Category — Life

I OCCUPY POVERTY, and I’m not alone. There are millions of Americans who have been or are becoming improvised because of the greed, arrogance, corruption and lack of compassion of both our government, and people with big money and power.

As far as the upper 1% of Americans are concerned, I am a non-entity except when it comes to utilizing me as an example, a scapegoat, or a victim to cut back on entitlements and government spending. Then my fixed income suddenly becomes un-fixed and is cut down to shore up mismanaged spending.

And because there was no voice crying out about the injustice to which I am subjected, there was no one to assist me in fighting this iniquity … until now. OCCUPY WALL STREET arrived and the entire picture of my condition and that of millions around the world has changed.

Now there are faces of outrage and demanding voices to speak for those who have been silently waiting; and there are tens of thousands to represent the file folders or case numbers to which we have been relegated. There are determined human beings insistent on obtaining equity, compassion and respect.

Although I OCCUPY POVERTY, I am not, nor have I been lazy or trifling. I have worked, paid into the system, gotten an education and training, never been arrested, been a home owner, tried to become self-sufficient, did volunteer work, voted in every election, and performed my civic duties to the best of my ability. I take full responsibility for my life.

But try though I might, I like so many others, have not been able to advance from my position. Some may say that it is our own fault, and we must take responsibility for the choices we made in life, and to an extent that’s true. However, the disadvantage of one’s origin of birth, color, sexual preference, class, status, age, health, sex, or beliefs should not be a reason to punish or penalize. Our humanity should be enough to qualify for equality.

History has shown that when one chooses to live life as a spiritual mission, one must first fall in order to rise again; to die to the self in order to rise in the spirit. Examples are Joan of Arc, Jesus, Moses, Martin L. King, Jr., and Malcolm X, just to name a few. Often the novitiate messenger has difficulty explaining what is stirring in them during the transition, only that “something is happening to me.” The transformation from flesh- to spirit-rule is traumatic.

It is not until the cocoon is cracked and the breath of life is allowed to touch the inner is the outer allowed to drop away. It was not until my involvement in a child abuse case threatened the loss of my children did I change the direction of my life completely. To the observant, the example of the butterfly is an ingenious way nature has provided us to recognize spiritual renewal and explain our metamorphosis to others.

Once we are able to grasp the implications of responsibility to our fellow human beings, our “calling” as it were, the picture becomes clearer. The fears of life dwindle in comparison to the brilliance of purpose that looms ahead. The scripture, “though you slay me, yet will I live” becomes the anthem of one’s existence. It is the attraction of the moth to the flame. The pull to get closer to the source by our willingness becomes over-whelming and draws one nearer to the light which is death of the flesh, but rebirth of the spirit…revival.

To enlighten others about the possibilities available to all human beings for as long as possible before the time arrives to depart this world becomes the mission. Once the seal is broken, the purposes and realities related to everyone you meet become clear. Their roles and yours becomes pieces of the puzzle which start to fit, and the picture begins to look like the top of the box. You can see where you’re headed and what the outcome will be.

We accept that everyone and everything comes into our lives for a reason and a season, not to stay forever because there is no such thing; all being temporary. Though the scenery and the players change, the story of revival remains the same…one of rejuvenation, redemption and reconciliation.

When I wake up every morning, and I’m grateful for that blessing, I know that this is a day I have been given to create, or be or do something different. It is with that freshness of anticipation that I love to begin my day. Although there may have come up issues I had to address yesterday, or there may be things which have lingered around for quite awhile, each morn brings a chance to learn a new lesson; something exceptional. And that possibility is what makes living life a wonderful experience.

Since I have been old enough to remember, I have always been a crier. I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m sad. I even cry when I think about all the times I’ve cried. I realize now that mainly I was crying out of frustration, because I put so much on my plate all the time, and usually didn’t know how to find myself out of the maze of decisions I was making; so I cried. I also remember mourning the death of my parents years and years before they died, but when they did I was quite prepared. They had taught me all that they could, and although I missed them tremendously, accepting their passing was a lesson I had to learn.

Life has become more enjoyable for me as time goes on, and that’s because I have opened my mind to the possibilities that all my experiences come to teach me lessons, and the sooner I learn them, the sooner I can move on. In addition, if a similar experience or lesson comes up again, I can act rather than react in behalf of my own well-being and peace of mind. I have also learned to ask for help when I need it, I have stopped trying to do everything myself; which was one of my biggest problems. Others know equal to or more about certain things than I and it is their mission in life to provide their expertise, just as it is my purpose to provide mine. We can’t be all things to all people, not even to ourselves.

Each of us has something important to the world. As we go along, we should share our knowledge, even if it hurts or makes us ashamed to admit our choices…especially to our children. For it is in the relating to others that we receive forgiveness and restoration. We may think we are the only ones who have committed our acts, but logic should tell us that with billions of people in the world, there are many others who have made the same mistake, if we want to call it that. I believe there are lapses in judgment or misdirections or experimentation, but they are only mistakes if we do not learn the lessons they come to teach. Learning the lessons is what primarily makes life such a wonderful experience.

The best way to stop feeling sorry for oneself is to consider the plight of another. When the brightness of your self-pity is deflected from the mirror of your mind and you illuminate the path of someone else, you can stop squinting and open your eyes widely. Your light is no longer blinding.

But one of the most difficult things for a person to do is to turn attention away from themselves and devote it wholeheartedly to another when they themselves are confused or in pain. Being selfless is usually an act that requires a conscious decision, particularly if the other person is our equal or close to it.

We may sympathize with or be empathetic about someone’s pain. We may internalize or choose to ignore their suffering, but our reaction is based on how it will or does affect us. Regarding another becomes a personal matter of considering our own wellbeing first before promoting the caring focus toward the other person. We may eventually decide to put their need(s) before our own, but only after some thought as to what it will cost us.

It is not that we should dwell on our shortcomings as human beings, because we more often than not recognize our need to survive first and foremost, and usually make our determinations out of concern for our limitations. Therefore, in our interactions, it is normal to be well aware that we are not created to “be all things to all people.”

When you read the paper or watch the news and there’s a tragic story, what is your reaction? Do you first consider the persons involved, or do you think, “I’m glad that’s not me?” And if you are grateful that it’s not you, do you then move on as if what you’ve just read or seen was the problem of someone else and just a story that does not concern you? Have we become so jaded to mayhem and tragedy that images of men, women and children being blown to bits, starved, tortured, or mistreated in anyway have no affect or garner any reaction? Has the viewing of horror movies, video games and special effects removed or blanketed our sensitivity to human suffering?

People seem to have become so used to tragedy until and unless it touches us personally or is a national disaster do we even flinch. Local stories of murders, robberies, abductions, gang wars, domestic violence, family breakups, school and office shootings, child abuse, rapes, drownings, bombings, and all the many other painful experiences our neighbors, friends and even loved ones are having are shrugged off as, “That’s their problem. I’m glad that’s not me.”

But when does it become our problem? How close does it have to get to be seen as something which affects us no matter how distant the situation is from our personal experience? Should we consider ourselves lucky or blessed because this time we are not the ones bearing the burden or suffering the pain? How are we supposed to act or respond?

That is a tough question to consider, especially with the almost instantaneous news flashes from around the world. We live in a global community now, so our neighbor can be anyone from anywhere, and how can we feel for everyone who is going through some tremendous experience? We can’t. If you feel guilty for sometimes thinking, “I’m glad that’s not me,” don’t worry. That’s a normal reaction, and the problem is probably one which is beyond your control. The first law of nature, it is said, is survival, and survival is more than making sure the essentials of food, clothing and shelter are available. There is also survival of the mind, heart and spirit.

We are not responsible for all the things which happen to our neighbors, unless we are aware of the situation and ignore our duty to assist or we are complacent in our reaction to their plight. But standing by and watching when a word, a helping hand or some other gesture of humanity one to the other can be offered is to me a dereliction of our responsibility, and could make all the difference in the world. In any case, if it is not your turn to suffer heartbreak and heartache, the next time it could be and someone could be saying of you, “I’m glad that’s not me.” So consider how you would feel, because “what goes around comes around,” and “there but for the grace of God, go I (you).”

Sometimes I take public transportation in my travels, and yesterday was one of those days. I live in Sacramento, California and it was a perfect day; not too hot for July. The bus was crowded, particularly with mothers and their babies. Some of them were struggling with two or three toddlers, diapers bags, folding strollers, purchases and their surroundings. I watched with gratitude now that my children are grown, how far removed I am from all that multi-tasking to the extreme. And I wondered if all of those children were expressions of love.

An older woman in my building married a much younger man about a year ago. She had lived there for some years before the marriage, and all the neighbors were familiar and friendly. When her new husband moved in, everything changed. Seems that his lifestyle is incompatible with what the neighbors had established with her and a conflict ensued. Her expression of love has resulted in a legal separation and a restraining order she was encouraged very strongly to obtain in order for peace to return with her neighbors.

A very dear friend is 86 and her husband of six years is 103. They are a delightful couple who are very devoted to each other, and until recently, both have been very active. They walk everywhere together or alone, shopping, visiting, even going to the local pub to have a beer or two. He fell a few weeks ago and severely injured his back and neck. It is heartbreaking to see her in such emotional pain as she watches her expression of love in such a fragile state.

All of these expressions of love are different, but the same. What we expect from love should be wonderful, and it often is; but it can also be overwhelming, devastating and tragic. How we express love and how love is returned is unpredictable once we set it in motion. Even when we are watchful, love can cause our lives to spin out of control or make us retreat temporarily into a dark shell or cause us to want to escape from life all together. Love and our expressions of love are merely life, and life, like love, just happens to be another four-letter word.

As I get older I spend more and more time thinking about the past. On this particular occasion I am remembering how many historical moments I’ve witnessed, either being personally involved, or as a spectator in front of my T.V. screen. And although I might have been many miles away, all of the events had an effect on me as I can still remember where I was, but more particularly, how I felt about them.

My first memory is that of my father coming home after World War II. I was 3 years old. I was awaken very early by this handsome smiling man in an Army uniform. Until his death in 1983, he steered me through segregation in Louisiana, then relocated our family to San Francisco where we shared visions of the civil right demonstrations and man’s first steps on the moon from our living room.

Among the most memorable historical event is the bombing of the Twin Towers. I remember, because I was rushing around getting ready for work, turned the T.V. on, and saw the first building with smoke pouring out. I awoke my son and joked about someone flying into the building…then the plane hit the second building and life changed for real, not like the imagined panic we expected with Y2K.

Many, many hours I watched the O. J. trial, and stood with him awaiting the verdict, but I lost respect for him totally when he took that victory we all cheered for and wiped his ass with it.

On a lighter note, I remember the day Paris Hilton was born. The newspaper announcement made me smile as it does now…at last, there was another girl named “Paris.”

Princess Di’s wedding and funeral; Rodney King’s beating and the ensuing riot; the assassinations of M. L. King, John and Robert Kennedy, and Malcolm X; the murders of the Mayor and Supervisor in San Francisco; the Jim Jones massacre; Patty Hearst being on the run; the fire-bombing of the MOVE group in Philly; the Columbine killings; and Viet Nam held a grip on my heart for many years. People leaving under suspicious, awful, very painful circumstances became all too familiar.

Totally unfamiliar was the pain of losing my oldest son, Tracy, age 41, in December of 2004. He was just here one day, and gone the next. Since then I’ve lost two infant grandsons. What I’ve accepted is that we all have a time to go. This knowledge has surprisingly given me some comfort, and helped me prepare for my own transition.

Most of the 60s is unfortunately foggy as I was a “hippy“ more or less on the weekends, but I remember dancing all night to disco music in the 70s, and eventually evolving spiritually. The 80s seemed to release much of the pressure I had been experiencing for years as I became a senior and, for awhile, a Republican. In 1988 I suffered the tumult of a toxic relationship and became involved in a child abuse case.

In the 90s I ran a non-profit child abuse prevention organization; saw cotton for the first time; and got divorced. The new century brought a return to school and a much-desired A.A. degree. I got engaged, and retired. But life and its history making activity hasn’t slowed one bit. In the last few years, I’ve become a published author, an avid online networker, and been diagnosed with breast and bone cancer.

Michael and so many others I loved have died. The tsunami, the San Francisco and Haiti earthquakes caused devastation and death, and no one can remember weather like we’re having, but all is not gloom and doom. The cell phone and world wide web have changed so many things forever. The release of Nelson Mandela, and the election of President Barack Obama have given many of us hope that the future in many instances will be brighter.

When my youngest grandchild, who is 9 months old, grows older and looks back on her historical moments, I hope they are not dominated by tragedy and madness, but rather positive advancements, stimulating ingenuity, greater understanding and lasting peace. Still, I wouldn’t have missed this life’s human experience for anything in the world, and I believe that when I leave this time, there will be no need to ever return; so lets just hope it won’t be soon.

The type of breast cancer I have is a rare form contributed to by excess estrogen. According to my surgeon who diagnosed the cancer, the bones also produce estrogen, so the medicine they are giving me to reduce the estrogen feeding the cancer could also possibly cause osteoporosis, which is why he tested me for the problem, but we found out I already have it.

As a result, I will need to take calcium and vitamin D to build up my bones to avoid the possibility of fractures from the slightest trip or fall. Like most black people, I remember being told we have heavier or thicker bones than other ethnic groups, but regardless of that being the case, we are in need of more attention to our skeletal structure than we previously have been led to think.

Women over 40 should have a Dexa scan for bone density to be sure that they do not require a boost in their calcium intake, along with a mammogram to test for breast cancer (which I had refused for years). With the lactose intolerance from which so many black people suffer, we need to know that we should look into ways other than consuming milk to keep our bones healthy. We often hear it said that we “learn something new every day,” so I hope that this information will be something of value to your continuing good health.

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As an entrepreneur, how do you measure success? Is it measured by the amount of money you’re able to generate? Is it the ability to duplicate your idea or get the greatest acclaim? Can it be your staying power in the marketplace or your brand building? I believe there are as many different ways of measurement as there are entrepreneurs, and success is an individual determination. 

For me, having dabbled in the game of self-generated income, I am reconsidering my idea of success, as my current situation is causing me to feel some conflict. Although I have had the ability to be self-supportive from revenues garnered from my gifts and talents through the years, I have not been able to sustain nor excel to the point of what others may think is success for too long. 

Many ideas, time and effort have come and gone. My interest was piqued for while, but eventually waned and I moved on to something else. Nevertheless the time I’d spent and the pleasure derived from my performance of the activity was thought of by me as positive measures of my success. 

When I published my first book after waiting 18 years for the pleasure, the congratulations and love shown me by my family, friends and business associates made me feel on top of the world. Before I sold one copy, I felt like a success. I had accomplished a great part of my mission. But the work to sell the book is ongoing and difficult, and sells have slowed. Do I measure my success, not in selling books, but in having a book to sell? 

The conflict I am having is in trying to gather the same level of enthusiasm and excitement into marketing my product as I had in getting it made. I am in a new arena and a new game in which the measure of success is different. I am wondering if making money is the most concrete, important evidence of a successful entrepreneur. 

Some of the elements of entrepreneurship I’ve decided to consider are: how willing am I to risk being a failure? Am I learning things of importance as I go? How much more do I know about business or life? How much personal growth can I claim? Have my values changed, or do I view my products or customers or my responsibility to my customers in a different light? Is my attitude or my level of patience or consistency to my expression of quality the same? Do I feel that I am doing and being the best that I can be at what I do? 

For me and others struggling with our definition of success or feeling disappointed in not being what and where we think we should be, perhaps we should consider using another yardstick of measurement. I’d like to read any comments on the subject you care to share.

A few weeks ago I wrote an article about the black Underclass…those who were left behind after the civil rights movement and black flight to white suburbs; but there is another greater, more inclusive Underclass in America, “a social class consisting of people so underprivileged that they are seen as being excluded from mainstream society.” This Underclass consists of people from all ethnic groups who are at or below the poverty line. 

In this Underclass are those who are working poor, parents on welfare or men and women on government assistance, the unemployed, and the disabled. They may or may not be un- or under-educated, but are often thought by the middle and upper classes to be mentally challenged, or have some “problem” which has put and kept them in their situation. 

The Underclass of America are fodder for our prison systems, foster care systems, inadequate school systems, poor medical and dental systems, mental health systems, and any other systems into which the lowest class of citizens are shuffled for attention to their needs. 

The primary causes of the growth and maintenance of the numbers of the American Underclass is a lack of education and support. These citizens are generally reduced to files and numbers; stripped of their dignity and humanity, except when used to fuel “government programs” set up to appear to be compassionate and care-taking, but which are often closed or shut-down when they seem to be working or making on effective change. 

If one would look closely, how can a disabled person or a single parent living on less than $1,000 a month compete or advance in a country where men and women are paid millions to play sports and act or role play, while their entitlements are periodically being whittled down by $5 or $10 to shore up a failing economy?

Is there a solution to solving the plight of the Underclass? Perhaps, but it seems the Bible’s self-fulfilling prophecy has come true in America. The one I paraphrase that says “the poor will be with us always.” I can relate to that premise, but I ask you, does it have to be a deliberate act?