"The deepest principle in human nature is the craving to be appreciated." William James
I was looking online for quotes on appreciation, since my words are lost in the lack there of, and I stumbled on many which were relevant to my present state. However, the one that was so simple and quite abrasive was by William James. At first I wasn't convinced with the concrete statement that it is, without question, the deepest principle. I decided to look up who Mr. James was to see what kind of man would be bold enough to say this with such authority. I was immediately drawn to ponder this idea more thoroughly when I learned that William James is one of the earlier influential psychologists in the field. So he must know what he is talking about!
Even though I have never heard or read of James in my undergraduate psychology major career, I knew he must have been in love to come to this conclusion. He studied Pragmatism, which goes to say he needed some kind of mind fogging effect to understand the need to be appreciated, and then quoting it as the deepest principle of human nature. Love is the ultimate form of appreciation. When you say 'I love you,' it is saying more than just you mean so much to me. It is saying I am grateful you are in my life. It is a intimate way of saying 'thank you.' Thank you for everything you do and everything you are. Thank you for being a part of my life. Thank you for changing my life.
I may seem out of bounds to a lot of folk, but I am sure James would understand completely. He understands that when you love someone, it is genuine, and unforced. It is not like an Indian Giver who shares their greatest treasure with you for a moment, but steals it back once they miss it. Love can't be returned. It can't be exchanged. When it is true, it is permanent. That is why it is never ending, even when it isn't being given back. See people think that love can run out, like when a well runs out of water. But the love isn't represented by the water; it is the well. The strong walls that wrap around the tunnel that runs deep into the ground. The well holds the favors, the special little things, the major I-got-your-back things, the gifts, the tears and grief that come with a broken relationship... Even when all those things run out, the well still remains, even if it is empty.
So what does this have to do with appreciation? Appreciation is the rain that fills the well. It is the fuel to keep the love strong and abundant. It is when that loved one uses their own water to fill your well. Any small favor, any sweet lil nothing in the ear, a small kiss on the forehead; they are all appreciation, little 'I love you's' to let you know that you matter. And those can't be forced either. So I guess my main dilemma, bringing this all up, is what happens when the rain stops falling? The love is still there, but its dry and arid. How does the person who drinks from the well survive?
MS
Friday, May 15, 2009
Throwin down
My thought process is forever changing like leaves in autumn, so if I seem to contradict myself, please realize it's only natural. I am only human and as I grow up and meet new people, the observer in me manifest itself as I pick up new ways of approaching and analyzing trivial matters. These thoughts I'm currently recording, stem from a conversation I had with a friend/mentor (i have many mentors). I would provide a lot background about him, but you really don't need to know much besides, when identifying himself he throws out two distinct and defining labels. Christian first. Black male second.
So one day we're discussing a lot of different things in his car. And when I say we're discussing, it means that he's talking and I'm doing nothing more than listening and adlibbing on occasion. My ears are perked wide open. They become like lungs because all I want to do is intake every air of wisdom that this dude has to offer...until we start talking about violence.
This is where I have to provide a little background.
My boy grew up in the Bay Area of California. If Dre and Snoop songs haven't alerted you, crime statistics and homicide rates in the state of California will. The city of angels is unfortunately a city where violence subsides as well. Violence was very much a part of the environment he grew up in and he believes encountering dangerous situations helped him mature into a man.
He stated that adversity and politics that the streets provided helped him overcome the unfair politics that society provide. He also threw out several statements about the most misused (R) word in the black community, respect. As I continued to keep quiet and let his words sink in, inside my body was a great sense of rage.
This last r word and my personality are usually incompatible, except when the issue of violence is brought up. Glorification of violence in music and television affect me more than it does most Americans. I hate (and please be aware of the strength of the word) how as a country we accept problems, and then when something traumatic happens finally look to solve them. From an 11 year old boy getting bullied and then committing suicide, to Columbine, to street shoot-outs killing innocent victims. They are all intertwined, because we carefully wrap dark images around the psyche of our young one's. We embrace this animalistic ideal of what toughness is, and for some reason submit ourselves into a thinking that is anything but progressive.
I must acknowledge that I grew up in a neighborhood that wouldnt recognize violence unless it slapped it in the face. My parents taught me to earn the respect of only elders through school and good deeds. I don't think they ever once mentioned trying to attain it from my peers or the streets. But at the same time, as a black male, I was not completely disconnected from the fruition of a deadly black stereotype. Growing up, I had friends who gang banged, but internally I knew they weren't gang bangers. I've seen street fights one day, turn into a bunch of people packing knives the next. I know people who have been stabbed, people who have been shot at. There not that different from me. It's just that their path to maturity and success got derailed. That aggression that could have been channeled in a much more positive way, somehow escaped their body and manifested itself in a dark one.
I was always the one who as my peers rushed to the playground when a fight broke out, stayed back and wondered why do we love to see each other get battered and bruised. I always tried to avoid the temptation of hitting someone because I was scared of the consequences. Not merely in terms of the fight that day, but both the mental and psychological battles that ensues eafter. Explanations to my family of why I let my emotions get the best of me, coupled with the awkwardness of seeing the people I beefed with every day, and most of all, looking in the mirror and knowing that I allowed someone's words to break me, not physically but mentally.
So back to the two dudes in the car. By this time he's explaining how he wants his kids to get into fights and be challenged. And I just let it out. " Fighting is repulsive!"
I didn't care if I sounded bourgeoise or soft. I didn't care if I was disrespecting a culture, or if he was going to get Latin Kings to come to Amherst. Well that would be kind of scary. This was personal. For years I've described myself as a black male, so he may have thought, I accepted violence as second nature. But being black and a male is the very reason why I hate violence altogether.When you see friends adopting a lifestyle in which violence becomes their second language, words can't express how frustrating it is.
It may have been bad diction to use the word repulsive. I probably really should have used a term like pointless or stupid, but this dude is pretty smart so I was trying to show off my vocab and relay a strong message with a word poignant and potent.
Anyways this is how I felt a couple days ago.
I kind of feel wrong today. Its hard to judge. Respect is important, and maybe fighting helps some people. It could be key to developing character and manhood. However, it's not like we look back at history and say " Ghandi and Martin Luther King jr. were soft dudes."'
After all they went hard for the greater good of their people. And so will I some day.
jdote
So one day we're discussing a lot of different things in his car. And when I say we're discussing, it means that he's talking and I'm doing nothing more than listening and adlibbing on occasion. My ears are perked wide open. They become like lungs because all I want to do is intake every air of wisdom that this dude has to offer...until we start talking about violence.
This is where I have to provide a little background.
My boy grew up in the Bay Area of California. If Dre and Snoop songs haven't alerted you, crime statistics and homicide rates in the state of California will. The city of angels is unfortunately a city where violence subsides as well. Violence was very much a part of the environment he grew up in and he believes encountering dangerous situations helped him mature into a man.
He stated that adversity and politics that the streets provided helped him overcome the unfair politics that society provide. He also threw out several statements about the most misused (R) word in the black community, respect. As I continued to keep quiet and let his words sink in, inside my body was a great sense of rage.
This last r word and my personality are usually incompatible, except when the issue of violence is brought up. Glorification of violence in music and television affect me more than it does most Americans. I hate (and please be aware of the strength of the word) how as a country we accept problems, and then when something traumatic happens finally look to solve them. From an 11 year old boy getting bullied and then committing suicide, to Columbine, to street shoot-outs killing innocent victims. They are all intertwined, because we carefully wrap dark images around the psyche of our young one's. We embrace this animalistic ideal of what toughness is, and for some reason submit ourselves into a thinking that is anything but progressive.
I must acknowledge that I grew up in a neighborhood that wouldnt recognize violence unless it slapped it in the face. My parents taught me to earn the respect of only elders through school and good deeds. I don't think they ever once mentioned trying to attain it from my peers or the streets. But at the same time, as a black male, I was not completely disconnected from the fruition of a deadly black stereotype. Growing up, I had friends who gang banged, but internally I knew they weren't gang bangers. I've seen street fights one day, turn into a bunch of people packing knives the next. I know people who have been stabbed, people who have been shot at. There not that different from me. It's just that their path to maturity and success got derailed. That aggression that could have been channeled in a much more positive way, somehow escaped their body and manifested itself in a dark one.
I was always the one who as my peers rushed to the playground when a fight broke out, stayed back and wondered why do we love to see each other get battered and bruised. I always tried to avoid the temptation of hitting someone because I was scared of the consequences. Not merely in terms of the fight that day, but both the mental and psychological battles that ensues eafter. Explanations to my family of why I let my emotions get the best of me, coupled with the awkwardness of seeing the people I beefed with every day, and most of all, looking in the mirror and knowing that I allowed someone's words to break me, not physically but mentally.
So back to the two dudes in the car. By this time he's explaining how he wants his kids to get into fights and be challenged. And I just let it out. " Fighting is repulsive!"
I didn't care if I sounded bourgeoise or soft. I didn't care if I was disrespecting a culture, or if he was going to get Latin Kings to come to Amherst. Well that would be kind of scary. This was personal. For years I've described myself as a black male, so he may have thought, I accepted violence as second nature. But being black and a male is the very reason why I hate violence altogether.When you see friends adopting a lifestyle in which violence becomes their second language, words can't express how frustrating it is.
It may have been bad diction to use the word repulsive. I probably really should have used a term like pointless or stupid, but this dude is pretty smart so I was trying to show off my vocab and relay a strong message with a word poignant and potent.
Anyways this is how I felt a couple days ago.
I kind of feel wrong today. Its hard to judge. Respect is important, and maybe fighting helps some people. It could be key to developing character and manhood. However, it's not like we look back at history and say " Ghandi and Martin Luther King jr. were soft dudes."'
After all they went hard for the greater good of their people. And so will I some day.
jdote
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Saturday Sunday
I honestly feel like I encounter some form of racism everyday. Maybe it's just because the topic is always on the mind. My subconscious makes me conscious of things that most people are unaware of. Or maybe what I am dubiously witnessing is truly not there. I remember one of my mentors growing up, Worcester State professor Sid Buxton, used to break down practically everything on Saturdays to minority high-school students in a program called Upward Bound (or as we liked to call it UB). In doing so Sid would dissect puzzling issues step by step, making sure that we understood matters from the ground up. The meticoulous nature in which he would approach each subject is something that everyone respected. His knowledge was seemingly never ending, and he always had stories to back up what he said, like in his spare time he researched his research.
Nevertheless one day, he touched upon the black expectancy rate, and more specifically health issues that are harming the black community. Amongst the most fatal was heart disease. Sid took a break from his usually thorough analysis to say something so simplistic, that it almost made too much sense.
"The black man in America always has questions in that one question in the back of his head.. Is it because I'm black. We constantly have to worry and protect ourselves, but at the same time we need the help of others. Health care. Job security. etc. The question of causes an overwhelming amount of stress. High blood pressure, heart failure, where do you think that stems from." (im paraphrasing... just slightly).
I bring this up several years later, because I feel the burden of that paralyzing question far too often. No longer do I ask 'is it because I'm black', because I hate asking questions I already know the answer to.
For instance, two Sundays ago, I was in church, of all places. trying to get my Godly worship on, when the 'ISITCUZIMBLACK' question escaped the back of my mind and pounded my frontal lobe. The uneasy feeling that race issues garner took my mind and body hostage, near the end of service, just before I was about to get nourished by feasting on the bread and the whine. Before doing so however, you must engage with your fellow congregation members in an offering of peace with one another. Honestly, this is always one of my favorite times in a church service because it's so genuine and positive. To see people embrace in peace even if it is ritualistic and just a simple handshake is always great. Anyways, on my mission to dap up everyone in sight, there's this old man with an older woman.
Jovially, in the spirit of Christ, I extend my hand to the man first.
The result:
Hand meet air.
Perplexed I looked at him and he looked back with a cheapish smiled. With my spirits a little dampened, I still mustered up the courage try and shake the elderly woman's hand next to him. The result: Hand have some more air.
The sanity that church always brings me couldn't prevent the onslaught of questions that my mind was about to run through. Yes, it was that simple to bring me from being cool calm and Christ like, to being contemplative.
Go ahead say it:
"We're not in the 60's anymore"
"My president is black, my Lambough's blue, brother"
I'm ecstatic about both statements, and I hope the two non hand shakers are too. They could have had perfect excuses. They could have hands plagued by arthritis. They both could have had swine and didnt want it to spread..
Idk, whatever it was, the action made me start thinking of what Sid said. Every Saturday Sid would say something genius. He's pretty much the black Nastradamus. However what he said that one Saturday has stayed with me like a lingering problem
Maybe because its a problem that's almost incorrectable. Rooted in our nation's history, and consequently planted in the mind.
JdotE
Nevertheless one day, he touched upon the black expectancy rate, and more specifically health issues that are harming the black community. Amongst the most fatal was heart disease. Sid took a break from his usually thorough analysis to say something so simplistic, that it almost made too much sense.
"The black man in America always has questions in that one question in the back of his head.. Is it because I'm black. We constantly have to worry and protect ourselves, but at the same time we need the help of others. Health care. Job security. etc. The question of causes an overwhelming amount of stress. High blood pressure, heart failure, where do you think that stems from." (im paraphrasing... just slightly).
I bring this up several years later, because I feel the burden of that paralyzing question far too often. No longer do I ask 'is it because I'm black', because I hate asking questions I already know the answer to.
For instance, two Sundays ago, I was in church, of all places. trying to get my Godly worship on, when the 'ISITCUZIMBLACK' question escaped the back of my mind and pounded my frontal lobe. The uneasy feeling that race issues garner took my mind and body hostage, near the end of service, just before I was about to get nourished by feasting on the bread and the whine. Before doing so however, you must engage with your fellow congregation members in an offering of peace with one another. Honestly, this is always one of my favorite times in a church service because it's so genuine and positive. To see people embrace in peace even if it is ritualistic and just a simple handshake is always great. Anyways, on my mission to dap up everyone in sight, there's this old man with an older woman.
Jovially, in the spirit of Christ, I extend my hand to the man first.
The result:
Hand meet air.
Perplexed I looked at him and he looked back with a cheapish smiled. With my spirits a little dampened, I still mustered up the courage try and shake the elderly woman's hand next to him. The result: Hand have some more air.
The sanity that church always brings me couldn't prevent the onslaught of questions that my mind was about to run through. Yes, it was that simple to bring me from being cool calm and Christ like, to being contemplative.
Go ahead say it:
"We're not in the 60's anymore"
"My president is black, my Lambough's blue, brother"
I'm ecstatic about both statements, and I hope the two non hand shakers are too. They could have had perfect excuses. They could have hands plagued by arthritis. They both could have had swine and didnt want it to spread..
Idk, whatever it was, the action made me start thinking of what Sid said. Every Saturday Sid would say something genius. He's pretty much the black Nastradamus. However what he said that one Saturday has stayed with me like a lingering problem
Maybe because its a problem that's almost incorrectable. Rooted in our nation's history, and consequently planted in the mind.
JdotE
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Trees
Trees
essential to living
key to our downfall
paper makes the world go round
or does it circumscribe the mind
fresh air, clouded by smoke
refeshing, destressing
light trees
love leaves
love life
love death
essential to living
key to our downfall
paper makes the world go round
or does it circumscribe the mind
fresh air, clouded by smoke
refeshing, destressing
light trees
love leaves
love life
love death
Monday, May 4, 2009
Support
columns,
pillars,
walls,
2x4's,
foundations,
installed.
time,
patience,
love,
discipline,
guidance,
and the Lord above.
i need columns of time
and pillars of patience,
walls built with love
to keep up with the hardships.
i have your foundations of guidance,
so no more 2x4's of discipline.
You installed the faith of the Lord above
and that isn't turning loose or giving in.
so just rest your soul and be there for me.
dont doubt the beams you set under me.
I will turn into the temple you built me to be.
MS
pillars,
walls,
2x4's,
foundations,
installed.
time,
patience,
love,
discipline,
guidance,
and the Lord above.
i need columns of time
and pillars of patience,
walls built with love
to keep up with the hardships.
i have your foundations of guidance,
so no more 2x4's of discipline.
You installed the faith of the Lord above
and that isn't turning loose or giving in.
so just rest your soul and be there for me.
dont doubt the beams you set under me.
I will turn into the temple you built me to be.
MS
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