Where The Brightest Minds Have The Darkest Corners
Tag Archives: this i believe

This I Believe: Co-Parenting

by The AOMuse

“Parenting is a dance.” ~ from This I Believe: Communication & Dance

242635 216655951686246 215699451781896 854295 329276 o
 

Out of a bedrock of false starts, opaque walls and denied inspiration does this essay arise amongst the most difficult feelings I have struggled to capture thus far in this series.  I find myself fixed between the desire to indulge the fierce honesty which courses beneath the surface my present writing life while being careful of the temptation towards copious verbiage realizing that saying too much can be as broad a shield as saying too little.  My art is the proof and substance of that proverb.  Poetry is a whimsical suit fashioned in an attempt to clothe my failures and frailties in colorful garments that you might attend to them more readily than you do those other ugly things you are soon to learn about me.  This is why I am ever in conflict when writing about a thing which inspires either vexation or pain.  Do you see how I crouch behind the myth of my words?

“Co-parent” and “co-parenting” are two terms for which I have developed a certain zealous affinity as of late.  The story begins in the course of one typically awkward moment which most co-parents may find familiar where both are present in some social situation and a third party poses the question “Is this your wife/husband?”  Always accompanied by a precocious smile.  Both parents turn to each other for a brief, uncomfortable glance before issuing a nearly simultaneous “No.”  This is followed by a halfhearted and habituated explanation such as “this is Jah’kaya’s father/mother”.

 

328441 2544492583432 1587279513 2407696 25243764 o
 

After enduring yet another of these curious encounters, I began to wonder to myself why I had allowed my relationship with Auset to be truncated inside of a term which implied the only connection we held was filtered through the affairs of our child.  I have envisioned my life as filled with lessons worthy to be understood not only by myself, but made available for the growth of others.  I began to ponder how I could redirect the language towards a more fitting understanding of how she and I are presently positioned in each other’s life when I began considering the term “co-parent”.

I am sure that I overheard the term in some previous discussion, but I don’t think I had come to grasp the full comprehension of it until just that moment.  We do not operate mutually exclusive drop off centers.  We interact with each other and plan together.  We talk to one another and discuss new prospects happening in each of our lives.  The degree to which we have been able to initiate an open discourse in our parental relationship has abridged the amount each parent must labor to be aware of what is going on in the life of our child.  As her needs change, we are able find ways in which each parent may adapt for the lack of availability of the other.

 

390118 2297121422966 1097032724 31839818 464347634 n
 

No one should be struck with the romantic notion that this level of engagement came easily for either one of us.  We parted households soon after Jah’kaya was born.  I was certain I had failed and withdrew from our circle of mutual friends out of fear that I might be called to account for that failure.  I had been fired from a position at American Pharmaceutical Partners on December 31, 2001 which saw me take a 7 month free fall during which we lost our apartment in Woodlawn and found our relationship rapidly fracturing by the time we moved to a new location in Hyde Park.  We lingered on as most separated couples do seeking to ascertain if there was still the potential for making it work.  I recall telling my mother even a year after Jah’kaya’s birth I was certain that Auset and I would be together.  This would not come to pass.

We each navigated our way though those 5 stages of grief.  Denial.  “This is just a growth phase that we must to go through.  All will return to normal soon.”  Anger.  “If you would simply stop blaming me for (x), then you could see what you are missing.”  Bargaining.  “How can I change (y) so that we can make it whole again?”  Depression.  “I never want to think about love anymore.”  Acceptance.  “I’m sorry.  I understand.  How do we move forward?”

In my journey to stop blame shifting, I had to find the flaws in my own character which contributed to weakening the relationship including an unrealistic portrait of manhood bordering upon dictatorial patriarchy, a lack of communication about our shared problems and a desire to be independent of any need inside of the relationship.  We share mutual blame for its failure.  In working to repair the fractures of the past, I have continually reshaped my ideal of the person I bring into future relationships even once finding myself a dogmatic proponent institutional marriage as I again grappled with internalized patriarchy.

 

374243 2646624336662 1587279513 2445075 494991681 n
 

Here I stand now nearly 10 years grown from that point on July 15, 2002 at 9:59 pm when Jah’kaya Sirius Tekhen entered this life and discovered me hastily attempting to retool myself into the sort of father required of such a dynamic human being.  Auset and I have managed to trade off through most of those years.  She facilitated birth and primary years through age 3.  I was able to preside over her enrollment at New Concept Development Center and later guided many of her activities between Kindergarten and 4th grade.  During my most recent career and contract transition, Auset has returned to directing Jah’kaya’s schedule again.

Through all of these iterations and changes in our individual adult lives, we communicate with one another.  I seek to help her not simply with the affairs of the child, but whatever process she might be engaging.  I recognize that to the extent I can make life easier for her, I make life more stable for our child and the familial community we have created around that child.

I am fortunate to have come from a pair of remarkable role models for a non-traditional, non-nuclear family unit.  My mother and father divorced when I was a mere 5 years of age.  I moved south with my mother soon thereafter where she was remarried to my stepfather, James.  He came with a daughter and son, Washay and Jayvonnie who remained in Chicago, but came to visit us on occasion in Louisiana.  My older brother, Rahsaan, and I would return to Chicago each summer where we were welcomed into the arms of a larger family as my father had remarried my stepmother, Geneva.  She brought with her 2 sons, Willie and Denardo as well as 2 daughters, Shayla and Shenitha.

 

156656 472377244134 509439134 5872518 1850969 n
 

My mother and father throughout their own transition have remained steadfast friends.  I always knew my father and both respected and feared his authority.  I felt his love not only for me, but for my mother.  His proximity as a continuing co-parent was even known to make some of my mother’s future companions jealous.  As I have grown in life, my mother was also in the habit of adopting many other individuals into the fold of our growing family.  I have cousins as close as my own siblings and godsisters whom my mother treats the same as her own daughters.  Did I neglect to mention my oldest brother, Antoine, and oldest sister, Danielle?

All of these growth experiences together and those which I continue to encounter have shown me that only part of family consist of the ties we share by blood and birth.  Much of what holds us taut to each other is the substance of what we endure that draws us nearer together as a family unit.  I believe in co-parenting.  Both the word itself and the substance behind that word.  Time has certainly changed how families are formed.  While we have seen some detrimental effects of these changes where children are caught in the middle, co-parenting offers us the opportunity to change the paradigm and create a space where children are richly nurtured and allowed to prosper.  I made more than one choice when my relationship ended.  There was the decision that although Auset and I might not be right for each other, we could still be completely right together.  There are no more awkward meetings.  This is Auset and she is my co-parent.

n509439134 1670848 3036197
Johnathan ~ Jah’kaya ~ Auset

If you have found yourself on a co-parenting journey of your own, I highly recommend viewing the resources available at Co-Parenting 101.  While I have only discovered them within the past week of researching this article, I have found them to be an incredibly valuable resource for discovering new ways to make the act of parenting together a more richly rewarding experience for all members of the family.


This I Believe: Communication & Dance

by The AOMuse

Scene: 79th Street Bus.  A young man sits with book in hand contemplative in his quietude.  The title on the cover reads “The Negritude Poets”.  Earbud deposited firm in the crevice of his listening canal crafting an impervious wall of sound.  He is focused and moving dispassionately towards his destination.

289408 2264420301800 1587279513 2248431 760059382 o

Scene: Sam Ash Music.  The checkout counter is never the place to begin considering price.  The young man stands before a stringy hair and bearded cashier with items in hand; a wooden block, cowbell, striker, cabasa, claves, and his prize find, a $16 agogo bell.  He calculates his purchase while considering concurrently how he will work the strengths of each instrument into future improvisation.  The clerk asks “So are you primarily a percussionist?”  He pauses for a moment mulling over the question before responding “No.  I’m a dancer.  These are part of my repertoire.”

If I am recollecting my childhood correctly, the obsession began with Morris Day’s “Color of Success”.  The intro to the song leads in with a winding music box before the drum and electric keyboard burst through with that particular brand of mid 80′s orchestral carelessness.  I remember a fragment of a moment in which I am holding a blanket over the whole of my body as I lay fetal upon the living room floor.  When the instrumental break arrived, so did I, exploding up from carpet turned stage moving in frantic abandon to the synthesized soundscape while my mother, siblings and whomever else was in the room experienced deep, joyful, belly bottom laughter.

This moment was closer to age 10 and a performance reserved solely for family.  It would be another 5 years before the act became safe for public consumption.  In the meanwhile, I busied myself with the accidental discovery of what I considered a talent for writing poetry. It became another art carried on in the private space of my thinking quarters exposed only to the blinding daylight when mother would come a calling and wonder at what I had been working so placidly.

Communication.  I was then and remain in many ways now a very shy young man perpetually caught inside of this odd paradox where poetry and movement come easier than mere conversation or the pure, unfettered expression of one’s feelings.  I can discuss game theory, the politics of Negritude, social justice activism or co-parenting with greater latitude than I can contextualize the love for my child, mother or significant other.  Writing and dancing at once become the singular stream of communication flowing outward from me when words find me otherwise silent and unable to communicate.

6336 1126374011354 1587279513 323079 1425517 n

The year was 1995 and I was 15 years of age.  The homecoming dance was in full swing when we arrived.  I was accompanied by my date, Theresa, and my cousins Kathy and Pharies.  For the event that evening, I had hijacked my stepfather James’ red and black collared shirt which had a black mesh on the left side that upon close inspection displayed the faint outline of my chest.  Yes.  I thought I was that tough.  Pharies had borrowed my grey suit with the speckled white tie.  This, my first high school dance,  was the grandiose coming out event of my youth as the DJ cascaded down slow dance, line dance, and bounce music while I played the star of a one man show.  Incidentally, a cop car busted the two of us later that night for running a stop sign as we made our way home following an illicit visit to the domicile of two young ladies we had picked up after the dance.

DC in 1998 was a time of reinvention.  I no longer wanted to be Michael.  I came there with the plan to become someone else entirely.  On the first day of AmeriCorps NCCC orientation, when asked my name, I announced “Michael, but folks back home call me Mackadolcheous.”  This would be the first of many a future experiment in personal identity transformation.  The most liberating aspect of this practice was that I was no longer shackled with the burden of casting off any of the baggage from my previous persona.  It was like a clean credit record after 30 and I took liberties to exploit every opportunity available to me.

Dance moved from the simple vanity play of a lonely and confused high school teenager into the thread weaving between multiple identities tying together the shards of my disassembled sanity.  It was no longer sufficient to move only on the occasion when others were also moving.  I needed to dance when I was lonely, angry, happy, hopeless, searching or somber.  My arsenal was a small white battery operated stereo gifted to me by my mother before departing for DC and a backpack filled with compact discs.  I had attached the stereo to a chain which could be slung over my shoulder and chest .  I used this contraption to launch an exploratory mission around the DC Village Campus which sat fixed between Bolling Air Force Base and the Job Corps facility all of which was a short walk uphill to Anacostia.  I would dance in the woods behind the Village or on the building’s rooftop.  I used the brick edge around the pond to test my balance during movement.  While on a short trip from DC to Philadelphia, I danced nearly everyday on the stage outside of the Ile Ife within the Village of Arts and Humanities to the delight of a few neighborhood children.

Chicago saw me chase away the persona known as Mackadolcheous.  With his departure was suppressed my desire to dance for I was again searching now filled with an immense discomfort about how much I had transformed during my time in DC.  Alcohol was a factor.  On one night in particular, I indulged myself into a toxic coma.  I was carried by friends from room to room to prevent discovery of my condition by the Resident Advisors which would mean suspension from the program.  I managed to confuse my destructive behavior and dance as being a twin malfeasance.  Through church, mosque and temple, I ran.  On a single loose night while I was chasing away from the problems in my then relationship, I found myself in the House of Jah Rastafari with a melodious reggae tune on blast as I impressed some young woman with my best moves which even I hadn’t seen in 2 years.

23613 10100189366175529 6817728 57939898 4136906 n

Fast forward then to when I stopped searching.  The Funky Buddha caught sight of my hips a few times before I moved away from them for greener and cheaper pastures.  The Wild Hare had known my steps halfheartedly.  But it was not until the Debauchery Ball at the Pleasure Dome in 2009 that I would discover how far my body was willing to go if I stopped trying to hinder it behind this facade of self consciousness.  It wanted to move.  It had been craving real movement since the wild days in DC and has not missed a Debauchery Ball since that hour of first dawning light.  Soul Poetry Cafe found itself another milestone for it was there that I met Tracey, the first real dance partner that I ever knew.  I thought I would ever be alone in my desire to get down with such exacting intensity, but between our moves at the Cafe and the Soul in the Hole set later that evening, I knew this was a new world which I had only begun to unearth.

254063 2059909903642 1421503780 2315371 1790797 n

These days on the floor would lead to my first collective indulgence of House Music.  Yes.  I said first.  I am born in Chicago yet I was raised in the land of New Orleans where brass rules everything around me.  I can’t say that dancing in a Second Line or putting Four on the Floor has the space of much difference between them.  There is still improvisation involved, but the slower natural pattern of jazz allows you stretch out particular movements for longer periods.  Upon my reintroduction to House Music, I became obsessed with not simply the dance, but the language of engagement and interaction that is involved with people in the construct of dancing.  This particular study of people at play lead me to the purchase of the instruments that opened this article and to my theories on communication and dance.
 

277400 2197327059919 1449510589 2510600 6882300 o

In recent studies, I have been engaging the nuance of words through three works of poetic prose and another text on the history of the English language.  The three poetic works include Nommo: A Literary Legacy of Black Chicago, The Negritude Poets and Selected Poems of Pablo Neruda.  The fourth work of linguistic history is a textual gem entitled Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue by John McWhorter.  Reflecting on the lessons of these works collectively has shown me how nimble and yet inadequate words can be in grappling with the expression of emotions.

 290281 10150269371099912 331357354911 7903222 3195418 o

The work of John McWhorter speaks to the fluid and permutable nature of language  as different cultures interact with the language, learn it and leave millions of tiny traces of their dialect scattered about which are then picked up by other speakers of said language hence his description of English as a “bastard tongue”.  I have also come to the notion after reading his text that Negritude and Neruda will ever be slightly beyond my capacity to comprehend to the extent that there is indeed and in fact a thing which is lost in translation.  French and Spanish grammar have a rigorous specificity for conveying meaning which include masculine, feminine and gender neutral word classification as well as copious means for expressing tense that English is ill equipped to know.  Fortunately, it doesn’t matter much because we have already lost meaning when we attempted to encode an emotion into a word when the thing itself defies description.

249963 1904063975642 1663022301 1823548 7090183 n

Dance is for me a higher and more subtle form of  communication.  In both writing and dancing,  I am searching for a certain minimalism.  I want each of us to reach an understanding in the shortest number of words or steps possible.  We should seek a common ground upon which we stand and when we move together, it is seamless, soundless, timeless and eternal.  Dance is cooperation in these close confines where each of our internal communities may commune together and determine where we fit.  Our steps are measured yet playful.  The eyes are fixed upon your partner for they are comparable to a compass telling you which way they intend to go.  Dance is a language without words.  Dance is raw emotion made manifest.  Community organizing is a dance.  Political activism is a dance.  Parenting is a dance.  Each of these dances has a grammar and a language which must be learned if one is to move successfully.  I believe in dance.  I believe that dance can change the world.

 180786 1698471513434 1587279513 1594123 1769134 n


This I Believe: Community & Relationships

by The AOMuse

Make a bed for the children of other people in the place where your own children sleep. ~ Moroccan Proverb

In the time since my initial essay, I have gone through a great many changes in seeking out the direction of my next entry.  I had initially considered dance which has been the flint spark igniting a creative wildfire in this present leg in my artistic journey.  That idea was quickly usurped by a conversation which occurred on Twitter beginning with a simple declaration by Kirsten West Savali that for lack of a better alternative political choice, she would again be supporting the Democratic ticket.  The discussion between she, Journey, and myself continued to spiral outward further until the following cry was heard.

@ @ and again I ask, do they list utopian communes on craigslist??? "single warrior mom in search of a village..."
@JourneyByFire
Journey By Fire

Community building is a question that I have spent the better part of my young adult life contemplating, running test scenarios, attempting implementation and by design, falling flat on my face when further planning was needed.  I have been a party to many communities since I came into my organizational own in Chicago circa 1999: The Temple of Applied Theosophy, Frontline/Black Fist, C-Medina Youth Academy, Betty Shabazz International Charter School, Black Oaks Center for Sustainable Renewable Living and the list rolls on.

Some of these communities have overlapped, engaged and walked alongside one another.  Others were isolated.  Some overflowing with unity and positive cooperation amongst participants.  Others filled with contempt and disharmony now doomed to self defeat.  All were necessary for me to learn the skills I now offer to the communities whom hold my present attention.  Thus brimming over with the accumulated desire to see others create and engage their own communities in ways that are both novel and replicable, I offered the following sentiment in reply.

@ @ the law of the commons states where there is not community, we must build our own. Only takes a few to start.
@aomuse
Michael Strode

I have been fortunate in my 31 years to be surrounded by a diverse array of activists operating in hemispheres spanning atheism, food security, social justice, sustainable living and gun ownership legislation.  One learns quickly that in building a community, it is important to not judge each other’s political positions too hastily for we may never come to understand how we may be of service to each other and still move forward in a principled manner.

This recalls to mind a conversation that Michael Eric Dyson had with Dr. Bernice Reagon & Martha Noonan regarding the recent text “Hands On The Freedom Plow: Personal Accounts By Women In SNCC”.  Martha Noonan was discussing her work with the movement and the notion of “preventative nonviolence”.  She elaborated on the role that armed advocates played in protecting those nonviolent organizers in areas of the deep south where racial tensions were so inflamed that death could arrive swift and immediate to anyone who sought to agitate the social order.  The point is only further made by the revelations of Rosa Park’s strong support for the work of self defense pioneer Robert F. Williams as noted in Danielle McGuire’s “At The Dark End Of The Street”.

These cases are not enlightening to those whom lived through the period, but have remained the substance of oral history while being submerged deep within the narrative that there is some clear line of demarcation drawn between proponents of Black Power through self defense distinguishing them from the nonviolent resistance of the Freedom Riders.  Revisiting this discussion offers us the opportunity to consider the subtle weaving together of the elements of this era’s social struggle which are all too often simplified into Malcolm or Martin.

Kamau Rashid framed it as a difference between a coalition and an alliance.  We must understand that it is possible for us to form strong alliances for specific core issues where we find agreement and work to advance the position of that issue.  For example, I am a member of the Black Freethinkers of Chicago, an alliance of black freethinkers working to advance the understanding of atheism in the black community where it remains a position of heresy.  Amongst our ranks, you will find a capitalist, a few socialists, a war hawk, and a pacifist.  This makes for very colorful debate during meetings, but only in so far as we miss the point that we come together for a very specific purpose.  Coalitions would then be formed for broader issues and longer term concerns than alliances.

All of this is stated in my present effort to grapple with the new hour of struggle in which operate.  As the landscape evolves, so must the strategy that we use to navigate that landscape.  This requires a measure of social and communal adaptation on our part as we seek out new forms which will work for us collectively.  For my own part, I bring a sense of the significance of community and relationships in every action taken moving forward.  I don’t want that passage above to sound like some manner of cryptic social theory so I bring along some present day examples in the form of the Healthy Food Hub, the Cowry Collective, and the Aya Leadership Development Institute which actualize the theory.

The Healthy Food Hub was born of a partnership between the Black Oaks Center for Sustainable Renewable Living and the Parent Council of the Betty Shabazz International Charter School.  The Hub was designed to be a channel connecting the urban communities of Chicago with the rural communities of Pembroke Township and enabling black farmers who were growing produce in rural areas to cultivate a consistent supply chain direct to consumers which would allow them to make greater use of their available land.  Through this relationship consumers could purchase both locally and organically grown produce which would solve two of the primary issues created by modern food deserts: food that travels too far to reach the consumer and the terrible quality of goods that are available directly in the community.

But the Hub was not simply a means to create an additional form of consumption.  The urban community has been encouraged to become members of the supply chain.  Those who are interested in working the land have been able to participate in the Rotating Apprenticeship program where they visit the Black Oaks Eco-Campus and learn permaculture, crop rotation, sustainable building and biofuel development.  Through the bi-monthly market held on site at Shabazz Charter School, the members of the Hub are able to pick up pre-orders, shop for additional Market Day produce, network and engage with each other, and attend workshops and cooking demonstrations facilitated by other members or the staff of the Hub.

This is relationship building and a picture of the new vision that we must organize around how we think about food.  When we shift our consciousness to buying local, let us disengage also from the consumption mindset that only hears buying local.  Let us instead come into the awareness of building locally.  Build local food systems which engage community and school gardens in the process of learning and growing the necessary food which then becomes an additional link in the supply chain and furthers the goal of localizing the food system while at the same time educating children and the community to the process of being part of the collective solution to food insecurity.

The Cowry Collective is a time banking organization founded by Chinyere Oteh whose stated purpose is “to build community among people of African descent in the greater St. Louis area by strengthening ties between strangers, neighbors, friends and family through a circle of giving and receiving.”  The collective is named for the cowry shell which is a well known form of currency in numerous cultures throughout Africa, Asia, and the Pacific.  The concept of time banking is a modern revision of the classic system of bartering.  Members of the collective post service requests for other members to perform such as painting, yard work, flyer design or tax preparation.  In exchange, the member performing the work receives a cowry for each hour of work performed.  Those cowries are “banked” and may then be “exchanged” with other members for your own service requests in the future.

The thing that I particularly love about this concept is that it cuts away at how we presently understand the economic order.  My personal problem with money in general and the economic system in particular is that it encourages exploitation in some measure.  Those who have greater wealth are almost predestined to keep most of it throughout the course of their lives.  Those who arrive poor are likely to remain that way also barring a few loopholes that some are allowed to leap through to keep a class explosion at bay.  But I digress from my point.  This removes the trappings of that economic system and reduces them to their most basic element, the relationship between members of a community who work to sustain the operation of the village as a whole instead of merely the individual components.

The Aya Leadership Development Institute was recently founded by Kamau and Safia Rashid with the objective of creating an enriching and engaging learning space where their children might build relationships with other children whose parents hold similar values thereby creating the connections which might sustain them throughout their life.  As adults, we are well aware of the various stages of transition we have undergone to reach the place where we presently stand.  We are working towards something quite different from many of the friends we knew as children.  It may have been a strain at times to have relationships die off as we realized that some people were simply no longer compatible.  It is possible that we can provide an opportunity to create those relationships now which may alleviate some of that strain in the lives of our children.

Thus far, the children have come together to experience camping classes each Thursday and in September, they will be heading to the Black Oaks Eco-Campus where they can practice the skills they have learned.  Some students have participated in drumming classes with Baba Kwame Cobb.  They have done map reading and compass navigation, self defense, first aid, fire training and water purification.  In the future, we plan to hold critical thinking workshops and perhaps work on other languages.  In the time between, they play tag, pick at plant matter and laugh together.  This is a system which truly seeks to personify the Moroccan proverb which opens this essay “Make a bed for the children of other people in the place where your own children sleep.”  How does one measure the strength of the village?  By how they protect the most vulnerable of their members.

All of these organizations are examples of grassroots exercises in community building.  Each of us came into them quite unaware of the task ahead, but devoted to the journey and the mission of drawing people nearer to one another for a variety of purposes: food security, alternative economic engagement or education.  I am a skeptic and therefore I am blindly devoted to no single point of action.  No system of living or governance is presently above criticism.  I am therefore unafraid to say that we have to throw all of it out and revisit again how we see ourselves living together in the future.  We are in dire need of new systems of cooperation.  I encourage those who visit here to share your method of alternative living and any new system which you are presently a part of creating.

I want to close with a story which I initially saw posted on the Facebook page of my dear friend Shakti and that I later found to have originated on Paulo Coelho’s blog.  The story is entitled “Paying The Right Price”.  I think it to be the most perfect example of the sort of scaling down that is required of us.  Don’t think bigger, more growth and more expansion.  Think smaller, closer and nearer.  By thinking and acting locally, we can stimulate regional networks which can better tackle larger concerns than each smaller organizations acting individually.  Grow the village sustainably.

Nixivan had invited his friends to supper and was cooking a succulent piece of meat for them. Suddenly, he realised that he had run out of salt. So Nixivan called to his son.

‘Go to the village and buy some salt, but pay a fair price for it: neither too much nor too little.’

His son was surprised.

‘I can understand why I shouldn’t pay too much for it, Father, but if I can bargain them down, why not save a bit of money?’

‘That would be the sensible thing to do in a big city, but it could destroy a small village like ours.’

When Nixivan’s guests, who had overheard their conversation, wanted to know why they should not buy salt more cheaply if they could, Nixivan replied:


‘The only reason a man would sell salt more cheaply than usual would be because he was desperate for money. And anyone who took advantage of that situation would be showing a lack of respect for the sweat and struggle of the man who laboured to produce it.’

‘But such a small thing couldn’t possibly destroy a village.’

‘In the beginning, there was only a small amount of injustice abroad in the world, but everyone who came afterwards added their portion, always thinking that it was only very small and unimportant, and look where we have ended up today.’


This I Believe: An Internal Dialogue Shifting Outward

by The AOMuse

This I Believe is a simple podcast with a simple premise.

Referring to the website of their parent organization, they work to engage people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives.  I first encountered this podcast while listening to my other iPod mainstay NPR Tell Me More later finding that the series had its own feed to which I subscribed.  Recently while partaking of one of these essays, I happened to find myself consumed by a spark of inspiration.  I contemplated for a moment what sort of essay I might compose if I sat and thought about my core beliefs at length.  An internal dialogue of this manner is running through my mind at all times and those who have found me lost on a tangent in conversation can attest to the matter.  This was compounded by two converging streams of thought which fellow travelers in my life have sought to engage with me.

Amongst the members of the Black Free Thinkers Association of Chicago (BFTAC), I have been grappling with the terms on which we share our views on the varying forms of atheism, agnosticism, humanism and secularism with those in our immediate family and the larger community.  This has culminated in a consistent and clear reframing of the notion of atheism as something concerned solely with what we have chosen not to believe.  We instead concern ourselves with exploring the personal ethos that we use to make our life more meaningful.  We have come to learn that socially we all have a strong belief in people, the power of community, human agency, and the ability to improve the conditions of our world through the ethical application of reason and logic.  What differs is the methodology we choose to achieve those glowing intentions.

The other conversation occurred with my father on Memorial Day.  We were having a dialogue regarding some of his students at the Chicago Westside Youth Technical Entrepreneurship Center (WYTEC).  It was one of our typical discussions on how he might best motivate the youth to reach inside of themselves and access the talent and creativity available to them to enhance their lives and surrounding Westside neighborhood.  During our conversation, he ducked away in the house and came out with a school textbook on African American Literature before launching into another dialogue on how few of the students stated that such a text was available to them in their place of education.

His closing statement was rounded out with the sentiment ‘I say this to you and I don’t mean just them.  I am saying this to you as well.  You have to believe in something larger than yourself.”  Anecdotal evidence from my conversations with others has shown me that it is a common mistake when we arrive at this decision in life where we don’t advocate belief in God or varying supernatural strains that we believe in nothing.  This is my first salvo in a simple attempt to reassert what has been expressed in my poetic works many times before.  I hold a broad spectrum of beliefs in things which are larger and more vast than anything my ego could conceive, but all of those things serve only to draw me nearer to the deeper meaning of my humanity.

I believe in imagination.  I believe that the creative capacity of the human being is both beautiful and limitless in its every manifestation.  Jennifer Michael Hecht was interviewed on Point of Inquiry regarding her text “Doubt: A History” and made the point of stressing how important art and poetry are in the accessing certain aspects of the human psyche which science does not make readily available.  This notion sparked a bit of debate within the forums that saw her stance as an attack on science, but I think we would find ourselves falling into the same pattern as religious fanatics if we never draw the conclusion that art in every form (visual, auditory, kinesthetic) operates in tandem with science to enable humanity to discover and explore new forms.

Consider the case of the Maker Movement, an entire social phenomena dedicated to re-envisioning items that we use in our everyday life into new tools, crafts, and means of engaging human curiosity.  All humans have the capacity to be inventive, but we are perhaps all inventive in different ways.  Some want to make simple machines and complex robots while others wish to explore biology and plant life.  Some would differ still and be curious about soap making and how different scents affect the human senses.  All of these things are forms of exploration which keep the flame of curiosity burning from smaller through progressively larger projects in order that the “maker” is able to recognize science in their immediate environment and the world at large.  Students who were able to attend the recent Maker Faire often stated how they dislike science class, but they certainly love to make things.  Science and art converge in the imagination to be expressed in a renewed interest in being a party to remaking the world.

In a recent conversation with my brother Kamau Rashid, we were discussing comic books in some capacity and stumbled over my present discovery of Steampunk.  I remarked on how fascinated I had become with the attire while engaging with a photo on a Tumblr blog.  He remarked being impressed by a recent comic with a black female in the lead which had a Steampunk edge drawn into it.  This led to a further discussion of the importance of using creative insight from sources such as Steampunk in order to create a new means of approaching the world from the perspective of sustainability.  Steampunk envisions a world powered by steam which exists before the preeminent form of fuel becomes petroleum.  A fascinating arc for this discussion exists in the convergence that has occurred between some elements of the Maker Movement and Steampunk culture.  Many of these have been simply design for the sake of enhancing the striking visual portrayal of the Victorian era fashion such as eye goggles, arm cannons and other handheld steam tools, but there are also members of the movement who are incorporating this ethos into architecture.

Imagination is a workshop where we might adapt to the conditions of a changing world and repurpose the tools we already have at our disposal.  Let us examine religious practices in this construct.  The hierarchy which humans have built to describe the relationship between them and “God” is nothing short of remarkable.  Not any less remarkable than that which we now describe as Greek mythology which was also a God/Man hierarchy that involved participation in priesthoods and other forms that enabled man to feel that he was making his best effort to serve those supernatural forces which might improve his lot in life.  The most interesting factor is that the invalidated social logic of the Greeks now serves as a form of classical literature and the basis for much of what we now term Western philosophy.

Towards the goal of using our understanding of the imagination to shape a contiguous future for African philosophy, I would delight in seeing those of us practicing African religions and deifying Kemet seek to remove ourselves from same religious tendencies that we tend to look backward and critique of those still studying Islam or Christianity.  Let us instead recognize that we are no less caught up in the supernatural than they are and we all must pursue a similar evolution as was taken by those who once considered Greek mythology to be the highest form of earthly understanding they could perceive.

We must recognize texts such as the “Odu Ifa”, “Husia”, “Teachings of Ptahhotep”, or “Book of Coming Forth by Day” as not some new means for escaping our Western religious trappings, but great literature created in attempt to describe a human ethic for living.  Literature that should not be above our application of a critical and discerning eye.  Some of it is pure fallacy.  There should be neither pain nor shame in stating that, but the honest approach that would allow us to find human solutions for human problems while still recognizing that there is some worth in the products of the human imagination which may have previously been created with a different objective in mind than we now apply to them.

I intended to elaborate on my belief in dance, communication, and human relationships in this entry, but I shall return later with an additional entry where I will express my views on those things.


Theme by Ali Han | Copyright 2013 The Literate Epoch | Powered by WordPress