Category: From the Soul

Oh, did I ever fall in love with this morning. It was so nice and sunny, so soothing to my soul and bones. And I was still all a swoon when this lovely beginning of the day segued into the afternoon.

At some point on such a day I knew I would want to write, something, anything, because writing to me, is a form of play and this was a day in which to play. I, however, had no particular topics to approach in mind so I went to a website of writing prompts and blindly chose one that asked me to go through a dusty photo album which was no problem because my soul mate, a photographer del mundo, bequeathed me enough dusty albums to ignite a Haboob like the ones that smothered Phoenix…

It’s been two, baby
Two years since
You went away…

Yet it feels just like yesterday. And I still miss you like it was yesterday. But I’m getting better everyday. Now, I have to say, I still find myself shedding tears (tears that will be around forever, I’m thinking) but the deep intense bone and soul searing emotional pain that wore on me for so many months has faded away. I’m learning to be at ease with my sweet and precious memories of you, giving way to the poetry in the imagery that comes to me, like a click from your camera, to play on your photography.

Working to counter military recruiting and demilitarize our schools

I was asked to see if I could rekindle (and I can barely keep a campfire going) energy around leafleting our high schools with information to help students understand and deal with the attempts at militarizing them they’ll find in their schools and in their communities and beyond, as anyone can see in commercials, video games, and every form of media.

Well, it should be obvious that there’s a tremendous need for us, especially those of us who dare to refer to ourselves as “community activists.” We look out for our children when Uncle Sam comes after them with his zest for war, even though some of the organizations and activities that counter the militarization of young people are shrinking nationwide.

I’ve found myself lately thinking of a man everybody, including me, called Mack. My dad. Just about the most laid back human being the world has ever had.

The man was always at ease, a man of simple tastes. I can see him in my mind, chomping on his almost ever present cheap cigar which chokes me even in my memory, sipping some whisky, and uttering that obligatory whispery “ahhh” that drinkers who like their liquor neat always sigh and he’s going about any one of his enterprises: playing solitaire, reading True Crime magazine or crossword puzzling – when he wasn’t playing the piano.

I went to see Sir Paul the other night. Talking about Mr. McCartney. As in Fab Four. And all I can say is Wow!

I love the dude and that love was further solidified, intensified, and personalized, in particular, one moment, when I found myself completely into the moment, with my head laid back, swaying as Paul in an aging, yet still eloquently and deeply expressive one of a kind voice, sang:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

I’m sitting writing on a day that can’t decide whether it wants to be sunny or gray, a day about three days past the day that the world was to come to an end and it’s a rather nice day, by the way.

But I can surely identify with a doomsday. My children and I woke up one day, just living our lives pretty comfortably, no shining ups, particularly, or dim lows, and before the day had bid us goodbye the world as we had known it was snatched from beneath us with the swiftness and fierceness of lightning in a storm ridden sky – and all we could do was cry. On July 22nd of 2009 we lost our precious valentine, an amazing mother, a beautiful sexy brilliant artistic athletic incredible 62 year old human being I loved referring to as mine.

The Mesa College Theatre Company, working with the San Diego Black Ensemble and Vagabond Theatre Project, is producing a series of staged readings, “Pioneers and the Journey: A Festival of African American Plays” to explore the African American Experience – an experience in and of itself based on my experiences within the experience, experiencely speaking if there is such a term (big smile)

I was just thinking about all the nice moments I’ve enjoyed in life and a little time I spent in Tucson last week ranks up there among the mellower of the refreshing respites from the troubles of the world I’ve had the pleasure of taking part in.

First of all I was in my hometown and that’s always enjoyable, not to mention that I was there for a very special event, wearing the lofty title of “guest speaker,” which I took to mean I was to have a good time so that’s what I did. Why not, I was around some of my favorite people: a bunch of folks wearing sunny smiles…

Posing in a picture on the desktop of my iMac are some of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known, members of MEChA, a Chicano student organization at Mission Bay High led by Luis Villanueva, a remarkable educator who constantly seeks ways to create learning experiences that are relevant to their lives. Each of them is a budding community leader and exemplary American citizen.

Thoughts Stimulated by a Historic High School Basketball Game

I was just looking through my scrapbooks and I came across two pictures of me playing high school basketball 55 years ago.

In one I was going in for an easy basket, a lay up, with my left arm shielding my defender from the play. In the other I’m springing high to win the opening tip of the same game, the first game in Pueblo High’s history. Their school building was still under construction, a few months shy of being done. We were housed in my school, Tucson High, the oldest public school in the state of Arizona.

Thoughts Stemming from Viewing “Precious Knowledge”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the range of ethnicities in our country, of how all human beings innately identify with racial and cultural ties that go back ages and ages in our personal histories. Who we are was set in place in ancient times. It’s natural, the way its supposed to be.

But somehow in the mix some human beings decide that their ethnicity is the ultimate of ethnicities and looks at others fearfully and fitfully.

Hey, Jihmye, I send these words directly to you because I know based on your Baha’i faith that although you’re no longer here carrying on with us physically your journey has not come to an end.

But, oh, what an existence your earth bound life has been, my friend. From the beginning to the end. Dropping out of school early, fleeing Dixie in Uncle Sam’s army, blessing all within your reach with your art and your poetry and your very presence. To me you were like a breath of fresh air in a world that can, without reason or rhyme, be so suffocating and crushing at times.