t seem to be a problem for the dozens of Philadelphians (Americans) that walk by them on a daily basis. I would give more often or direct them to 315 S. Broad, as for the personal donations I am an inch from being with them and as Hovito says “how can I help if I am one of them.”

But the truth is I loving being associated with them as an organization not because it makes me feel good about myself knowing that I did something, but as a human in this existence it’s my obligation to ‘do my part.’ I use the term conviction loosely, but I wish most people felt as compelled as I do to do more to help people in dire straights. Then perhaps we wouldn’t have to be so afraid of buzz words like socialism. There is an instance in the book of Genises where God is leading Jacob to the Isreal, and he falls asleep on a rock, during his slumber he looks up to see minions of angels ascending and descending a ladder. So next time you are walking past a man or woman in the streets who has made a mattress with all their earthly possessions. You can be a personal angel to them, I am not mandating that you make a personal donation. But at least don’t look on them with disgust. Just because you look around and see no trees, look up and don’t see any stars does not mean He/She [The Creator] isn’t present. Having witnessed the miracle of the stars in the sky as night on full display for all of humanity to see; it’s truly a testament of creation. It’s as if creation is winking at us.

* I in no way mean to shun the Salvation Army as an organization; its just a simple comparison. I love and appreciate the work they do in teh communities the place themselves in.