My Three Headed Beast

I just started reading "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" and by the end of page four I was pissed.

How can anyone who had lived on this earth at the same time as me be so talented?

“If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the throat. It is an unnecessary insult.”

I feel blessed to have even shared the same space in time as the woman who wrote that.

I have not yet read a Dr. Maya Angelou book all the way through. I have only read one poem. And yet still…she is the mother I have never known. It is explainable only through this:

I am connected to her because there is no other way to exist in this world. I knew her solely through images, quotes, interviews and that one powerful piece of poetry “Still I Rise”. That was enough.

Through her words and through her faith, she was an example of what it takes, what it is to be a warrior. The gift of her life does not even know or pretend to understand the falsehood of limits. She made her life her own and in doing so, freed and set fire to the souls wise enough to be touched by her being. The very definition of freedom, the very definition of wisdom. God rest her soul.

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My laugh was undistinguishable from the millions of others when Dave took centre stage.

From elementary to adulthood I have followed his career, laughter never dissipating through Half Baked through Rick James through Africa to a man of his own making. I knew him when I didn’t know or understand comedy. When my knowledge and hunger in that subject grew so did my appreciation for his mastery. He is an undeniable force when he steps on that stage. He should be! He has worked on his craft since he was 14 years old. This is a man who knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. And by the time he stepped off that Mark Twain prize stage in 2019, I understood the source of his endurance.

This is a man who knows exactly who he is. He knows where he comes from and takes it one step further: he respects it and pays tribute.

In order to be a force on this earth one must accept the responsibility of their birth right.

One must be rooted.

During his time on earth Dave has taken his gifts and become a master story teller. When I watch him now I see a man transcended. Laughter is no longer the point, he knows it will come just as we know the sun will rise and that the stars light up the sky. He is here to relay a message, to pay his respects to what made him and to offer us the true and rare insight of a man who is completely free.

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Not every great man is given the appreciation and adulation that they deserve during their lifetime.

Patrice O’Neal was an undeniable force of nature with an even sharper mind.

As a woman, I did not like all that he would espouse; but as a woman, I was undeniably drawn to his perverse and perceptive honesty. His physical stature automatically took up space but it was his thoughts and his willingness to take on the world that made him pervasive.

I have so much respect for this man. Right or wrong he stood for something and was willing to derail his whole career to keep on standing.

He was certainly a man that commanded respect whether given freely or begrudgingly. I recently watched Patrice O’Neal: Killing is Easy, a documentary co produced by his fiancée featuring those who knew the man to speak about his powerful impact. I both laughed and mourned when his friend Jim (I refuse to learn his last sh*tty name) said “he lived his life as if he thought a movie of his life would be shown to his friends after and he’d get called out if he didn’t talk **** when he was supposed to.” Right before that, a very rich and very successful Kevin Hart talked about what he thought was his friend’s one flaw: “He didn’t want to succumb to what he felt was the bullsh*t of the business.” I laughed because both statements were everything I had come to know to be true about Patrice. I mourned because even those closest to him seemed misunderstanding of his integrity.

We live in an era where everyone has a podium in the form of their internet connection and we hold contests to see who can pretend to have the better life. We watch celebrity interviews and then proceed to break down what we watched like it wasn’t pre-orchestrated and contrived. Anyone who was a fan of Patrice knew exactly who their hero was because he stood for honesty. How many so called celebrities or public figures can we say that about? We loved him like we knew him because we did, because he made it a point to always be exactly who he was. He was hated because he was always exactly who he was. No compromises.

His legacy ended a lot earlier than some of us would have wanted but his life’s values were clear: Strip everything away and all a man has is his word, so make it honest. That way when he dies those left can say We Knew This Man and mean it. With respect, begrudging or not.

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I have been following the “Black In Business” contest throughout this month and I am inspired by the inspiration. I have discovered new powerful music and artists, I have read about free spirited wood carvers whose influence expands beyond their creations, self made business leaders who charge and earn $700 to be your Netflix buddy, quirky and uniquely their own youtube stars, deeply innovative manga creators, those who simply looked in their mirror and gave thanks, and felt resplendent reading about a man named Damascene Gatware who it seems just had a god like spirit. I have shared some of what I have learned with those closest to me and as I continue to read I am sure that the gifts of knowledge will continue. Such is the power of a story. Good or bad it cannot be contained deeming the lessons or inspiration contagious and infectious.

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I write this from a place in which I have planted my seeds of peace. During this pandemic I have moved six times due to a loss of home, getting evicted from my home, threatening situations and broken promises. Due to circumstance for the last six months I found myself sharing my current residence with an ex boyfriend who spent his time drinking and reminding me of my inadequacies. My story is just one of many unfortunately during this time. Luckier than some, at the beginning of the month I scraped up enough to pay for rent on my own and successfully got him to leave the residence. Broke and broken, I started writing immediately after his departure. Something only those abused would know: The longer one stays in the abusive situation the harder it becomes to fight back. I was lucky to find periods of strength and presence of mind during that time that allowed for me to now be living completely on my own. I am lucky enough to have access to a computer where I can share my thoughts and hone my talents.

This. It's the heart of being a creator: Gratitude.

I begin to put down my roots.

Maya Angelou has a quote I feel is fitting to end this piece with, “I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.”

As I reflect on my years, as I continue to read these stories, as I give thanks to those I honour who have come before me, died during our time together and still exist with me: I am grateful because it is from these stories that I have made my home, discovering my strength as I begin to tell my own. This is how a community is built. Through warriors, through story telling, through honesty with integrity. I find myself smiling up at my three headed beast of wisdom, ready to allow myself to become devoured.