A Valentine

The other day, Valentine's Day as a matter of fact I was listening to V (formerly Eve Ensler) on Democracy Now and got myself to thinking about Black History Month, Valentines Day, Jen Angel and David Harris, all in one big lump sum CONCEPTUAL alphabet soup and like the infernal infinite number of monkeys I managed to tie myself into that universe.

And all was good.

I wrote. To V, Jen Angel and David Harris

Whatever vanity i had in me rhen, 

Has hopefully evaporated from my soul, and left me, if not a better man, at least, a lessor one. And that is Good in a funny sort of way.

Love, that love rising from a violent free world, a love whereby, my socialized manly tendencies must be thwarted, for in them are contained all the fragments of my own oppression, as well as my oppression of them, the women and all the others who in the society I was naively raised in have had to endure.

The revolution within a revolution within a revolution that starts right here, in our hearts, and moves like a dream, a collective dream, a flood of consciousness and awareness that drowns all that hubris and privelege, keeping any of us from being free.

It's appropriate but probably an odd coincidence that black history month includes valentines day, a sort of incongruity, beautiful contradiction where one, the descendants of slaves relearn how to love their own humanity in the face of hate and, two, women in general learn how to redefine love in their own terms, and guess what, everyone is and will be the better for it.

Take up your art, take up your humanity and make it everywhere. 

Heroes all over the world who rise to the occasion and provide a realistic pathway for what the people have held inside themselves, desired but how is it that thousands of years ago humans worshipped and believed in gods who were versions of men and women, animal and human, and today we are left with believing in the power of ordinary men who are as intransigent as any god just because they have money, ownership, and possess only the power of invisibility because we have chosen to be blind.

Is it all a matter of the emperor wearing no clothes? 

Somebody needs to throw back the curtain. Open the room to enlightenment.

Sent from my iPad


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