Finding Unsinkable Love May Save Your Life

After taking three plus hours of my day to travel back in time and revisit "The Titanic" along its infamous journey on the cold Atlantic in 1912, and having the pleasure of gazing into the lives of two unlikely lovers, who found a passionate peace in the mist unforeseen madness, I began to wonder if the strongest love between two people is bounded by the things they hate, or is the best love welded together by the rescue?

On the Titanic the hatred that surrounded the lovers was easy to spot. For her, Rose DeWitt Bukater, the thing she despised the most was the lack of autonomy in her life. She was agitated by the push she felt from family that pressured her to hide their financial burdens under a cloak of deception, which she was told had to be strapped on tightly and worn from sunup to sunset. Its design was cut out for her to live a fictitious life that was completely planned out for her; a life that boldly chose her husband, her meals, and decided who she could and couldn't be friends with. Her lack of decision making in her own life put a bitter taste in her mouth, and as I watched her swallow this bitterness, I could sense that its taste was poisoning her ever so slowly. Soon, it was apparent that Rose would either die or looked to be saved.

Then she met Jack, the penniless orphan who hadn't felt any constraints in life, and she was instantly drawn to him. She was attracted to the freedom that he wore like a badge of honor on his chest, despite the fact that his freedom was carved out of a positive outlook of poverty. Rose never breathed a word of this to me, but I feel certain that she had made up in her mind that she was going to embrace poor Jack the moment she met him. Why? I'm certain that it's because Rose had a longing to embrace and love what was lost in herself, and she was aware that true survival could only come if a person feels complete.

I wonder how many lovers hook up for the same reasons. I don't think I've ever looked at man and said, "Wow! This guy possesses the internal qualities that I'm missing in my life. If I hold on to him, he can save me from disaster. If I love him, I will become a more complete being. His sexy way of reflecting the things I lack is really a turn on!" No, not ever have I said this. Instead, I usually find myself first attracted to the height, the smile, and the eyes of man. Afterwards, I'm interested in how well he can carry on a conversation about whatever. Next, I almost always search him over for the things most like myself. And what I've found, after talking to many friends and associates about the matter, is that I am not alone.

How insane is this? Should singles not search so hard for common traits in a mate, and more so look for the things that they aren't comfortable with inside of themselves in another? Would this make them happier beings and therefore more apt to have that unbreakable, undeniable, and everlasting love that not even a Titanic could sink?

When did the lives of dogs outweigh the lives of human beings?

Many times I've read messages posted online and in newspapers about Michael Vick's dog fighting scandal and what the public deems and appropriate punishment. But only one message forced me to comment. It wasn't actually the writer's ridiculous indirect but apparent comparison of Michael Vick to serial killers that moved me to this action, but rather the fact that there hasn't been a million people before to me to comment on Vick's behalf. I mean really, let's be serious here, Michael Vick is by no means Ted Bundy, David Berkowitz, Jeffrey Dahmer, or any other serial killer known for torturing animals. Never for a moment was it evident or even perceived that Vick did what he did because he had pleasure in watching animals hurt, but rather that it was more so the competitiveness in it; the rush of the fight and the uncertainty of the outcome, that caused his undoing. And it should be done. Over. Finished. Two years is more than enough time to serve for torturing dogs when people are known for serving less time for murdering their neighbor, friend, or lover. When did the lives of dogs mean more than the lives of humans? People get hurt every day by other people. They get raped, beaten, burned, and never do I see crowds of people lining the streets outside the buildings that hold their court cases. Never do I see the picket signs outside their offenders jobs, attempting to force their bosses to hand out pink slips. No, as humans we allow these people to move on and build new lives, whether they have done time behind bars or not. And if we were actually brave enough to do the research we would realize that these people, who have done terrible things to other people, are our mothers, brothers, sisters, children, and may have even been or will one day be ourselves. Nevertheless, they are the people we have chosen to love and respect. Perhaps, we don't love and respect them for the horrible thing that we know they have done. But rather we love them for who they are as a whole body. People who interact daily with other people, and have healthy social relationships with beings that don't bark or meow can understand this. Sad things is, people who have devoted their lives to dogs and other animals, have lost sight of the value of human life. Consequently, they believe that is justified for Vick to do two years in prison and be shut out from savaging what was left of his life. All the while, physical abusers of men, women, and children, as well as murders of innocent individuals get off, in many cases, without a blemish to their name. It's just ridiculous to me. Vick has done more than enough time to silence the dog lovers of America. His case just proves to me how turned upside down this world is. No wonder so many are disoriented.

THE plain TRUTH!

After commenting on a message left on Gayle King's board, which reflected on whether or not Blacks' shout of racism is truly valid, my mind began to wonder. It began to sink into the possibilities of why racism is still a breathing word in this country, and why it continues to hold so much weight in our minds and on our tongues, as it springs into any and every conversation.

True the bulk of the weight stems from yesteryear, when Black Americans were entirely innocent to the hardships pressed upon them by white men. And certainly, chains on the mind are much stronger than chains on any wrist or ankle. Yet and it still, in this day and time, the reason that most racism falls on the laps of the black race, is because of Black people.

I hate to admit it, but I don't see how anyone can deny it; with a black man in the White House. Despite the major advances that individual Black Americans have made in fields of education, entertainment, politics, and corporate trust, the black race, as a entity, is becoming a racist's dream.

You see, unlike yesteryear, there is one color that blinds mankind. It isn't black or white, but green. It's sad to say but if have green overflowing out of your wallet, it will make the most racist of beings embrace you. Of course, they will call you an exception to their friends. Nevertheless, they will tame their tongues and maybe even bow their heads when you come around.

But without the green, which usually marks a level of education or talent, the color of skin shines through before the scent of one's character. My problem is that, once upon a time, the color black actually defined character, which of course wasn't outlined in the earliest print of Webster. What the nation chose to read back then was the falsehood that stated: Blacks are lazy lower class, in capable of using their minds to achieve; forced to rather settle on their hands and the hard soles of their feet to make a living and their place in the world.

What I loved about yesteryear is that Blacks either couldn't or wouldn't read that crap. Instead, they believed in what was told to them by their ancestors and what they saw produced every day. They saw intelligent blacks teach themselves how to read on and between the lines. They saw amazing Blacks use their minds to make inventions that made the world better. Because of this, Blacks of yesteryear knew they were better and so they worked to be better, and demanded as much from their kids.

As of late, however, many within the Black race don't work to be better, nor do they demand it of their children. I blame this on the disconnection between the generation of old and that of the new, within the black community. The fact that Black America, as a whole, has appeared to have lost the understanding of what it means to be black in America, I sense has made them less proud of who they are, and more likely to become what their enemies desire them to be.

So what should it mean to be Black? What did it once mean to be Black?

1) Being Black in America meant trusting that God will make a way, while seeking the path.
2) It meant being strong in self and determined to make tomorrow better than yesterday.
3) It stood for an understanding that education, one of the major treasures that Blacks fought to have access to obtaining, is the key to freedom on this earth. Therefore, it was forbidden to just be valued and casually pursued, but rather need to be hunted down and treasured.
4)Being Black in America meant respecting the footprints behind you; those imprints left behind by Blacks whose lives were lived to push Black forward.
5) Pride of how strong, smart, and favored we must be to climb out of a graveyard and build houses on a plantation created to kill us, without a dime of reparation.
6) It meant strength. It revealed that in the darkest night, one doesn't settle in the trenches but fights or looks for the North Star in search for better. For Being Black in America meant...
7...Being better (just to be considered equal). It meant when Black is refused a stage, one is built by black fans. When Black is refused a bridge, one is made by black hands. This is because being black in America defined no restrictions, no chains on legs, or wrists, or mind. It meant Fredrick Douglass, Marion Anderson, Benjamin Banneker, George Washington Carver, Archibald Alexander, Percy L. Julian, Dr. Charles Richard Drew, Elijah McCoy, Emmett W. Chappelle, Dr. Mae. Jemison, D. Martin Luther King, and thousands more Blacks who worked to redefine America instead of allowing America to define them.

Yet, somewhere along the years, Black Americans (as a whole) have forgotten what it means to be who they are, and so they (myself included) have become something else. Parents have dropped the responsibility of telling their black kids that they were born to be miracles in the making, as their forefathers were. And why? Because that's who they are. Thus, this lack of knowledge has left newer generations of Black without a true sense of self. It has left them branding themselves with gang signs and designer labels, trying to find the pride in something. It's left them thinking excuses actually excuse failures. It's left them looking into the darkness for light, standing on the edge of nothing-afraid to build a bridge. Because, somewhere along way, a lack of knowledge has taught Blacks in America that success is no longer defined by progress, but by dollar signs and pedestals.

It's sadly tragic how true the old saying is: "You don't know where you can go, until you know where you've been." Because Blacks in America have forgotten where they've been, they have no clue that they are going back in time. They are going so far back, in fact, that they are erasing the memories of Marion Anderson, Percy Julian, as they seek to stand on these pedestals that slaves were once forced to dance upon to gather bids for profit.

So here we are. No knowledge. No progress. Here we are in a place where Blacks in America now run to dance on these pedestals. Now they don't fight to read, but dance. Now they don't fight to pray to their God, for they think they are God. Now they don't look to create what they are missing, instead they just complain about it. Growing less of the inventor, less the educator, less God filled, and more the dancer, Black America appears doomed; existing with the mission to entertain rather than thrive. But then again, being Black in America also means being President. I think that along can change things for the better. Yes, it can!

Ghost.

This blog post is dedicated to Dorothy Stratten, Rihanna, and all the women who face physical and emotional abuse. Original Lyric written By Lyric Dysin/DShawn Watts Not sure how it happened, really I knew your love would lift me to fly But the prison you built around us, is killing me And I don’t want die. See my life flashing before my eyes, You promise paradise but I see hell. You smile, flaunting me in a crowd Privately drowning me in my wishing well A penny for these thoughts: You tell me I'm worth all of your time and I should be grateful for this prison because it keeps me in line... and keeps three meals on my plate, and drapes cotton across my skin, and keeps my head dry from the rain, blocking the vultures that bend the wind. Regardless of your mistakes, you say I'm better because you're within, So I should bandage the pain with a smile for pleasure comes with your sin. And I should appreciate your spying For your watch keeps me safe And out of reach of freaks and Madmen who often drift out of place. But I say…No More! I must Go! And then your grip tightens under my chin Until the blood in my veins ceases to flow and a Ghost peels from beneath my skin Not sure how it happened, really Always knew your love would lift me to fly But the prison you built around us, is killing me And I don’t want die. These lyrics were inspired by the pain many suffer in the mist of controlling relationships. Have you also felt the pain, or after sensing it coming, got out of the relationship just in time? Do you know someone who wasn't so lucky? Are certain people just doomed to physical abuse? Do you feel that abusers look for lovers they can dominate? Have you ever been the abuser? When you hear of people being physically beaten or emotionally abused by their mate, do you have any pity? When they choose to stay with their abusers, do you call them foolish or stupid? What's your take on Rihanna's situation (from what we know of it)? Let's chat. Let's share. Perhaps, your views can alter someone else perspective?

Him and Her, and the reason they aren't an US

When it comes to relationships, if you ask any woman if she knows what she wants, as in the type of man that could turn the sexually frustrated tiger within in her into a well tamed and purring kitten, nine times out of ten, her answer will be an infinite YES! Ask that same woman if she knows how to get that man she wants, or how to keep the possibility of such a man interested in her long enough to feel confident that he’s just what she’s been looking for, and her answer will more than likely be, “Of course, I have my ways.” But the truth is, as a woman, I have learned that a woman’s ways have long let us down.

According to John Gray, critically acclaimed author of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus," improving relationships between a male and a female takes understanding the communication style and emotional needs of the opposite gender. Now I figure this to be a manageable task if one is married and has dedicated his/her life to finding the switches to make the relationship work. But for singles, who often feel they have the goods to quickly attract another and not the time to waste, a misunderstanding in communication styles and the idea that the man/or woman you’re with doesn’t understand or can't satisfy your emotional need, will often sever the relationship before it can get off its feet.

I never figured this more true than last night, after asking an old friend to join me and a few guys to have a good time watching a premiere event. In actuality, asking her to join us was only partly my idea, since one of the guys in the car, to whom I’m going to name Evan (false), requested that I ask one of my friends to be his companion on this eventful journey, given the fact that he figured that I and the driver, to whom I'm going to call Richard (also false), would find some time to hook up. What Evan didn’t know is that Richard and I hadn’t a chance of hooking up, since our differences in communication styles made it impossible for us to understand the other's emotions. For when he pursued me back when, he couldn’t read that I was as equally interested, since I didn't behave like many women he had been involved with before. Then after choosing to move on, my feelings of being rejected closed off my heart to him, leaving only a flirtatious friendship possibility to brew between us. But this Evan wasn't aware of, as I accepted his request to ask a friend of mine to join us.

Evan didn't say it, but I figured that I knew exactly what he was asking. I was convinced that he just didn't want me to ask any friend but one that would be compatible with him. And so, I analyzed him silently for a moment and then dialed up and old friend that I sensed would fit.

I tell yall, I nearly spent two hours regretting the decision, as the two (my old friend and Evan) began to bicker and butt heads during our journey. I couldn’t understand it. I figured that they would hit off, knowing what I knew of them both; analyzing their personalities. It seems that when he said left, she went right. When she looked at him, instead of him noting that he had grabbed her attention, he sensed that she was giving him the evil eye, and maybe she was. But why?

Each time, I tried to explain her defensive moves, she’d laugh and say that I was putting her on the couch, as if I was trying to be her shrink. And maybe I was. I was trying to decipher, what was wrong with her? Why was she acting this way? There was a good man right in her face and she was pushing him away. Why?

Later on, I began to make excuses for her. With her being much like myself, I began to reflect on bad moves I had made in previous relationships that promised to doom me to the single life, if I didn’t correct them. Moves like: building my wall of defenses extra high and challenging the man to find his way pass the bricks and the shooting cannons, as if his persistence proved how much he wanted me, and as if only such proof would grant him a step closer to proving he was worthy of my good love. Not wanting to make a mistake in finding the wrong companion, I figured this process was good measure, and would naturally weed out the punks, ducks, dogs, and scum-bags, so that I can easily spot the one that I could live happily ever after with.

Many men climbed. For a few weeks, they tried. And as time progressed or after they found the wall too intimidation, they disappeared. The more the men gave up, the less I blamed the wall. “The men weren’t ready for a woman like me,” I'd say. “Not one of them was man enough, which is why each of them soon sought out easy pickings in women who didn’t make their love a challenge.” I even thought less of these women who held up no defenses, and labeled their men foolish for standing beside them.

But really I was the foolish one; not so much for making my love a challenge, but rather for making it, in many cases, an impossible feat for any man, who really doesn’t know me well enough to know if I’m worthy of his efforts, to climb. It was only when I saw my old friend mimicking my steps that I became aware of my actions, and resentful of each and every one.

So here we were: two men and two women. Good people. Loving, caring, ambitious, head on straight, attractive when we act right, type people. And yet, we were single even within this group. As our journey ended, I wondered why? The answer I later determined was due the misunderstanding in communication styles and the cluelessness to the emotional needs of the other.

Perhaps, this too may change. Who knows, the walls may be falling as I type.

Pretty Wings/Ugly Truth

Pretty Wings lyrics
Songwriters: David, H; Menard, Maxwell Gerald




Time will bring the real end of our trial
One day they'll be no remnants
No trace, no residual feelings within ya
One day you won't remember me

Your face will be the reason I smile
But I will not see what I cannot have forever
I'll always love ya, I hope you feel the same

Oh you played me dirty, your game was so bad
You toyed with my affliction
Had to fill out my prescription
Found the remedy, I had to set you free

Away from me
To see clearly the way that love can be
When you are not with me
I had to leave, I have to live
I had to lead, I had to live

If I can't have you, let love set you free
To fly your pretty wings around
Pretty wings, your pretty wings
Your pretty wings around


Do you feel the lyrics? Can you picture the words of this Maxwell hit breathing life into your present or past? The music that sings possibilities, the reflections, of a love so dangerously strong that you wish for it die, all the while knowing that maybe the best part of you will die with it.

[Time will bring its end. It will cut loose ends, until there will be no trace of it left on the one you love, nor any remaining feelings? And though simply the thought of that saddens you, envisioning your lover’s face makes you smile. But it’s a face you refuse to see, no matter how much your flesh craves or how fast you feel the walls caving in. You feel your lover’s love is too dangerous to hold in your heart.

Still there will always be love, despite your lover’s dirty games that played with your suffering. In a desperate attempt to keep him/her by your side, you tried alternative ways to cease your pain. Yet, eventually you could no longer deny that your lover was the disease, and only separation could cure you. So you set your love free, so you could see clearly what a love should be (sensing that love shouldn’t cause you pain). You felt forced to leave, so you can truly live (happily)].



Do you feel the lyrics? Have you been there? Are you there now?

Testify:

How well do you identify with Pretty Wings? Have your heart ever set a beat to the lyrics? Have you been sickened by a love that you felt forced to let it fly, in order to save what was left of yourself?

Independent Women: A Man's Dream?

It didn't take Ne-Yo's hit, "Miss Independent," to make us all aware of the fact that in this time of American Recession the idea of a woman who primarily depends on her man to provide for her basic needs is no longer flattering in the eyes of most men, and thereby the appeal of the yesterday's woman (the full-time housewife) is nearly non-existent. Nowadays, women who are able to handle their own finances are looked upon as desirable rare jewels, sought out by the best and worst of men, when it was once the woman who reflected sound inner values and moral character that was heavily smiled upon. So where has the shift of perception left us? Does a woman's paycheck now determine her worth in the world, and if so is this primarily the reason why our natural child barriers have produced, within the last few generations, such wild and unruly seeds? Of course, women around this country will testify that it's not solely a woman's job to raise the next generation. However, after centuries of earlier generations of women taking on the job, and doing it well, it only brings me to wonder: Has this same job resulted in such devastating effects because of today's woman's preoccupation with work that pays in dollars rather than good sense? And have women turned down the duty of being attentive and dedicated mothers, to earn a profession that may attract, who they figure to be, a good man or any man. I wonder.

Years back, when I first would hear men shout out that they wanted an independent woman, I would cringe. I'd tighten my jaws and fist and look at this men as scum-slackers, who only looked for working women so that they would have someone to split the tab with for dinner, tackle on mortgage payments, and/or other oncoming bills that, on their own, would technically bury their manhood. I would grow angry at these men, and even more angry at the women who would willingly support them, for at least a season.

Now, despite the fact that I have become an independent woman, the thought of any man being attracted to me for this very reason is a turn off. I'm rather attracted to the man who considers my income irrelevant, and thinks of loving me with idea of totally supporting who I am, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and financially. But this is a yesterday's woman talking.

Regardless of the fact that I'm considered a today's woman by age, I was raised to value moral soundness over income, and to believe that a woman's most important job is to properly raise the children; not to up her stock in the workplace to get that fancy car, that two car garage, and designer fit, in order to inevitably attract a man. But then again, perhaps the fact that I'm turned off by the mere thought, and simply disgusted by the men that perpetuate the idea, defines why I'm single. And being one of the 55% of single American women, who isn't gay, gives me the impression that I'm not alone.

So who are you?

Brothas, do you find yourself passing on a woman with good strong values and morals to pursue the sista that you'd consider less of a finacial burden? Do you find yourself seeking out the woman that doesn't need nor expect you to pay for her movie ticket or dinner? Does the mere idea of being looked at to buy a woman an outfit, or pay for her to get her hair done, turn you off enough to look elsewhere?

Sistas, do you find yourself investing less in your child and your inner spirit, in order to devote more time, attention, and care into your image? If so, why do you do this? Is it to attract a special someone? Have you given it much thought? Are you sold by the cliche', "Birds of a feather flock together," that you have chosen to devote your life to the business world, and thereby feel the need to work so that you can afford to look similar to that you wish to attract?

I'm curious. So tell me who are you?

Human Nature

They say he’s gone…but I can still hear his voice in the air
His message of freedom, hope, and love riding the wind
that blows gently through my hair.
Springing melodies without compare,
over decades and shades of brilliance
His mere existence breathing love and healing
for the world to share.

More than a trendsetter…
More than amazing voice…
More than the lyrics he spun
to remind us that the way we live was our choice.
More than his groundbreaking hits
that I must admit, would suddenly cause my body to throw fits,
dropping to half splits, spinning twisters
while thrusting hips and standing on toes,
screaming, “who’s bad?”
like everyone should know….

That he and I are connected…

Though I had never touched his face
Or shook his hand,
Or shared a dance in the same space,
Or had really gotten to know the man….

…who taught me that in the mirror is where healing begins…
...who used his talent to make me feel more than a fan…
...And more than Black…
...And more than able to achieve greatness
...despite the world’s attacks…

So rest on, Dear Michael, for you deserve the peace
Rest on, for I know you’re not gone…
I can hear your voice in the wind pushing me to ascend,
encouraging me to be strong.

So Rest on,
Rest…
My dear Michael…
Finally, you can rest.

Written By: Lyric Dysin/D'Shawn Watts 7/8/09

A Great Tragedy: Generations clash in classrooms

Painter is above; the man on the left (Sidney Carter)









"...if we teach today as we taught yesterday, we rob our children of tomorrow." ~John Dewey

Statistically speaking, it has become a well known fact that classrooms don't run themselves. Students can fill every seat in a classroom and learn absolutely nothing. So what can press these students to move forward? What can put their minds in gear to get serious about their futures? What can encourage them to dedicate themselves to learning new objectives that have proven necessary for their survival? Former president of William Penn College, Gus Tuberville, states, “For learning to take place with any kind of efficiency students must be motivated. To be motivated, they must become interested. And they become interested when they are actively working on projects which they can relate to their values and goals in life.”

This theory of Mr. Tuberville further reinforces the notion that technology, which is what today’s students actively work with and value, must be incorporated in current classrooms in order to motive students to learn. When this process takes place in every classroom across America, and every teacher creatively and willingly mixes the objectives of the past with the techno tools of the future, classrooms will successfully become learning engines.

Teaching the Net Generation: THE RESPONSE

Teaching the Net Generation has proven arduous for most teachers. Being that the internet doesn’t provide a criteria based rubric to inform teachers of what the student has and hasn’t learned from the net, makes it very difficult for a teacher to grasp where the student’s knowledge rest and easy for the student to disguise his/her deficiencies. For instance, a quick reference to a particular historical website that the student may visit frequently, due to his/her own special interest, may give the teacher the impression that the student is knowledgeable of all historical facts, when in actually it may only be a section of history that the student actually knows. In addition, after factoring in the possibility that the section of history that the student has mastered may have derived from the writings of only one author, who may or may not be an expert in that historical field, an even greater challenge for teachers may arise. For now, the teacher has to spend quality class time to convince the student that the information he/she has digested as truth is truly false. This can prove to be a nearly impossible task, since despite the fact that the internet allows any and everyone the opportunity to write on any given topic, many students of the NET Generation believe, as they do about all broadcasted media, that everything that is published publically is as fact. Therefore, anyone who challenges what he/she has learned through publication is hereby wrong in the student’s mind, teacher or not.


Another problem that teachers often face when teaching those of the Net Generation is proving the importance of sentence structure, proper grammar, and the need for subject –verb agreement within each sentence. Due to the fact that the internet not only condones the misspelling of words and the improper abbreviation of phrase, English skills aren’t only ignored but lost. This reality has stripped students of the necessary written communication skills needed to perform career task. Many students have even told teachers, much like myself, to ignore the sentence structure mistakes and word misspellings in their writings and concentrate more on the content; a technique that is often practice on the NET.


So where has the NET left the NET Generation? Has it left them better off or destined to be left behind? Has gaining knowledge on the internet been more of a help or hinder to students? How has it affected the classrooms, and the student’s honest career opportunities? The honest truth, I doubt will be published over the internet. Therefore, I fear, the Net Generation may never know it.

Farewell to the King of Pop: Michael Jackson

It's not funny how easily people turn the table and talk well of a dead man, after haunting his life. So first off, let me confess that I'm not one of those people. Michael's shining star never extinguished in my eyes. He was a genius. He was an American icon, who sadly no longer felt welcomed in his own country. He changed the way people accepted music. He made music come alive. Videos were only still images before Michael came along. Choreography was just a simple one-two step. Michael was the music's version of Martin Luther King. He blended races with his talents, pressing crowds of white and black people together, who were so overwhelmed by his greatness that they felt compelled to cheer instead of scream. Yes, Michael did that! He made peace and love with heart piercing lyrics that made every person, at one time or another, look his or herself in the mirror to seek self correction. Yes, Michael did that, and that is what I chose to remember. Not the scandal. Not the physical transformations. Not the accusations or the lies. Not even the way he spun around the stage wearing that shiny glove. I've rather decided to remember that Michael was a man who worked to use his talent to heal the world, to bring people together, and to bring a smile to the sick. My only wish is that now that he's gone those who believe in his mission would do the same.

Lyric Lounge” Today’s Song Choice: JESSIE POWELL’s “It it Over?”







Lyrics:

Your love is as strong,
As the widest river is long
And here stands the man the man too afraid
To jump in so you thought it should end.

Those pretty eyes, never lie
You say it's over, but your eyes deny
You so in control, that's what you think
Why are you fooling yourself, baby
Your not fooling me

chorus:

Is it over
you and I
are you truly better off without me there by you side
is it over
you and I (something in your eyes)
something in your eyes is telling me not to say goodbye
-------------------

Now Friends, just between you and me, tell me that you’ve been there. Women? Men? All of you with a beating heart, at some point in your lives have been intertwined in this song, I know it. Some of you may have already quoted portions of the lyrics to your love interest, or are thinking about doing so in a moment’s time. If you are seriously considering ending your relationship because of "commitment issues", I beg you to STOP, read on, and then make your decision.

Women: I’m certain that many of you have told a man that you love that the relationship between you is over, or maybe you are thinking about telling this man. I don't perceive to know your reasons. Although if, by chance, your reasons resemble those in the song, and thereby you are willing to denounce the relationship because you sense that your man isn't as fully commited to your "us" as you are, I must ask, "How do you know? When you feel his lack of commitment to your relationship has forced you to use every bit of your energy to walk away from him, all the while knowing that just a magnetic look from him would real you back, tell me "what are you really expecting?"


Men: I have no doubt that you’ve heard some sista say that your relationship was over, but that look in her eye told you that she was waiting for you to change her mind, or better yet pleading for you to change her course.

We’ll friends, I’ve been there once or twice, and oddly on both sides. There was once a time, very long ago, when I was so deep into a brotha’s existence that even the stank of his gym shoes excited my senses. Back then, I had vowed to wrap myself around his ugliest as tightly as I did his goodness because that’s the way I measured love. When he didn’t match my ways, I figured that he didn’t match my love. So, of course, I said, “It’s over.”

I can’t help but recall how fast I said it, “it’s over,” and how quickly I regretted it. Although, I can’t help but remember how determined I was to keep a stone cold face, as if it legitimized my words, while I turned away from him ever so slowly, anxiously waiting for him to change my mind (by vowing to match my ways). At the same time, the man I once loved hard enough to cook him a full meal off the pennies in my purse, later told me that he felt that I considered his love not good enough, and that he gave me his magnetic look knowing the bond between us could not last.

And he was right? One look was all it took, and we were together again. As time passed, I once again felt he didn’t measure my level of commitment and so again I screamed, “It’s over!” He gave me the look again and I ran back to him on an empty promise. Then we did this dance for years, back and forth, until neither of us could stand the music.

No more words. There was no need. It was over and not because we didn’t love each other, but rather because we couldn’t understand how the other loved. He couldn’t see that my love had chosen to reveal itself in the things I accepted (the smelly socks, the video game obsession, the dirty plates that he threw into the sink without hesitation, as if by gender cleaning up his mess was my duty). On the other hand, as he later revealed to me, I couldn’t see that he didn’t measure his love by the things he accepted, but rather by those things he willingly sacrificed without regret (nights out with the boys, the numerous amounts of women that, in casual conversation, would reveal to him how single they are and how lonely they get on rainy nights). His confession led me to the realization that ‘all the time that I wanted him to wrap himself around my ugliness as tightly as he embarrassed my goodness, he was doing just that, but in his own way. He had fully committed to all of me in a way that I couldn’t understand. In a way, most women can’t perceive, which often leads them to say those three fatal words, “It’s over,” which would usually be followed by, “cause you don’t love me the way I deserve to be loved,” or some other nonsense.

I know now that, for the most part, women and men have different views on how to love. Therefore, there is no sensible way to truly measure how much another person loves us. Not when we are using our own measuring tool, one that may be vastly different than the one our luv is holding. It’s like yardstick to liter, how can one measure the same object or emotion in their respective ways and expect the result to be justly calculated an proven equal. NO, instead the reading will reflect and “error,” and sadly many men and women, who were or are deep in love , will take that reading and run away with it.

Home

Some time after the snake slithered through the trees
And the greens shriveled in frost under the Golden sun
And the virgins became one to birth nations of hate...

The fateful wait:

With eyes stretched, peering out at the darkest clouds
As the earthquakes crumbles, and thunder strikes aloud
As the Tsunamis humbles, towering over the proud...

The fateful wait:

With growing wings fanning disease in the breeze
As vengence glows on allies and foes, attempting to force them to their knees
As land drowns flesh just as fast as the seas...

The fateful wait:

Until the day the trumpet sounds and flesh falls from bone,
and wings spread to catch the blessed wind
It is then that the fateful wait no more to ascend...

HOME.


Copyright @ 2009 Written By: Lyric Dysin/DShawn Watts

B.E.T. [Time to Demand BETTER]

So, it's Sunday evening and I get the impulse to turn to my B.E.T. channel, thinking I can catch a bit of inspirational entertainment, while the NBA playoffs are put on pause for a commercial time-out, and what do I see....

Honestly, for about a full minute, I wasn't sure of what I saw. It was a blurry blend of brown and white. But the way the camera moved, I got the eerie sense that the blur was intentional. I kept watching, trying to figure this picture out. And as the camera moved, images became clearer. I figured out that the brown was a person. With a little more clarity, I realized that the brown was actually two people, who were naked and moving on top of one another. Meanwhile, the white color that I saw turned out to be bubbles that were foaming in a tub. Immediately, I grabbed my remote and pushed the channel up button, thinking that I had mistakenly pressed HBO or Cinemax rather than BET. When I realized that it was actually BET that showcased the porno-like feature, I then checked my clock to review the time. It wasn't even 9:00 pm yet. How many kids are up before nine and watching BET?

I'm became irate, instantly. In fact, I'm still irate! After, trying to grab a hold of my emotions, I checked my TV guide channel to get the name of the indecent film that BET deemed acceptable to view at a family hour. "Superfly," is the name of the film.

I understand that "Superfly" maybe a classic film in the black community, and B.E.T. is a popular programming channel for African-Americans, but still I figure the Network would make better choices on their film selections. I am so disappointed in them, wondering if B.E.T. is simply airing films to attract a crowd, without giving a thought or care to the people who actually make up the crowd? KIDS! KIDS! There may be adults that swarm around the TV sets, but before 9 p.m. I assure you that there are also kids that are up watching these characters having their sex in the tub. If the network felt that "Superfly" had to be shown on a Sunday evening, why didn't they edit it? TBS edits their films, as well as the other networks that actually give a D#MN about its young viewers.

B.E.T., your title alone, "BLACK ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION," gives off the impression that you actually care about the black community. If so, be more of the solution and less of the problem. Don't glorify sex to black kids, or any kids for that matter. There is already too much premarital sex, too many babies having babies and abortions. There is already too much AIDS in the black community, and too much focus on the temporary pleasure of sex and not enough on love. I'm talking about the love of self; the love of God, the love of education, the love of morals and values, the love of a joyous career, the love of family. B.E.T. let's showcase films with these topics in the future. The viewers will be better off!

GOLDEN GIRL [Tribute to Bea Author]

At the moment, I'm watching reruns of "Golden Girls" and a rush of emotion has come over me. It appears that time is standing still, and Bea Authur is still with us. I wonder, when she was alive, if she was aware of how important her existence was to the world;to all cultures and ages. In all honestly, I wasn't aware of her importance until now. Simply recalling how I would flock to the family TV set as a young African-American girl, living in a black community that was boiling with racial prejudice, and age and gender discrimination, I'm certain that it was images of Bea Athur and the girls living out what I thought were their lives, that convinced me that the difference in my color of skin didn't make me any different than the next person, that my gender didn't make me weak, and that growing older didn't have to bring sadness. Through Bea Author's humor, strength, and the revealing personality of her character, a young Black Girl rushed to TV set to see that a golden life can also be her own.

The National List of Beautiful Black Women welcomes: Jill Scott...

This morning I heard there is a new show hitting the air waves, and that it's starring Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose (two of my favorite performers). I then hear that the show, being viewed on HBO Sunday nights at 8p.m., is centered on a woman's detective agency that is placed in the heart of Africa. Now, my first instinct was to worry for the careers of my two favorite performers. Lawd knows that many times over, I've seen the careers of great artist brutally bashed and buried by the media for stepping out on a ledge; far out of their comfort zones, to supposedly do what they deemed important to their lives or, less honorably, break out of the cocoon that the media had carved for them to live and die in. So naturally, I worried for the two budding stars, while praying that this venture on the small screen would not confirm the end of their careers.

After watching the HBO premiere of “The No. Ladies Detective Agency,” I must say I couldn't have been more pleased. Not only did Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose give outstanding and award-winning performances in their respective roles, but the show itself was a surprising delight. Shockingly, I was fed a different view of the Homeland, Africa. Unlike the perspective of this pride country that I'm fed in movies, telethons, and charity commercials, this show revealed something new and fresh. I saw the people of Africa; not diseased, bloody and war-torn, but much like me (with the addition of their cultural traditions and customs of dance, which I found even more delightful).

This show revealed that not all of Africa is dried up and rotten, as most of the media would project. This show, in my eyes, brought back a pride in that land, while redefining black beauty.

Test: I looked up a survey online that calculated the opinions of many white Americans on who they view as beautiful black women. Surprisingly, another survey I collected, which conveyed the popular views of black women on the same subject, wasn't must different. In both cases, Halle Berry topped the list. Slightly behind her was Beyonce', Tyra Banks, Marey Carey (that for years no one knew was black), Thandie Newton, Vanessa Williams, Iman, Alicia Keys, and the newcomer Lauren London. Now, I couldn't help but find humor in the survey. Acknowledging that a few of the women on the beautiful black list were malotto and nearly all were fair skinned or petitely fitted into a European frame, nearly made me bust a lung. Being unable to deny that all of these women, though some may be of great aid to the African-American community, do not necessarily carry features commonly linked to those of African-decent or barely even sport a tan, yet they are the ones considered to be among America's most beautiful black women, made me realize that black beauty in America may have indeed severed its Africa roots.

So what now? I began to wonder. Had the image that America worked for years to publicize as the "true definition of black beauty" truly become the only definition. Certainly, black women in America see Michelle Obama and Gabrielle Union as beautiful black women, but does their dark skin or full frame then place their names lower on the list, or worse, has unconsciously Michelle and Gabrielle placed themselves beneath Americans' surveyed beauties, because by being Americans they too think like Americans.

Just when I began to give up hope on the American perspective, which at times has become my own, proudly locking in Halle, Thandie Newton and the girls, as black beauty's female representatives, along comes a show to contradict it all. While watching the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency, I saw black Americans playing the roles of Africans, whose beauty sprung out of their skin, and works, and good deeds. It was then that I began to think that this new image of black women publicized in America, could reattach the African-rooted idea of beauty to this country's dangling ideas. In fact, I'm certain that the operation process has started on this night, after the shows premiere. Therefore, let me be the first to welcome Jill Scott and Anika Noni Rose to the list of beautiful black women in America. After their performances on their show, I sense there will be no need for a survey. By taking on the roles of these African women, showcasing how black skin in either a small petite package or a full-figured shapely frame is no less beautiful to the eye, and can be further magnified by smile and spirit, makes them not only number one detectives but number one on my list.

The IDEAL Black Man or Black Woman...part 1.

The swag, the intelligence, the acceptance of God, the strength of body and mind, the knowledge and appreciation of one's history and family, the good weight of character, the will to overcome all adversity, and the desire to not only climb for self, but to elevate in pursuit of a position that could carry a multitude is what makes up my I.B.M. (Ideal Black Man).
Of course, nowadays, before the emergence of Barack Obama into the National spotlight, the ideal of such a man existing in this day and time seemed utterly ridiculous. In fact, even now, when I sit in the mist of conversations pertaining to this very subject, which are normally sustained by women from different cultures and from a wide range of social-economic backgrounds, the very idea of such a man, besides President Obama, walking the earth has often summoned a hint of laughter. Why is this, I wonder, when there are so many of these men around.
Off the top of my head I can name ten, at least. Oddly, these are the men who, after revealing to me that my definition of my I.B.M. perfectly matches their qualifications to mark their Ideal Black Woman, also leaks laughter at the thought of actually linking up to their Ideal. In their confessions, they often tell me that only a hand full of women that they know, including me, fits their I.B.W. And out of those women, they complain, none are available to them; whether they are married, gay, or so blinded by ambition or "the flesh" that they don't notice that their psychological match is actually standing in front of them.
I sense this is why so many relationships aren't satisfying; why some people, who haven't the realistic expectations of ever finding their I.B. M. or I.B.W., and have thereby settled for what they figured was the next best thing or the best right now, aren't truly committed to the one they vowed to love. I'm convinced this is why those who've worked or are naturally born to be somebody's I.B. M. or I.B. W. are single, viewed as unattainable, or simply a fantasy.

"The Notebook" A Bittersweet Tale

Friends,

Have you ever watched a movie and saw pieces of your life flash before your eyes? I'm not talking about one scene in a movie that mirrors a moment in time, but nearly an entire film (from the character's lines to their subtle actions and reactions). I thought for sure that when I watched "Love and basketball," that there would be no other movie that would come closer to running parallel to my life, but then came the "The Notebook." If you have never seen this movie, it is the tale of a rocky romance between two love struck youngsters whose opposite backgrounds attempts to foretell their futures. As for financial stability, she has it and he does not. As for heart, he has more than enough to give. Together, they feel invisible to everyone but each other.Unfortunately, the world's eyes bare down on them to the point that they adhere to other's perceptions. Consequently, cracks form in their relationship and begin to widen. Eventually, they are pulled apart and go their separate ways. Yet, neither person ever loses hope in their love, regardless of the relationships they hold after. Sure, when the two were together, they fought verbally quite often, but respectfully, with the reason that they weren't afraid to offend each other. They were convinced that their love could handle the honesty, the push to be better, and closer. They loved hard, since they didn't believe in holding a thing back. Their passion was undeniable and amazing.

So friends, can you believe I just watched this movie for the second time, and for the first time the tears began to roll? As for the first time, an Ex-boyfriend had actually called me up and suggested that I watch the film. He swore that the main characters were "He and I," and just the fact that he was calling me after all those years to talk about some movie that flashed "us" in good light enraged me. Of course, I pretended over the phone to be cool. I agreed to watch the movie. But with anger in my eyes, I couldn't see a thing. I missed "he and I" on that screen the first time around. I laugh now at the humor in it all. Like the movie, the lovers reach out for one another. They longed for the other's touch, embrace, and kiss. "It's not over," they breathed into the other's life. As for my reality, when my ex called me on the phone, I yearned to breathe the same words into his life. "It's not over," I wanted to say again and again. Instead, I focused on the fact that he was my ex for a reason. I then allowed my pride and stubbornness to swallow those three little words. Frankly, I must say, it was the most bitter-sweet meal that I've ever tasted.

Settling for Anything or Anyone is Suicide

Dear friends,

I recently logged into a blogging station and read a message that discussed a woman's fight not to be mediocre and settle for the easy things in life. The message went on to flash a light on "settling" in general, and how disgusting it can make a person later feel. It was then that I thought about the many ways people settle, whether it is settling in their job, in their relationships, or with their weight. I contemplated on how unhappy even the so-called happiest person who has settled appears as time go on.

Do you ever wonder why this is? Let's first examine the word, "settle." I won't go as far as to tell you Webster's definition (because we all know it). However, I've come to the realization that "to settle," means a few different things to different people.

As for the present tense of the word, I consider it poison. No surprise that I've heard others compare it to heavenly bliss. For instance, I often hear women- who manage to keep perfect time of their maternal alarm clocks- whisper, "I can't wait to settle." They often tell me this with a big grin on their faces. It is then that I picture their lack of movement, their lack of progress, and their stillness in a world that is steady moving on without them.

This picture of mine transcends across the board: women, men, children, middle age, teenager or infants. The gender, race and age, makes no difference to me. To settle voluntarily, I consider to simply be a stupid notion that is virtually impossible. For even if a person stands in one spot and refuses to move forward, he/she will find his/herself drifting backwards, for the world continues moving on. Other folk are steady climbing, sliding and progressing, which definitely affects the person's position in life. Therefore, settling is not really settling, is it?

I can take into consideration that by settling a person means, kicking off the wheels and getting so comfortable with his/her surroundings that he/she no longer feels the need to look over the shoulders or press forward. Still I think, "Boy, that is truly stupid." You see, even if a person decides to settle into a situation, perhaps a job or relationship, progress is still demanded. Not one still thing thrives. Life is designed to grow, to expand, or even shrivel up into the palm of your hands. However, settle, life cannot do.

Just look at nature, even the earth doesn't settle. It cracks, rumbles, and shakes with force. The sky doesn't settle and, in reality, neither does the volcanoes, mountains, and oceans. Trees stretch to the heavens, with branches that sway in the wind. Then there are human beings who are molded by the Potter to grow physically, mentally, and spiritually, in order to survive. It is true. Just picture those people (one of which maybe you) who have completely settled in their relationships. They feel so secure in their place and so comfortable with where they stand, that they do not feel the urge to surge to new heights. Instead, they feel certain that their mate is completely satisfied being with them, and so self-improvement isn't needed. "I'm going to settle right here, in this place, in this job with this wage, with my good and bad habits," they say. "Look for me in 10 years, I'll be right here because this is the place to be."

Five years later, their mate has filed for divorce since they have outlawed the possibility of upward mobility with their settlement. Meanwhile, the price of living and financial stress has increased and that comfortable job, that they had vowed to settle in forever, has been handed over to someone younger with a little more education.

Now, do you catch my drift? Can you comprehend, now, why the mere talk of settlement irritates my ears? Even the echoes of such talk rings bells in my head. Frankly, I try to laugh it off. I try to pretend, when I look at those who claim they have happily settled that I don't consider them the dumbest people on earth. I try to hide the fact that, in my mind, settling is a choice of the weak or that it represents the lazy; those who are afraid to compete, or simply souls that will soon be filled with regret.

Be content, I say, but never settle. In the workplace, with your lover, with your friends; never settle. When it comes to your mind, body and soul, push to be better. Love where you are, according to its place in time. However, tomorrow you must move closer and stretch higher. Again, I say, don't settle... but rather thrive to be more.