Category — perspective

At the writing of this blog, 39 states out of the 50 U.S. states have passed legislation to prevent women from having the right to make choices concerning their bodies. Thirty-nine states have passed laws to not allow women the freedom to choose their destinies or just to be. Those laws block a woman’s right to make decisions that only women who will be responsible for the results of those choices can and should be able to make. THE OVA NETWORK believes that when we know about something but do nothing about it, we are giving silent consent to the offense. We are therefore calling for the signing of a petition to protest the passing of these laws.

THE OVA NETWORK is a Facebook online support group created for women. The following is its description: “The Ova Network is dedicated to and for women everywhere. Its purpose is to provide a place and voice for women, and the men who care about and respect them, to connect, share and celebrate womanhood. Questions and answers and stories of triumphs and defeats, victories and losses are welcome to help each other grow and change.”

Members of THE OVA NETWORK, in representing all women, understand the seriousness and harm created in the making of laws to control the rights of women to choose. As women, they know how it feels to make decisions concerning protection or elimination of parts of their bodies in their own best interest. They know the stress of desiring sex, but not wanting to get pregnant, the abasement of having a pelvic exam or an ultrasound or an abortion and also their relief. Some have endured rape, familial sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancy, rape by strangers and loved ones, or just the mistake of a night of fun and pleasure.

Regardless of the circumstances, or socio-economic status, we believe it should only be the choice and decision of the women involved, and not that of any legislator, male or female. We, therefore, protest these laws which restrict any’s woman’s right to choose and ask that you support the efforts of our protest through the process of this petition.

http://www.change.org/petitions/legislators-stop-the-assault-on-the-rights-of-women-to-make-their-own-choices

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.

Along with being outside in a natural setting, one of my favorite places for meditation and inspiration is in the shower. When I am in the shower, I feel the most vulnerable but also the most secure. There I feel closer to God than almost anywhere else.

The fall of the hot water cascading over my skin makes me feel united with one of the most powerful forces in creation while giving me feelings of authority and humbleness. In the shower is where I often go to cry, to celebrate, to mourn, to laugh, to be a child again…if only for those precious minutes.

Water has always fascinated me as a symbol and manifestation of God’s spirit and supremacy. Even in its destructive wake of flood and crashing waves, there is a sense of dominion without limitations. And that power fortifies my own desire for freedom and control when it and I meld as one in the shower. The greatness of the water is both within and without me.

Showering has become something more than an expected and routine behavior or a daily ritual to me. It often takes on a sacred overtone. In its deluge I am touched, cleansed, baptized, blessed, refreshed and renewed. My tears add to its volume, my soul is stirred, and I am cuddled like a child by its embrace. The spirit of God is present in its unrivaled perfection and that lets me know I’m not alone.

Each magnificent drop of water is a world unto itself and a part of the whole. The joy of showers remind me that I am also as one with creation’s beauty and a receiver of its wonderful blessings.

There are certain strengths or abilities that human beings possess. The most well-known or discussed is the power of love. But recently we are seeing the negative results of another power that is becoming more infamous in everyday life. That power is influence.

Influence is the ability to manipulate another person or persons into doing or carrying out one’s desires. These desires may be positive or negative. For example, you may want someone to attend an event with you, so you provide the tickets and transportation. Or, in the case of negative exploitations, someone may carry out violence at the suggestion of another person whom they may recognize as an authority figure; or they will do something to get the attention of someone whom they perceive as being stronger or more powerful than themselves.

Unfortunately, incidences of violence from school yard bullying to political assassinations are growing in number, and many people are falling under the power of influence. This relinquishing of one’s will may cause them to also become a victim of the circumstances themselves. Too often the bully or victimizer has low self-esteem or could be suffering from some kind of emotional or mental defect.

The power of influence is used, however, by all of us against each other in order to have our way or to get the things we want; i.e. wives to husbands, and vice versa; children to parents, and vice versa; friends to each other; employees to employers, and vice versa; governments to other governments; and on and on. In one of my previous blogs, “Choose your battles,“ I enumerated several ways we can avoid becoming embroiled in conflicts by restraining our desire, or influence, to have authority or control in the situation.

We are constantly in battles of trying to influence our way through life; most often with little negative effect. But when influence is used to carry out schemes causing harm to another, should the person wielding the influence be held as accountable as the perpetrator? By recognizing that the power of influence is at work in our day-to-day interactions, we may be able to consider our motives first  before we try to get someone to do what we want. This self-examination will reduce our responsibility for injury or harm to another. Connecting compassion to the power of influence is a fundamental way.

What happens to a person to make them become intolerant? The question is asked because I refuse to believe that people are born with hatred for others just based on their race, their beliefs, or their preferences. History has shown that when children are placed in homes different from those of their birth parents, they can take on the characteristics of their caretakers or substitute parents. If not being born closed-minded is the case, then how is it that people can become prejudiced or bigoted unless they choose to be; are strongly influenced by others; or taught to be so by those who are bringing them up?

From personal experience, I am aware of different races being more than passing associates or even friends, and different religious devotees to have created loving families. These individuals may have come from homes that stressed the difference between races or religions, however the individual who adopted themselves into families different from their own were able to assimilate or accommodate and incorporate the ideals and beliefs of the adopted family. The fact of these familial blendings are further contradictions of the idea that people are born intolerant.

That being the case, why do people instill prejudice into children? What are the benefits of thinking and acting on the belief that people are totally different than you because of the color of their skin, the way in which they worship or not, or who they choose to love? Admittedly, there are differences in the way that different groups see and relate to the world. Could culture or their appearance, the manner in which they speak or dress or the texture or style of their hair or who they choose as a neighbor or friend bring about hatred so vile as to want to annihilate them from the face of the earth?

We have seen bigotry perpetrated by groups against other groups who share common characteristics such as color and lifestyles, but who seemingly hate each other. Men commit centuries old atrocities against women in the name of superstitions and religions. Sexual preferences have been the source of acts leading to murder, rape and other crimes. Color, status, language, religion, all have been used to separate, reject and destroy the spirits of men by other men.

My question is “why?” Can the need to have authority over others be strong enough to kill a single person or whole populations to satisfy a personal intolerance? Whole nations of people who were once rational human beings have turned into monsters of destruction killing and maiming entire ethnic groups including their children, and sometimes even their animals in the name of their personal philosophy. Again I ask “why?”

Knowing that each of us has a limited time here on Earth, couldn’t we best spend it motivating, inspiring and uplifting each other? As we go through destroying life, who is to say what essential breakthrough or discovery that one could have made for the benefit of so many more? Everyone comes here for a purpose; even those with intolerant minds. But why teach or choose bigotry as the reason to be?

As I have never left the U.S., my impression of life in other countries is very limited when it comes to their lifestyles. But having lived in America for nearly 68 years, I have a pretty good take on life here. Not only do I have time as a consideration, but experience, observation and being female, black and low income gives me a familiar perspective with millions of others. These characteristics gives both men and women like me a perception that is perhaps quite different from the one most people who have not been to America think about our country.

The primary misconception, perhaps, is that all Americans have money. That belief is a real illusion. We do not all have money, although most Americans are able to live moderate lives with the money that we have. Nearly everyone has some sort of indoor plumbing and bathroom facility, clean water, electricity to run their refrigerator to keep their food from spoiling, some type of heat and stove for cooking, facilities to wash their clothing and public transportation.

Health care is available for emergencies, but general health concerns are often not addressed without private insurance. The exception is for children where there are entire hospitals set up for their care. Seniors and disabled fare a little better with most of their medical needs being provided at low or no cost, particularly if they are retired and have paid into our retirement system.

Living as a low-income person in a country considered one of the richest in the world takes a certain mindset and determination. Seeing wealth all around and not being able to partake in it can be very frustrating. It is human nature to desire beautiful things and to want more. However, because there are so many others who are living on the same level, after awhile you realize that it is not personal, but just an accident of birth.

The other particular consequence of being a minority, whether rich or poor, can be very real and very personal. That’s where the illusion of America’s greatness begins to break down. There is still great discrimination and injustice. Not only between the races, but also between the classes. Attitudes, preferences, and beliefs are still further grounds for bias and prejudice.

Nevertheless, with all the differences that it takes to make up the United States of America, as a citizen I love my country and its people. We sometimes fight among ourselves, like all families do, but when one of us is harmed or taken we rally together to return that one to our bosom. I am sure that everyone, wherever you live, can and should speak of your place of birth as I do mine. All I can say is that it ain’t perfect, but it’s home.

For the last four or five years I’ve been writing blogs and doing social networking and have joined or connected to over 300 internet groups. When I Google my name, I’m surprised at the things that pop up and am amazed at how far my name and messages have reached. This is not to thump my own chest, rather to set the stage for something which never ceases to amaze me. I wonder and am surprised when others comment on how strong they consider me to be.

My readers’ perceptions make me wonder to what exactly is that strength attributed? Is it the time I’ve spent at the keyboard pecking away; or it is starting, deleting, uploading and downloading pictures and videos? Is it using the Thesaurus to express the same words in different ways to vary my content; or is it reading and re-reading, checking the spell-checked text to be sure I’ve caught all the errors? Is it arranging, rearranging, placing and displacing sentences, clauses, phrases, titles, paragraphs, punctuation marks, or whole topics?

Is it the subject matter I write about; the opinions I confer, the arguments in which I take a determined stand, or the information about my experiences I choose to share? Or could it be my resolve to write even when I wonder if what I am saying is making a difference?

I have come to accept that my being strong is not a power that I particularly possess. But my strength comes from the perception of my readers. If those who read my articles can derive some measure of understanding, enlightenment and inspiration, I believe they are made stronger. Their strength is then reflected back to me in encouraging comments they send which in turn makes me stronger.

Without receiving responses, the posts I write are merely me consuming time and effort. Instead they have become more than expressions of my point of view and a sharing of my life’s journey. Our ongoing communications have become a source of reciprocal strength, and I wish to thank all of my readers for making me strong.

Lately I have been getting lots of comments calling me “man.” I guess because I’ve carried a male name, Paris, all my life I forget that people naturally assume that I am male. That’s why I though I should post my picture so that you could put the face to the name and the messages.

I am a great-grandmother of 4, grandmother of 14 and mother of 3 surviving sons and 2 daughters. I am retired, but has recently published a book for children, The First Trip, and designed the characters into rag dolls called “Oodles,” the first one to be introduced is Bubba Oodle. Writing is one of my favorite things to do, so I enjoy writing this blog and hearing from my readers.

I appreciate so much all the wonderful comments, and those slightly left of wonderful (LOL). I learn something about myself from the way that you all see me and the thoughts you share.

It is good to know that my work has played a part in the advancement, enlightenment, and encouragement of so many. I try to give my honest opinion, while being mindful of the opinions of others, and respecting the fact that we may not always agree.

Now that we’ve come to the end of another successful year, I want to wish everyone Happy Holidays and God bless. Please continue to follow my work, and to let me hear from you. Take care, Paris

In a series of articles I have written for this blog, I focused on the intolerance perpetrated by U.S. blacks toward other U.S. blacks. But the subject of this article has gone around in my mind like bits of fabric loosely sewn together with threads of memory and heartache. So rather than continue my own tirade regarding black intolerance, I decided to flip the script and discuss another valid point. Instead of focusing on the pieces, why not reflect on the whole?

Research for this project contained a patchwork of discussions with peers, reading material provided by “experts” and statistics about the supposed division of black people which serve to stir up much debate. Controversy has produced a tattered remnant with uneven edges and puckered seams; an unattractive and uncomfortable quilt whose rhetorical shape does not resemble the blanket which enfolds us all. They do not speak the language of truth that despite our differences we are all black, therefore, we are one.

First, to those who are not black descendants of slave forefathers, or might not have been born in the U.S., I believe I can unequivocally say that there are few blacks in America who are not proud to be black. Whether we are accused of “acting white,“ dye our hair blond, talk “proper” or only date members of other ethnic groups, we love, and are proud of being black.

Second, we recognize each other for the special-ness that we share.  After slavery was abolished in the 1860s, we formed intact communities and lived among those like ourselves. Because of segregation and Jim Crow laws, we were generally separated from white Americans because of  the color of our skin.

The civil rights movement of the 1960s brought the illegality of our separateness to the forefront of the world’s attention, and new laws allowed for desegregation and integration. For many, the opportunity to relocate allowed more urbane blacks who could afford it to move beyond our communities into new neighborhoods. So, we were again separated except it was from our own people due to differences in economics, education and social skills. That separation marked the beginning of the situation we find ourselves in today.

Prior to the 1960, there were variations in education and economic classes among blacks, the same as in other groups. But the one thing that most of Americans, black and white, had in common was their social skills. We all knew “please,” “thank you,” “sir,” and “’mam.” Direction, support and aptitude were the most determining factors as into which class blacks would fall.

As the years have gone by and the populations of both those who left and those who remained behind have grown, the inequality between the two has come more forcefully to the attention of those who made it out. They are looking back, seeing their brothers and sisters lagging behind, and wondering what to do about it.

The success of many who have risen from the ranks has shown such outstanding achievement, the question of why we all have not made it has come to the forefront of discussion. I believe the reason is that there is not enough directional and economic resources available, and not for a lack of inspiration, imagination or ingenuity. There are many local people making and plying goods and services, some legitimate, some not.

The crux of this problem has been how we can focus assistance on blacks without appearing bias toward other groups, as there is a definite desire to help. We see it in the flourish of entertainers and others aiding blacks in African nations rather than at home, because it was viewed as the job of government or churches to provide for the needs of lower income Americans, and those entitlements and charities continue to some extent.

However, in the present economy, black culture needs are not being addressed because items that had a slight resemblance to ridicule or stereotyping was made “politically incorrect” in 1965. That ban on such items, even those created by blacks,  has attributed to their being shunning by other blacks. So the need to support each other has created a microcosm of human to human assistance that is existing to the extreme in the macrocosm of need in the world.

As before, blacks helping their neighbors on the other side of town would serve as an example to the world of raising up a culture from its lower status. The opportunities are plentiful as there are many black artists, writers, inventors and designers, dreamers of great dreams, who could use financial backing, direction and support. To be able to move their products and services to the mainstream would allow them to return the favor and help those organizations struggling to educate, feed and clothe others. The trend could continue until the majority of, not only blacks, but all Americans are achieving on the level of which we are capable.

There are many who are capable and desiring to move beyond their undeveloped state to be able to realize the American dream. But without help, their dreams will not be realized. Recognizing that we are one, our blackness should serve as the cover big enough to enfold our discomfort and discontent, as we bind the edges with the distinctive fabrics that represent our unique and varied features.

No longer do we have to hand stitch our identity with the tattered rags and scraps left over from cloaks of servitude and slavery, or sew them together with worn and tired fingers blistered from the drudgery of picking cotton. Now we can construct a quality cover sewn with the finest needles and thread on a marvelous machine stitched by the efforts of the hearts of brotherhood.

It is time for black people to wrap ourselves warmly in the mantle of our blackness, proudly edged with the many colors of our attitudes, quality of our souls and feel of our culture. As James Brown penned so long ago and we heartily sang to help us survive the hostilities of the civil rights movement, we should pick up the song again and sing with spirit and dignity, “I’m black and I’m proud.”

I am proud to be me, proud that as a people we have overcome tremendous odds and prospered and proud that we can finally come to terms with the truth that has always existed from arrival in this country. We were brought here with one identity…we were black. That identity still exists today. We are an American group among many American groups, and in both cases, there’s no disputing the  fact that we are one.

Song by Frankie Beverly and Maze.

When I awoke this morning, I had the words of my title in mind, but I was remembering an old Negro spiritual we used to sing in church. “How I got over. How I got over. My soul looks back and wonders, how I got over.” I remember my mother, grandmother and others singing it with gusto, thanking God for helping them to “make it through.” Then I typed in the words on YouTube, and found this song by The Roots, and it changed my whole attitude.

Rather than praise and worship, the words, music and images took my heart and mind into a totally different mood of distress, despair and disturbance. Tears began to flow, and my heart began to ache. For I remember, can almost smell and feel, the sensations of the people portrayed in the video; because it wasn’t too long ago that their plight was my own, and it hit too close to home.

I sit now, at my computer, with my heater going full blast in my cozy third-floor apartment overlooking a majestic oak tree, while the capitol building of the state of California is at the end of my block. There are limos, Lamborghini-es, and other luxury cars nightly pulling up to the restaurants, coffee houses and cafes that line my street.

Happy people sitting outside having lunch, dinner or just over coffee fill the air with their laughter and content. They smile and some even nod as I pass, thinking and accepting me as one of them, an equal. But I wonder what they would think about me if they knew that it wasn’t too long ago that I was homeless, living in a shelter with my two kids…friendless and alone? Would their looks be diverted away from me?

This is not the way I envisioned my day going when I woke up full of gratitude and rejoicing this morning. I had no intention of spending my morning revisiting an episode in my life that I seldom visit anymore. Not that I am trying to forget it, because I think it plays a significant part in my current sense of empathy. But today was not going to be one of those days when it would come back to me with such force, with a video as stark evidence that what happened then was real to me, just as now it’s very real to others.

But now that I think of it, both the rejoicing and the pain belong to me. I embrace them as value which has been added to my life. For without the pain there would be no joy. I would not know that it is possible to overcome and not be genuine in sharing that hopeful message with others. I would also not be able to serve as an example to those who think themselves above and beyond the possibilities of becoming like their less fortunate neighbors. It can happen to anyone.

There is a message for all of us in this, I think. For me, reminiscing keeps me grounded. For those who are struggling, I wish them God’s best. For those who are reading this, I hope it stirs something in you to reach out to even one in whatever way you can to those disenfranchised by the state of their birth or whatever life has thrown their way. A simple smile of encouragement will go a long way, and with just a little help one day those who are suffering won’t have to wonder how they got over, they will know.