Yoga and Meditation

I began Yoga about two years ago when my knees and legs began giving out on me.  Surgery for me is truly the very last option but I didn't want to walk with a cane either, so my fat ass decided to try alternate therapy. My friend Scott's wife is a yoga instructor so he immediately suggested yoga, enumerating all of its benefits.  I just wanted to walk.
I started off slowly, looking up and following yoga videos and eventually was able to walk without a cane.  I started walking a minimum of three miles a day, and eventually progressed to 5 miles a day. I enjoyed yoga so much, the mere stretching of my body and how it eases the soreness and pain. I decided that I would like to try an actual yoga class.  OK..........

The first class I tried, everything irritated me........everything.
1. The yoga instructor was a stereotype.  Skinny white girl with dreads who smelled like patchouli. Ok, I can take any of those things separately, but all in one heap, it's a little pretentious. But, ok.....I could be completely wrong.  I was not. She spoke in the voice as if she was bestowing us with her wisdom of the ages.  (Deep Breath)
2. At first, I was excited to see that more than two-thirds of the room was my age.  Cool. And then we start the introduction. All of them and I mean all of them were finding themselves.  Why?  We are all over 40, you don't know who you are, or you don't want to admit who you are.
3. Beginners class--let's spotlight the word beginner.  I am not sure she understood that this was a beginners class we ran through the poses so fast.
4. The rest of the time was trying to sell us yoga packages, very expensive yoga package.

I subscribed to PsycheTruth on YouTube and went back home.

But that is not the end and I will tell you where my search for a yoga instructor sent me, and where I ended up happily. Stay Tuned.

Vacation

I am taking the first "real" vacation I have had in over 15 years and I am determine to do everything I want.  I am going to film it for prosperity (although I am normally not a fan) edit heavily and than post.  I am super excited for this last part of my life.  I started off the with the normal New Year's resolution to lose weight and I have changed it to "Do Shit"  I will lose weight on the way to being emotionally balanced and mentally stimulated, or if I don't, so what.

I have often complained about the removal of the drum circle in the loop with its ongoing gentrification, and a friend told me that it had not been removed, but it had changed. I didn't understand completely what she referred to until today.  On my way to my car after finishing my paper at the library, I heard drums. I was excited to hear drums again, to be in the middle of that energy that a crowd vibing to earthy beats emit. Unfortunately, when I walked over it was quiet, still if not for the drummers. Only one child playing, no dancing, no one giving the drummers energy to feed their energy and I was confused.  The whitewash version of the drum circle and I am not referring to the drummers (I will get to that later), sadden me.  It is not the drummer, but the lack of participation and why there is a lack of community involvement.  The quad was virtually empty, except for the drummers. 

buying black

I was talking to one of my daughters's about the economic power that Black Americans have, and that we don't understand how we could shut systems down by wielding this power.  The issue is we are used to creature comforts.  Meals cooked in  20 minutes and under, because everything is bought already prepared, or healthy remedies, pre-packaged as natural, sold at a discount rate. That is the key, discount rate.  These businesses buy in bulk so that they can sell at competitive prices, and that is all and good, but what about those small, up and coming ventures, headed by those who look like you.

First, we must change our mindset.  Just because it is cheap, clearly does not mean it is right for us, especially as a people.  Black-own does not mean inferior.  I think I should repeat that.  BLACK OWNED DOES NOT MEAN INFERIOR.  The reason I would like to bring light to this particular mindset is when you buy black; please expect to pay a little more.  This is an investment in who you are and where you fit in this chaotic world.  We have been brainwashed to believe anything black is substandard. They sell us this bullshit so often; we begin to believe that it is our original thought.  Why is it the only time Black owned business succeed is when white people find validity in it.

Pay a little more, because it is an investment in your own life. I am starting to buy black, whenever possible, and it is not cheap but I have found the beauty in a well-made skirt, vibrant in color and soft to the touch.  I find that my daughters and my sons hair is rich, thick and soft to the touch.  I used so many store bought products for my face, to slow aging and whatever else it promised, found that coconut oil and cocoa butter is damn near perfect.  The money I have saved in discontinuing purchasing these products, will go to those victims that can no longer help their own.  I learn that I LOVE African cuisine, because I no longer eat Applebee's.  I reminded myself I can cook, and my burgers do taste better than Wendy's, and if I want to dine out, Sweet Pie's is out there, and I know there are more.

So here is a challenge, send me the names and locations of Black owned business.  Where are they?
What do they sale? How do we reach out to them?  We need to start building ourselves, before we are no longer.  As history has proven over and over again, unless we hit them in the pocket, they are deaf to our voices.

Soldiers in the Field

Yesterday I was speaking with a woman whom I work with; she is white.  I was talking to her about a post that my son's best friend's grandmother(also white) had put on my facebook page.  I was showing her this post because this woman did what every woke white person in America did.  She didn't try to explain it, fix it, or defend it.  "I hate that he has to go through this, and I have blessed that my son has him for a friend" that was it.  That statement alone helped me through my day, but I once again digress.  So as I was showing her this post, I made a statement, " With everything that is going on......" before I could finish my statement she broke down crying.  I am trying to keep it all in, but barely doing so, and she breaks.  She looks at me and says, "what do I tell my grandson's,"how do I explain this to them."  It hits me that Black mothers are not the only ones in this war.  Anyone with children or grandchildren of color, if not living in denial, are part of this war. She asks the question that every Black mother has asked as they children became aware of the world we have brought our children.  "What do I tell them?"  This is a question I never anticipated a White woman to ask, but it is a necessary question because more than half of her grandchildren are boys and black.  "What do I tell them?"  The world has not equipped her to have this discussion, but she understands that it has to happen.  "What do I tell them?"  We are no longer a white grandmother, and a Black grandmother is speaking on the atrocities that are bombarding our children.  We are just grandmothers. "What do I tell them?"

Feeling Numb

I haven't had much to say for so long.  I not one to air, undiluted opinions on the internet. I am very considerate of the language I use. I am always afraid that the people I work with will find the blog and personalized what I am writing about, but I think I have been too quiet for too long.  Dallas Rally shootings did not surprise me in the least.  It was going to happen, it was waiting to happen, and I realized how ambivalent I feel.  I want to feel something, but the violence that has occurred on my sons and daughters have left me numb. Nothing is being said about the protester, but there was random fire.  A young man, who had nothing to do with this, his picture is plastered all over tv as a person of interest, because he was a black man, with a legal gun. This is BULLSHIT.

They put this officer family on TV, the ten-year-old daughter, the father and our heartstrings are suppose to play. Your daughter is coming home, many mothers and fathers don't get the joy of seeing their CHILD coming home.  They show a black man, who looks like the twin brother of the person of interest, but they won't even acknowledge that this is his brother.  It is a man who claims to be his brother.  This is going to be put on that boy.  Why haven't we seen the person that was actually in a stand-off with the police: He is a known entity and not a person of interest. Ok, cops were killed, but what about demonstrators, nothing.  I have a friend who is a police officer, and I had loved him like a brother for years, but I can see the change in him.

Two men, back to back, executed.  I am afraid for us. This is not just our sons and fathers and brothers, it is all of us.  And the evil that has come from behind the veil. The hate that is overwhelming, because anonimity makes it easy.  White people who have hidden by the mask, behind "I have a black friend", behind "my neighbor is black" or saying fuck it. And I am numb.  How do I explain to my son that everyday could be his last day, because of hate he did not deserve.  And if another person mentions Black on Black Crime to me, I want to point out, white people kill each other at an alarming rate and they don't have a White on White Crime moniker.

I am numb and this mask is heavy on my face.  I have white people in my life that I like, love, and want to protect, but until now I don't think I have ever trusted them with me. I can't trust them with me, because when you try to relate to me and what I am going through as the "Revolution Is Being Televised" I know you don't understand.  I don't see color is often said to me than not.  I want you to see color, I am and always will be unapologetically black.  I am an original, no matter how you try to dilute based on my light-skin, distinct diction, or blond hair. This is just a left-over from the brutality of your ancestors and it doesn't make me any less black.  I cried as every child was killed, every father, brother, wife, friend and soror was murdered on film and the murderer was allowed to justify these executions.  And I am numb.

Posting this means I am resigned, resigned to people seeing underneath the mask and having to deal with it. If I don't get pulled over for a traffic violation, I can possibly have 30 good years on this earth and I refuse to live them behind a mask.  I am lost on how to save my children and NO parent should feel that way, but parents of melanin rich children are feeling the burden and it is heavy.

Auto Dialogue

I am going to start some new postings called Auto Dialogue make use of that YouTube channel that I have.   I will be posting the vlog here and on my YouTube channel.  Give me some ideas, because all of mine are militant and I need a little fluff.