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from the inside

for years we've been dupped. dupped into "believing" that individuals who share the same hue, share the same longings, struggles, visions as the collective. so much so, we root for, champion and unbiasedly throw our support to anyone remotely resembling us. cheering when they excel because we see their victory or accomplishment as our own. well, hue no longer cuts it.

our enemies while many, also look like us and, at times, that truth is far more difficult to swallow, to trust. yet, if you see us in positions to effect change and we continue the status quo or further some other agenda—not our own—recognize the truth.

words can be misleading; words and actions present a more accurate rendering. therefore, be critical, be inquisitive, be aware, and most importantly, no longer support a symbol (person). remember, at the heart of "belief" and "believe" is "lie." and the lies are numerous and deep and are everywhere and in everything.

 

 

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synchronicity

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the synchronicity of recent events is truly a thing of beauty. individuals having no knowledge of each other, nor their intention, churn out almost identical materials addressing similar conscious matters and phraseologies that it would be downright crazy or even harrowing if you weren't aware that such a phenomenon is quite normal. however, despite normalcy, this synergistic link is heightened.

the flower of life speaks of a connectedness, yet there exists a shift. a major shift. the whole slipping into focus. the hidden and once lost being revealed and reclaimed . . . 

now.

What About Me . . .

What About Me . . .

... has you so afraid?
Is it because at my simplest,
I still radiate majestic energy.

You come dressed before me suited in armor,
and I, a mere dress
with palms open
as if I wield the power of the sun, moon, sea and land. 

Perhaps I do,
hence your fear. 

Perhaps my untapped potential
is what you so desperately wish to suppress.

Perhaps my voice, my gesture
which resonates with millions is what you wish to silence.

Perhaps it is the potential of millions
who will never bow, bend knee, acquiesce nor recognize you
as superior nor an authority;
regardless of the masquerade,
the illusion has been your own.

Perhaps,
my womb and
my ability to birth gods and creators.

Perhaps, 
You fear my greatness.
It seems you always have . . . 

If we continue to raise up, wake up and cognize the truth of every situation, realize our worth . . . we should have our own everything. Ruminate on the word 'everything' ... for 'every thing' falls under its umbrella.  

More to be said, but for now, this is enough.

*photo credit: Twitter

Ieshia Evans stands before a brigade of militarized public servants during a Baton Rouge, Louisiana Black Lives Matter protest Saturday, July 9, 2016. Ms. Evans is said to have been arrested and charged with obstructing highway traffic.  Powerful indeed if she alone can stop traffic and not the brigade before her.

what he said

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what he said

“Peace, peace. Thank you, Debra. Thank you, BET. Thank you Nate Parker, Harry (Belafonte), and Debbie Allen for participating in that.

Before we get into it, I just wanna say … you know, I brought my parents out tonight. I just wanna thank them for being here, for teaching me to focus on comprehension over career. That, uh, they make sure I learn what the schools were afraid to teach us. And also to thank my amazing wife for changing my life.

Now, this award … this is not for me. This is for the real organizers all over the country, the activists, the civil rights attorneys, the struggling parents, the families, the teachers, the students that are realizing that a system built to divide and impoverish and destroy us cannot stand if we do. Alright?

It’s kind of basic mathematics. The more we learn about who we are and how we got here, the more we will mobilize. Now this is also in particular for the black women, in particular, who have spent their lifetimes dedicated to nurturing everyone before themselves. We can and will do better for you. Now, what we have been doing is looking at the data and we know that police somehow manage to deescalate, disarm and not kill white people every day. So what’s gonna happen is we are gonna have equal rights and justice in our own country, or we will restructure their function and ours.

Now … I got more, y’all. Yesterday would’ve been young Tamir Rice’s 14th birthday. So I don’t want to hear anymore about how ‘far we’ve come’ when paid public servants can pull a drive-by on a 12 year old playing alone in a park in broad daylight, killing him on television and then going home to make a sandwich. Tell Rekia Boyd how much better it is to live in 2012 than it is to live in 1612 or 1712. Tell that to Eric Garner. Tell that to Sandra Bland. Tell that to Dorian Hunt

Now the thing is though, all of us in here getting money, that alone isn’t gonna stop this. Alright? Now dedicating our lives to getting money just to give it right back for someone’s brand on our body, when we spent centuries praying with brands on our bodies. And now we pray to get paid for brands on our bodies?

There has been no war that we have not fought and died on the front lines of. There has been no job we haven’t done, there’s no tax they haven’t levied against us and we’ve paid all of them. But freedom is somehow always conditional here. “You’re free,” they keep telling us. “But see, she would’ve been alive if she hadn’t acted so … free.”

Now freedom is always coming in the hereafter. But you know what though, the hereafter is a hustle. We want it now. And let’s get a couple things straight, just a little side note ....

The burden of the brutalized is not to comfort the bystander. That’s not our job. Alright? Stop with all that. If you have a critique for the resistance, for our resistance, then you better have an established record of critique of our oppression. If you have no interests, if you have no interests in equal rights for black people then do not make suggestions for those that do. Sit down.

We’ve been floating this country on credit for centuries, yo. And we’re done watching and waiting while this invention called whiteness uses and abuses us, burying black people out of sight and out of mind while extracting our culture, our dollars, our entertainment, like oil ... black gold. Ghettoizing and demeaning our creations then stealing them. Gentrifying our genius and then trying us on like costumes before discarding our bodies like rinds of strange fruit. The thing is though ... the thing is, that just because we’re magic doesn’t mean we’re not real. Thank you.”

Jesse Williams, BET Humanitarian Award Recipient, 2016.

* * *

This was more than a speech. Much more than scrolling words on a prompter. 

This was a passionate affirmation for the individuals whose voices were snuffed, silenced under the guise of this thing called 'serving and protecting while scared for their lives' spoken by one who is tired of the alarmingly blatant disregard for a people that look like him, the societal injustices, and the political posturing used to excuse or explain away such atrocities ... every single time. 

There was so much Jesse said and so much he did not. And therein lies the brilliance and beauty of his words, spoken and alluded. This moment requires more than applause, more than raised fists, more than amens, preach, and lip service. It requires dissection, comprehension, conscious thought and above all, action. 

I wonder .  .  .  . 

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Prince

It was most certainly an ethereal experience ... for you and definitely those whose lives you touched through and with music. Language, therefore, cannot aptly describe you; you were one of the few who required a sensory connection to be seen.

Prince Nelson Rogers. One of the realest in this temporal realm to do the damn thing, his way ... unapologetically. 

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the obvious

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the obvious

I find it rather telling when you know without knowing, understand without benefiting from firsthand knowledge the machinations of a system decidedly dismissive and silencing of evidential "black" love in all forms of media. That image, no matter how exact in its depiction of our circumstances and experiences (unapologetically black, proud, pleasant, ambitious, conscious) is not consistent with the narrative that must continue to be pumped, fed, looped and perpetuated; one of strife, trifling living and cooning. There exists no need to elaborate when examples are replete on big screens, tv screens and available for immediate viewing consumption on mobile devices. 

love jones, 1997.

love jones, 1997.

When first-time film director, Theodore Witcher of the 1997 respected classic, love jones spoke with Hillary Crosley of "The Root" three years ago Theodore mentioned he "couldn't get another movie," in spite of his desire to have a long list of credits to his name. "There has to be something that you want to do that a studio wants to pay for. I was never able to sync that up. I wanted to do ambitious films with more black people. You don't get to do that."

Telling, no?

A butchered version of the beloved classic recently aired on a "black network," but since the abbreviated film was tucked inside lengthy commercial breaks, the connection was wanting. This, the age of instant access, you'd think finding love jones on iTunes, Amazon Prime, Netflix or any content delivery site for immediate viewing a sure thing, yet you'd be wrong. Search love jones on GooglePlay and your device will side-eye you as if you were somehow mistaken in your request, instead offering movie suggestions with "love" or "jones" in the title.  Results: love actually. "Really? I didn't mean love actually." (Looking for Menace II Society, released 1993? Take your pick of content delivery companies.) 

There is a reason movies like The Butler12 Years a Slave are financed, filmed and distributed then later recognized by the Academy (as if that distinction is the definitive mark of cinematic greatness; an altruistic nod for diversity).

Movies are not designed to entertain. Their purpose is altogether different, singular.

Representations previously deemed offensive are now clutched tightly to bosoms and dubbed authentic works by masterful storytellers. There was a time when this alone would have saddened and vexed me, however, it no longer does. Instead, pen to paper, words appear.

Blaxploitation, slavery along with a host of psychological engines were not abolished . . . they evolved.

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"What Are You Doing With This?"

There are times, infrequent perhaps, distanced by years, when we feel the lack of support so acutely we wince as the chill of loneness snatches us from the fulcrum of oneness. In a well-worn posture of me against the world, fists tightened in anticipation, lifted and readied to defend against perceived threats we stand. Perhaps a figurative stance for some, but for others literal. Words, powerful and mighty enough to incite wars also yield laceration of souls. 

“What are you doing with this?” rattled the warrior within and it was through those eyes I saw. Those words were spoken by husband when he happened upon me seated at the dining room table years ago with my newly chopped mini afro. The ‘this’ to which hubby was referring, my hair. Relaxer gone, taking shoulder length hang time with it. In its place, a short cotton puff. The very puff I stood in the mirror, hours prior, admiring. Twisting and tipping my head in all directions to get a glimpse from a different angle, loving what I saw and exhaling at the freedom I felt. I did not consult with husband, running the idea by him before I took scissors to my hair. The decision, mine. A choice I, alone, had to make. One for me, not him nor anyone else. Granted hubby had to live with the result of my choice, but it’s just hair, right? (That question alone sparks thoughts for another post.) 

My husband is not the most expressive of men, but when some thing or some one displeases him it is quite evident. Eyes widen, eyebrows lift, mouth sets into a firm, tight lipped line and grunts of the “mhmm” variety can be heard mingled with slight yet discernible nods as if he’s pondering life. If the displeasure is great, the bottom lip pokes out joining the cacophony of grunts and mhmms. This sounds comical now, but it was painful then. Through the eyes of my warrior self, I analyzed his every reaction and concluded husband was displeased with my choice to not only cut my hair, but to wear it in its natural state. But was my reasoning valid?

When I spoke of programming in a previous post, I nor my family were excluded from the masses. We were as much a part of the brainwashing until we weren’t. For the better part of 20+ years my soul screamed to express itself fully in this area of resistance, but listen I did not. Even with the birth of our daughter, I resisted the tug, the urge to cut it off until thoroughly fed-up, tired to the bone with the cyclical process of trying to change this one thing about me with a touch-up every eight weeks, the day arrived. Do not misunderstand, I am not saying relaxers are the devil, but they can be if the reason for use emanates from a place of disliking who you are, your hair texture and what you represent. In making that statement, questions arise. Why were relaxers developed in the first place? Designed to permanently alter what and why would you want to? 

Our desire to assimilate has birthed more harm than good in a uniquely created people. There is absolutely nothing wrong with standing out. We were born to. It is preferred existence. But society twists truths, poking fun at those who are different and nonconformists. Society bullies into blending, bleeding and joining in, all the while taking, raping and stealing from the uniqueness of others and boldly passing it off as its own.

Internally poised in my defensive stance, I failed to realize that husband, too, was dealing with experiencing different, new, rarely seen on women of color, at that time, and not fully accepted or globally understood—a woman wearing her hair naturally. Wait … pause for clarification. For other ethnicities natural is normal, but add the descriptor of African descent, unusual, surprising, unexpected are the words that come to mind. No other race is expected to elucidate the hows and whys of choosing to wear their hair in its natural state. A basic right afforded others has not been normal for us, women of color, to wear our hair as it sprouts from roots with markers that determine texture. 

Yet here’s the beautiful, unfettered truth: the versatility and styling options of my mane—our hair—are endless. No longer do I fear the elements, I embrace them. Sometimes arms flung wide allowing wind, rain, sun and snow to water and nourish me. The feeling powerful. No longer driven to run, hide or protest the elements with fist and a scowl. I stand, realizing I am as much a part of them as they are me. After years of misinformation and miseducation, we have to strip bare, get to the core of who we are, and remember a forgotten truth that exists at our center: we are born perfect.

Hubby wasn’t being unsupportive. My hair looked different and he commented. Were his choice of words offensive? Initially, yes and they stung like hell. Did it take time for him to adjust? Yes, but husband has always stood in support of me, with me, beside me as I do him and together we embrace all that makes us different, yet very much the same. 

I am unique. I am a trendsetter. I am different. The power is I know I am. I celebrate those differences, embrace and love the hell out of them. Applaud them every day. I am unapologetically me. Know that within ‘I am' you are included … always.

* Originally posted on Natural Oasis blog February 2015.

 

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A Seed. . . Momma Maya

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For many Dr. Maya Angelou was more than a beloved poet, author, singer, dancer, actor, national treasure, educator, civil and human rights activist. Dr. Maya Angelou fulfilled, unknowingly perhaps, the role of mother / nurturer. She enlightened individuals across oceans from varying cultural backgrounds and religious affiliations, impacted consciousness of human existence by demanding of us an awakening. For that reason I have always seen Dr. Maya Angelou as Momma Maya. Over the years, Momma Maya's pen partially chronicled her pains, joys and successes. Each story reaching deep and stirring the seed within reader, listener, student or friend to recognize all aspects of life: the sun, the rain, the beauty, even the hell. Thus fertilizing our lives with the seeds from her own.

Her words, provocative; her voice, soulful; her essence, inviting. The reality of Maya far greater and grander than the idea of her. This day, with her passing, I, one among many, an admirer and lover of this phenomenal woman, cannot boast sadness nor feel a sense of loss because she is no longer physically here. What Momma Maya represents has always transcended physicality. She was never contained by it. Momma Maya is. And because of Momma Maya we know ... we understand the song of the caged bird and the joy experienced upon its release.

To a love beyond love.

Maya Angelou in San Francisco, at the time of the publication of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, 1970. (© Bettman/CORBIS)

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Madiba Mandela

mandela1
Death is something inevitable. When a man has done what he considers to be his duty to his people and his country, he can rest in peace. I believe I have made that effort and that is, therefore, why I will sleep for the eternity.
— FROM AN INTERVIEW FOR THE DOCUMENTARY MANDELA, 1994

I see you. We see you.

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AFFRM

It has always been my belief that conformists don't change the world; rebels do. Whether you stand alone or with others who recognize the need to exist, create, and be seen through lens and filters diametrically opposed with systemic mainstream thinking, such an opportunity exists with AFFRM.

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A Question and Pregnant Moments

Deep in the throes of penning book three in the Experience Life from a Different Perspective series and while doing a bit of research I came across this clip from the 2011 Awards Season Roundtable series which prompted me to watch the entire discussion. As a result I fell deeper in love with this gentleman, accent notwithstanding, whose blatant honesty is refreshingly welcomed in an industry that bleaches reality into one accepted / expected face. Bravo, Steve McQueen. Nicely played. Hats off to The Hollywood Reporter for making a point to ask and have the question answered.

During this segment, the level of discomfort is palpable and the silence pregnant with truth. If you listen closely you can feel and hear both.

* Point of clarification: These conversations aren't new. From time to time different players (writers, directors, actors) are asked a similar question, nevertheless I'm always fascinated how from one generation to the next the conversation is still relevant and one that requires readdressing yet again. This is not a black and white issue, it is a conscious one with all the faces of the world needing representation in cinema.

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A Matter of Importance

Many discussions and distractions of trite and inconsequential matters permeate the news cycle and yet substantive issues are dismissed or talking heads / political pundits infuse hatred in their rhetoric. Where's our humanity?

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Would You Consider A Change In . .

It is so easy to get locked into one way of doing, seeing, thinking, and even being because we believe there exists no viable reason to fix that which is not broken since the current way continues to serve us and has done so for so long for so many. Too often the common responses offered up to those seeking a change in perspective is "What for?" or "If it ain't broke, why fix it."

We follow traditions and customs, well, because they're traditions and customs. We're born into a way of life that will shape the way we view and define ourselves and those we encounter. With this introduction we are not only taught how to think, but 'what' to think. We fall effortlessly in line with ideals that imprison instead of liberate and the cycle continues. We live inside the box.

Question: If something is currently working does that mean we adopt a hands-off approach because clearly it is considered a waste of time to look to improve upon what is and entertain the possibility of what can come next?

Imagine if others before us believed this to be true. Would we still walk in darkness without the use of electricity? Would we still believe the earth flat? Would we still etch hieroglyphics in stone to preserve our stories for generations? Would we still be enslaved? Truthfully, we are in a different sense. We are prisoners to ideals and our programming; with one word we've determined whether we'll listen or dismiss the messenger.

What if the laws we believe govern us governed nature? Would the seed stop growing after cresting the soil? Would the chick remain confined in its shell for fear of the unknown? Would the fawn fail to stand upon birth because it believed the task too complex? Thankfully nature isn't restricted by our beliefs. All things of nature grow, becoming what they were intended to be. The elements innate. We, too, however, are nature and so it, too, is inherent.

Imagine our world if the dreamer believed change wasn't necessary and what is is what should continue to be. 

It's in the asking; the answers come when we ask questions that challenge conventional truths.

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Four Golden Rules of Being a Writer

Writing is art. Not the kind displayed in galleries, where patrons reflect on the intentions or musings behind the piece. To view our art, one must crack open a book, turn its pages and allow the artist to take you on a journey through the power of the written word. The writer is an artist. Our canvas is the blank page. With a stroke of our pen or rhythmic taps on keyboards, we paint with words, driven by passion to tell a story. When a writer paints from the heart, readers lose and find themselves within the pages. The content becomes real — a part of the reader, perhaps inspiring action or stirring up memories.

Hopefully, the information below proves helpful to those who share a love and passion for the written word.

1.  Stories are everywhere. Ideas are in everything. Writers write and write some more. Just start writing. Don’t get caught up in trying to the write the next great American novel or bestseller. Simply give yourself over to the creative process and write from the heart that which compels.

    • Don’t worry about the clean up when you’re writing a section or a scene. Transfer everything that’s playing in your head onto paper or a laptop. Somewhere during this phase, you’ll probably look over your piece and may even consider it worthy of the trash bin since, at present, it doesn’t resemble the literary masterpieces you’ve come to love.
    • Writers understand that writing takes time. Allow your canvas to fill up with the basics—ideas and thoughts.

2.  For me, once I’ve gotten a scene down, I must go back  and begin to flesh it out. This is where I begin to carve out the characters and scene. It is important, as the writer, to paint the picture. Whatever you imagine in your mind, the reader should be able to recreate a similar image from what you’ve written.

    • Not every detail of a leaf is necessary when it’s not the focal point of the scene or story. However, if detailing the leaf illustrates a character lost in thought or an artist’s keen eye for detail, perhaps an in-depth description is of importance.
    • Details add dimension to your canvas. Paint with sharp or subtle contrasting strokes to evoke a sentiment or emotion.

3.  Dialogue is key. How the characters communicate is just as important as the setting, if not more. Their interactions, vocal inflictions, little nuances that are specific to them add dimension and depth.  Adding these elements heightens character awareness.

    • Visualize and act out some of the conversations. Make the conversation real. So real, the reader feels as if they’re overhearing or eavesdropping on a private conversation.
    • Conversation adds color to your canvas. Paint with a vivid palette and watch your canvas come to life.

4.  Edit, edit and edit some more. You’ve finished your piece and are ready to shout, dance and jump for joy. Do all of those things, but recognize you are far from done. Your writing is nowhere near the masterpiece it can be and will be without proper editing.

    • Masterpieces take time to develop. Editing is where extraordinary things happen. To me, this is where creativity truly kicks in. You’ve gotten the story down, cleaned portions of it as you wrote, but now you it’s time to switch hats and become more critical of your piece. I can easily spend double the amount of time it took the write the piece in editing it. This is a potentially never-ending process, yet the most important.
    • Before you display your work, consider seeking the services of an editor. Their objective eye can provide insight into making your piece something truly unique.

Masterpieces are created, birthed from a thought and guided by ideas. Don’t rush the steps; don’t rush the process. Readers deserve great stories. How about we paint a few for them?

*Originally a guest blog featured  in October 2011.

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I See You, Anthony Hamilton: Best of Me

The other day while driving with the kids to pick up my mother from the train station, the radio was playing softly in the background as we chatted about teenage stuff. Don't ask me what compelled me to turn up the volume. Couldn't tell you. The last few seconds of a song was playing. The voice sultry, the music melodic immediately touching, tugging and connecting with some part of me. Seconds later, I asked the son or the daughter to Shazam the song and give me the deets. To my surprise, and pleasantly so, it was Anthony Hamilton. I tried to tuck this information away for recollection later in the evening when I'd have time; of course, that time never materialized. Fast forward a few days, the song was on the radio again and, once again, I asked the kids to Shazam it and tell me who the singer was. 'Mother' and 'forgetful' are synonymous in my book. Son doesn't get that. Son was like, "Mom, you asked this question just a couple days ago. It's Anthony Hamilton." Dang! Sorry. No need to be so brutal. Anyhoo, it was the end of the song, but from what I heard I loved it.

Like a splinter, this song stayed with me. Yesterday, I purchased it from iTunes, but didn't get a chance to listen. Why? Was off running crazy errands and a spare second was not to be found during the day or night. This morning, however, the song popped in my head. I played it, swaying as the music began. Anthony sang. I froze.

"What did he say?" Pressed rewind. Pressed play and listened. The first two words Anthony sang said it all, as does the entire song.

I see you, Anthony. I see you and I say thank you!

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One Question: WHY

why

Violence is not the solution nor the answer. The effect of which is only more violence. When will we, sentient beings, learn the lessons and say enough to the senseless killings? We are the only group of living creatures on this planet that kill for sport, to convey a message or advance an agenda. How sad.

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Watch Me!

watchme

Ever have someone tell you what you couldn’t do? How your dreams were too big? How what you wanted to accomplish was a veritable impossibility? How did what they share about your dreams, your aspirations make you feel? Did they empower you or did they make you doubt your ability? No matter what was said nor the message conveyed or who said it, those words had an impact. All words do. How you choose to allow those words to effect you is of importance. It is a matter of cultivating the graveyard of dreams or nurturing the birthplace of the greater tomorrow you envisioned.

This is one of the primary reasons why it is important to protect your dreams, your passions. It is also one of the reasons why many choose to keep their dreams private. In sharing, there exists the opportunity for someone to utter words that will snuff the kindling passion birthed in your gut, creating a mountain of doubt were only peaks and occasional valleys originally existed. Yet there are others who, upon hearing the naysayers list of reasons for caution or redirection, use those words as further motivation. Instead of snuffing out, the contrary occurs — the spark to succeed in spite of.

Regardless if whether the comments are external or from the internal monologue that, at times, plagues each of us, the internal response should always be the same: watch me.

Some people in their sharing of advice or counsel, honestly believe they mean well. They believe they have your best interest at heart. Cull through their words, determine what serves you. If there are words of truth, keep them. Analyze and see what adjustments, if any, are necessary. All words which do not serve you nor your intended purpose, shelve or dismiss.

When others put limitations on the heights we can attain, there is a moment of defiance each individual feels. In those moments, you believe in the possibility of your dream. So much so, you can taste it and may have even imagined what it feels like to walk in it. Remember these moments and set out to bring your dream or next greatest achievement to fruition making it your reality. Develop a plan, endeavor to accomplish something every day that places you one step closer to your goal. Outline your steps. Your intention will drive your outcome.

By sheer will, perseverance, hard work and determination, with eyes set on an what can be, move forward and walk into your tomorrow. Enjoy every success of each completed phase. When you've accomplished your task, achieved your dream and are able to live in its reality, there is a no need to gloat. Your success will adorn you and will serve as a catalyst for shifts in the lives of others you, directly and indirectly, impact. Make sure to listen to the stirrings of a new dream, a new height and move forward blazing a trail for yourself and others. And if you're ever privileged to hear another's dream, be on the receiving end of a 'Thank you' and not a 'Watch me'.

So what do you wish to accomplish today? Tomorrow? In five years? Ten? Think about it. It isn't selfish to desire a better life; it is disheartening to deny yourself the possibility of experiencing one. In receiving and achieving, you're able to give and inspire.

* Originally posted on BlackHairKitchen.com March 29, 2013 *

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What? What! What?! Denzel and Marky Mark

Say it ain't so!

I'm not a fan of guns and violent flicks glorifying scandalous occurrences, but from the looks of this three-minute trailer, I anticipate a damn good film. Is it August yet? Truthfully, it doesn't hurt that Bleek Gilliam is in the movie. "Who's Bleek?" you ask. Can't help you there. Do your research.

"You saw that move coming?" "That's correct. Gimme the keys."

Of course he did!

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One of My Favs! India.Arie: The Sistah is Fierce!

You know I love this chick, so it's really no surprise that I was happy dancing the moment I saw a tweet from this songbird debuting her new single, "Cocoa Butter" from her forthcoming album. India is one of the baddest in the game. Lyrically and in every way that matters, she, Jill Scott and Rachelle Ferrell do it for me.

You were missed lady. You were missed.

Press play. Listen, bop, dance, sing, sway and feel. Hit replay and do it all again.

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