By |

I’ll like to bear witness to 2021. To remain rooted in some way. To all the life we endured. And remind you all to note that we are still here. This year brought me to my knees. Made me wail in ways that I never knew existed. It wasn’t just the death it brought, though that was intense and difficult. It was mostly the pain, and the uncertainty that accompanied periods of pain mixed with despair. But I’m still here. We were battered. We were bruised. We cried out from the depths of our hearts for things completely out of our control. We prayed. I remember screaming out the top of my lungs that what God cannot do does not exist. Yet, there were things or prayers that went unanswered. Times that made me question whether he existed. Surely when his children cry out to him from the depths of their sorrow, he would come to their aid. His own words makes it’s known that whoever and I mean whoever goes to him for safety would say he is our God. We did. We all took turns and went and yes he did his part to keep us and protect us. And though a thousand fell dead around us, one of them was more than enough to make us question whether he remembered us. But, we are still here. And so as I look back on the year that brought so much pain mixed with so much uncertainty coupled with a never ending desire to do more with my time on earth, I am reminded by the words of Langston Hughes paraphrased for me and my family today that, “We are still here.” Langston Hughes and his poetry have been a great source of comfort to me as we close out this year. Of course the word of God is forever at my side, but reading something as eloquent as still being here, made me realize that all of the pain, all of the uncertainty, even all of the struggle with this past year was worth it, because we are still here. So in closing out this chapter, this year, let me also remind you that you are still here and to me that’s more than enough.

You are still here. Still here. You may have struggled. Your lives may have trembled. Beneath waves that crushed. But, you are still here. Still here. You may have been exhausted. The pandemic keeps soaring. Numbers keep rising. Heaviness and burnout on your shoulders. But you are still here. Still here. You may have dreamed dreams. Flung your arms wide as you dreamed dreams that disappeared in the morning. But you are still here. Still here. You may have failed. Your toils may have been excruciating. With a failure that endlessly echo. But you are still here. Still here. You may have sown a seed. On grounds that did not sprout. All you labor may seem useless but you are still here. Still here. You may have been heartbroken. Love may have given up on you. All it’s patience, faith and hope may have failed you. But you are still here. Still here. You may have stopped laughing. You may have passed through life like shadows across the earth with no joy. But you are still here. Still here. You may have grieved. The death of a child, a partner, a loved one. Life in disarray for an end that came too soon, too painful to put to words. But despite this, you are still here. Still here. You may have fallen into despair. Fallen into the darkest and deepest pit. That you were close to death. Yet, you are still here. Still here. You may have even died. All your strength may have been gone. That you felt abandoned like the dead lying in their graves. I want you to know that you are still here. You are and it matters to me. That you keep knowing that you are still here. And for so many others, for you, the light that came to you. This light may have furiously knocked. Furiously insisted to remain. Furiously lighting up everything. Even in the midst of all the darkness around. Thank you for opening the door. Thank you for carrying your light as you showed us all how to still be here despite all the life you endured. Thank you for still being here. And I pray that 2022 will be more than you hoped for. May blessings be with you and may you find success in all you do.

By |

Danielle Doby has a beautiful book worth keeping. It’s simple invitation, ‘come as you are’ is quite simply sterling. I am coming. I am coming into a space that allows me to choose in the name of my heart. I am all for a space in praise of my younger self’s quest for life’s light. I long for the tender infinite living within me and I thank Danielle for using words to help me greet my younger self with power. I embrace spaces that remind me not to skip the struggle. I am also in love with knowing that the light in me cannot always see and honor the light in you. Still we can find steady breath in our unknown light. We find lessons worth learning and relearning simply because nothing is meant to be done alone. Not even our light. And even when this season of discovery becomes closed off to others, I welcome the gift of light that continues to pour itself in dark places that surround me.

This is the gift of Danielle. The gift of being consumed by love. The gift of love in its fullest circle is worth finding, worth knowing, worth loving. It’s for this reason that I remain thankful for her reminder to keep being drawn to the light in others. It is how we know that we are not alone. Her book is a perfect guide on how to become seekers of light, how to let our stories exist so others can see for themselves the power of pain, the power of struggle, the power of stunning resilience and belonging that is also theirs to make as they choose. The sun was with Danielle as she wrote her book. I am thankful that my eyes opened and my mind choose to rest in the warmth of her embrace. I am still learning what it means to belong to myself in light for here and now and with other seekers of light. I love my sisters keeper and it’s sweet appeal to surround yourself with other women who show up and own their independence unapologetically but still believe in the collective’s success. I also forgot to remind you all to do as she noted and do what ignites worlds within you. She shared how we should all let our work and everything we create be a direct extension of our hearts space. Now more than ever, the world needs more of your light. All I can say is thank you for using your words to gift me light.

There is so much to love about this little book that ask you to keep I am her tribe. It will inspire you to reach deeply for the light within you, for your sun.

By |

Nikki Giovanni has a poem called quilts. I read it in her poems and prose book ‘Make me Rain.’ The title first of all is a blessing in disguise, for those hungry to let words flow like raindrops on a cloudy day. Quilts as described by Ms Giovanni to me is like a fast-flowing river. Nothing seems to get in its way. Not the source which begins a river or the path through which it flows. All of it are connected to make a river flow. So too are quilts. Every single piece used to make a quilt is sewn together by design, is put together with love, lots of love too.

I have been thinking lately about the quilts that make me whole, every single piece that comes together to create all that I become. My life quilt is also like a river, with every single piece, a source of energy that shapes and form, all that I become. These pieces connect at a point, connect through hard hurdles and constant strife to tell our story. In the middle where we connect, in the middle where we intersect over tiny threads that meander back and forth, back and forth, through more hard hurdles, and painful strifes, in that middle, our greatest strides are taken, our greatest acts, created, as we become all that makes quilts precious. These unseen component of our connections, the untold stories of our flow, may very well be the reason we are built like rivers. And like rivers, may we continue to flow in love, grow in love, one piece at a time, one quilt at a time. Keep flowing like rivers, loving like quilts.

By |

The path to light neither begins or ends with me. It’s a path afterall and it’s true destination will remain unknown. Light emits ray and it often falls on people open to its ways. I am open to the journey and all the curves along the way. Those that deflate or drive, alter or align certain values one achieves when you bare your bosom to the sun. I am open to the bewildering aspects of the journey too, like why do I have to keep falling each time I get up. Or why am I vested in the good of others, their derision too, and not what matters to me.

Becoming light is tedious, full of strife, plenty doubt, with a heavy dose of failure. Becoming light is be like a tree, a naked tree in the middle of Fall, with no green leaves for cover. All have fallen, and lay by it’s side. And the tree, this glorious tree which once stood as bright as the distant moon, has nothing more to say. So to is the journey to becoming light. My daughter and I read Langston Hughes ‘Song’ yesterday. We both agreed that this writing, so effortless, so evergreen, illustrates what it means to become light, showcases how it’s a journey that never end, one full of pain and strife we gladly accept. We wished Song would go on, like a distant tune echoing through a windy, lonely night. We are children of the night after all and we refuse to be afraid of light, refuse to be afraid of the dark, refuse to be afraid to bare our souls to the sun, refuse to be afraid to open our life to strife. Our fists maybe sore from knocking on closed gates. The gates keep closing too no matter how hard we knock and we are knocking furiously. But we will wait. We will wait until the moment when we truly become light.

Langston Hughes, ‘Song.’

By |

Let’s fly above our possibilities, Lucille Clifton once said to my spirit, to which I responded, not just my possibilities, but how about flying above our abilities. Above my ambitions. Above their admissions. Above any ammunitions. And above their assumptions.

Then the spirit moved me and said you are onto something, keep flying above your possibilities.

To which I added, I will and I will fly even above any cancellations. Above any circulation. Above any clarification and above any coercion. I will fly above my cognition. Above any colonization. Above any condition above any competition, and above any confrontation. Then I will fly above their coalitions. Above their confusion. Above their connections. Above any constitution. Above any declaration. Above any deduction. Above any definitions. Even above any deliberations.

Lucille gently whispered, keep flying, mere mortals can’t keep up.

They shouldn’t because I will fly above their domination. Above their emotions. Above anything they envision. Above their expectations. Above their explanations. I am so prepared to fly above any federation. Above any fiction. Above any fixation. Above any friction. Above any generalizations. Above any generation too.

I am ready to fly above their globalizations. Above their glorification. Above their hallucinations. Above their hesitations. I am ready to fly above their humiliation too. Above their idolizations. Above their illusions. Above their imaginations. I am ready to go above their inaction. Above their inattention. Above their inconsiderations. Above their intentions. Above their interventions. Above their intimidations. Above their lamentations. Above their legions.

I am ready to fly above even their litigations. I mean I am ready to go above their malfunction. Above their manipulation. Above their marginalization. Above any micro aggressions. Above their misrepresentation.

Let them hear you, Lucille, shouted now. Show off your possibilities now.

I will and I will soar above any negation. Above any notion, tied to my oblivion. I will soar above any obligation. Above any opinion. Above any oppression. From above any opposition. Above their oration. Even above their organizations and above their overreactions.

I will soar above any perceptions you have. Above any permission you need. Above any petition to rise above my even my own positions. I will soar above any qualification. Above any questions. Above any rationalization of when I soared above your recognition.

Lucile said only high is high enough, keep flying.

I will and I will soar above any rebellion. Above any reflection of why I choose to rise above any restrictions. I will rise above rejections. Above revelations. Above any situation. Above their satisfaction. Above any speculations. Above their succession.

I will also soar above any summation. Above any tension. Above any tradition. Above any transformation. Above any translation of why I am above your transfixion.

For Lucille, I will fly above any underestimation to of when I flew above possibilities. Above any under representation too of why I flew above your undervaluation.

I will fly above any vilification. Above an vindication. Above any violation. Above any visualizations. Even above their vocations.

Now I am flying above their vision. Life is grand above their vision. I am soaring above their vision’s vision. Above my vision’s vision. Above any vision of what it means to fly above possibilities when impossible is above every vision.

P.s: This was a fun keep to write, to fly above possibilities and I love the way Lucille Clifton spoke to my spirit. Keep this one. It’s truly special. Lucille would be happy.

By |

Lucile Clifton once shared, how our lives are a circular stair. It keeps turning through time. To know why, we circle the world and back, one year after the other, is to know light.

I am flooded by the brilliance of light. A majestic ray, that blooms, past the very speed of itself. The very speed of light. Something inside is open, and as present as the very air we breath. Something inside is on fire, it’s flames engulfing this air, I breathe. To know light, is to turn in circles. A never ending spiral of circles, that keeps turning and turning till no end. A spiral of light, that keeps shining and shining with no end. The reason I speak of light, is for you to see what happens when eyes are wide open. Depths too, are wide open. Brilliance is pouring in. Light is pouring out. I am becoming my wildest dreams. Seeing all this illumination within. Makes me look to the mountains above. The one who made heaven and earth. Helps me rise to a light above. I am like an eagle that soars, like an eagle that soars to the skies, an eagle that soars with words to the skies. And light is leading me all the way.

By |

Everything ceases the moment you discover Langston Hughes. Jacqueline Woodson shared this in her memoir Brown Girl Dreaming. I have been dreaming and Langston Hughes is my keeper. He helps you become intentional with words. To him they matter and can be fire within, setting a world ablaze when used with precision. He was skillful at this, hence why I keep dreaming, of words, of joy, of timeless things I can do, because I dared to dream. ‘Hold on to your dream,’ he once wrote, ‘for if they die, life becomes like a broken-winged bird, unable to fly.’ I am holding on to them and because of Mr Hughes, I am prepared to fly. See my take on his powerful poem ‘Dreams.’

Let your dreams be like the glowing moon. Impossible to reach, but still, hold on to your dreams.

Let your journey be as golden like sunsets at dawn. Impossible to describe, your journey full of gold.

Let your joy be like countless circles of light. Impossible to count, your circles full of joy.

Let your questions be as endless like rivers without end. Impossible to debate, your questions that flow.

Let your voice be loud for justice and peace. Impossible to silence, your voice so loud.

Let your soul be full of grace. Impossible to break, a graceful soul like you.

By |

‘Bear in mind, that death is a drum,’ notes Langston Hughes in his poetry entitled ‘Drum.’ To him, it beats forever, until we answer it’s call. The call is not for the dead, but those living. Death is a drum calling those living to come. I can hear it’s pulsating beat. It thuds louder on days like today. Emotions are high. Hearts are broken. Everything seems surreal. As the drum keeps beating. She lies in state. We look in a daze. This is truly not a dream. And the drum keeps beating. Mama is crying. No mother should bear this loss. Still the drum keeps beating. We feel helpless. Hopeless too. For a life gone so soon. Yet the drum keeps beating. Death is truly a drum. Calling those living to come. Come as you are. For life itself is nothing, nowhere. Cancer too, may have won this round. As the drum keeps beating. We look for signals. There is none. So we watch. As they start to lower her down. The drum beats louder now. We watch till the last call. The last sands fall. As we all heed the call. Of a drum that keeps beating. We are breathless. Speechless too. There is no air. All seems lost, even time, and a day. Still, the drum keeps beating. We beat Angie’s drum, louder today, keeping Langston in mind. Beating this drum forever. As we too now bear in mind, that death is indeed a drum.

By |

This post is a short one. I had to support because she captivated my attention that fine January 20th day. Amanda Gorman and her poetry, her aura, her words, spoken so effortlessly, so eloquently, made me long for days and times where minds are free and words are like opium for the soul. Fierce and free is the message she gave to me that day, as a path towards climbing my own hills. One that I know I would surely emerge victorious because history has it’s eyes on me. Keep remembering the hill we climb and get your own copy of this inaugural poem for the country if you can. You will be supporting a bright young woman who is truly on her way to author a new chapter of what it means to be young, gifted and black, fierce but truly free.

By |

I couldn’t sleep. Reimagining innovative spaces for engagement for minority youth kept me up. The past week, we hit a different space with my daughter. It’s that space every parent dreads but know it’s inevitable. The friendship zone. I remember being in this space when I first moved to the US and kids can be tough to themselves and each other for no reason other than coming from a place of hurt. And when hurt meets light, I tell her all the time, it cannot be hidden. They will try, but you are light. And for her and other black children, my thoughts kept me up. Future orientation matters according to research, alongside religiosity and of course parental support. But if we are to truly bring change, then children like my daughter need to live out this quote often attributed to Chinua Achebe: ‘Until the lions write their own history, the tale of the hunt will only glorify the hunter.’ For my daughter, and other black children, I am prepared to carve out spaces for lions.

The thought of doing something provocative, innovative, for black youth, minority youth, kept me up. And reading too. What if all children, black ones in particular knew they were light, not some days but all the time? What if I created something that could mirror my love for this light, maybe as storytelling or even poetry into positive health outcomes for young people’s lives. I want to keep this here so my brain can start imagining. We don’t do enough dreaming, enough understanding of ways kids themselves can be light? So what if we don’t speak about the problems, but about solutions. What if we give lions the opportunity to begin to claim their rightful place in history and tell their stories their way? What if we let black youth rise up and live up to their highest potentials? Rise up and be the light they were destined to be. The odds against black lives are enormous. The research on the negative effects too are overwhelming. Reading through existing literature yesterday kept me up. And enough is enough. I’m hungry and ready for a new generation of research that speaks to children’s light, speaks to their voice, speaks to their bravery and resilience despite all the hurdles they face. If we are going to intervene, so that my children and your children live in Martin Luther King’s dream, not a perfect utopia, but one full of light, then I’m all in. So I ask what will it take for us to create a platform for brave voices. One laced in the past, but for the future. One standing on the shoulders of the greatest giants, Morrison, Achebe, Lorde, and Angelou or my dear friend Ritamae. One that builds on Amanda Gorman’s light, if only we are brave enough to see it. I am. And for black youth, I am prepared to climb these hills so you know that you are light, you are loved, you are blessed and we are rooting for you. Keep being light. Be brave too and don’t stay hidden.

I was looking through my photos and these images came up. They inspired today’s post.