Neo-African Americans, the end of suffering and beautiful things

Last week I volunteered for the 11th Roxbury Film Festival where I saw an amazing thought provoking docu-film “The Neo-African Americans” (Check out brother Kobina Aidoo’s work at http://neoafricanamericans.wordpress.com/) and spent a hot minute in Dudley Square. I ask you: What could be better than tipping into a dark theater on a swelteringly hot August day for a cool-down and a mind-tickle with films that celebrate people of color?

Beautiful, historic Dudley reminds of the interstices of 125th Street Harlem which I used to pass through daily on my way to and from work. This black urban Mecca teems with life – street vendors, old school players, suited ladies from Freedom Hall prophesizing to AWAKE!, average-working Joes, crack heads and other chemical-dependents, shoppers in search of Aliiyah black velvet paintings, three-card Monty hustlers, bored/tense Five-Ohs, disciples of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and more. Walking through this peculiar madness is a bit like being jettisoned into the twilight zone and Dudley Square rests squarely in this zone. I had no idea!

Tasha, the Hibernian Hall site leader at the fest, sent me to Haley House on a lunch run. The Haley House’s food is fresh and fantastic, the vibe is copasetic and their mission is on-point. Support: http://www.haleyhouse.org/cafe/home.htm

I haven’t needed to don my “don’t-start-none-won’t-be

-none” face” in a long time. Fortunately I was able to pull it out instinctively as I walked though the streets of Dudley Square. I was not in danger, mind you, but the area demands a certain sort of armored alertness. Maybe it was the old whore in the skin-tight, camel-toed hot pants with the I-Dream-of-Jeannie clip on pony tail whose posture exuded ‘Love for Sale’ while she anxiously pulled a pretty man-child behind her? She was searching for something. Maybe it was the Night-of-the-Living Dead couple who seemed so in love and so high while they nodded with ballet-like grace towards one another in defiance of the laws of physics? Or the familiar Tally’s Corner poppas pontificating at the bus stop with their brown-bagged-bottles (http://www.amazon.com/Tallys-Corner-Streetcorner-Legacies-Thought/dp/0742528960)? Or was it brother-man cutting his drugs with a razor on the stone chess-board table in the Hibernian hall park in the afternoon sun? He gave me a shout-out. Pink! Pink! I like you in that dress! I did look good y'all. LOL. There was nothing else to say but thank you. The last sad straw was listening to an elder sister sitting in the same park as brother-man shouting “I’m just a N, I’m just a N”. ‘cept she was not saying “N”. I blamed it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol and I don't know what else that seemed to be coursing through her blood stream. Notice a pattern?

I guess this made me ripe for this week’s NY Times/Style of the Times/Modern Love essay in which Laura Munson wrote that she’d committed herself to a non-negotiable understanding to end self-induced suffering. Munson helped me to think about the ways that I habitually suffer. I wonder what would happen if we all committed to the hard work of ending self-induced suffering? What would happen if we fought to, as Munson writes, "exile the voices in our heads that tell us our personal happiness is only as good as our outward success, rooted in things that are often outside our control? What would happen if we all worked to see the insanity of this equation and decided to take responsibility for our own happiness?” (Check out her essay: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/fashion/02love.html?_r=1).

What would the world look like indeed? A couple of times this week I tested the waters by refusing to engage in power struggles, making myself vulnerable and believing I deserved a place at “the” table. I wasn't always successful (you can't break lifetime habits in one week!) but I was happier. Not ecstatic, not reborn but more peaceful and grounded. I was reminded of Langston Hughes’ poem “Mother to Son” http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=177021...Life ain't been no crystal stair but I appreciate the struggle and beautiful things like Garden Girl’s farm fresh eggs, purple cherry tomatoes and the good friends God has blessed me to have.