Living the Questions

“…I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

-Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
in Letters to a Young Poet

 

Every now and again I need to revisit Rilke’s fourth letter to the  young poet, Kappus.  The fourth letter  houses the quote above and I reread that letter over and over again because the quote encapsulates, so well, the importance of being okay with “the process” — the journey, the marathon and not the sprint. 

Thank You Oprah

For the past three days I found myself rushing home to make sure that I caught the last 3 episodes of the Oprah Winfrey Show. For the entire time since she made the announcement that this year would be her last year, I made every effort to see her shows, including the behind the scenes footage of  the show and Master Class. (To be clear I have been watching Oprah since I was a little girl –constantly.)

I, who am not a big fan of change ( more so because growing up my life was so inconsistent and change was constant) had to take the year to say goodbye to her, this constant presence in my life ( through her show that is) for so long. While people who were suppose to protect me didn’t, when friends betrayed me or I betrayed them, when I fell in and out of love  – Oprah was my constant.

Now, let me just say, this is not an “Oprah is God” thing. I recognise her for who she is, a human being that is flawed like all of us. What I do believe though is that she tapped into being amazing like all of us can do…but few ever do it. She shared so much of herself, especially her vulnerability. 

Why I love her, why I like her, is so multi-layered. This is first time I am even putting my feelings into words. Let me just say this: I have been abused as a child physically and emotionally and often I felt as if no one loved me and understood me, but when I read a book about Oprah’s life at 13 years old and saw her face, that looked a lot like mine, I continued to have hope. I believed that there was a better even when people told me that there wasn’t and that I wasn’t worthy of it. I beleived even when I didn’t know that there was a name for it but I was hopeful that there was a better.

With all that said, I have never sent a letter, an email, or a tweet and I am not sure why. My sister always thought that to be ridiculous. My family knows how much  I value her and never quite understood why I never made it up to Chicago. While writing this (like seriously, I  just figured this out!) I realized that maybe, maybe I was afraid that if I even uttered my true feelings that it would in some way cheapen it. Also, I now understand that she is another great teacher that the universe has sent us like others, just to let us know how worthy we are. I adore Oprah like I adore Rilke, Whitman, Maria Shriver, Malcolm X and so many more people. However, for her to be “a colored girl from the back woods of Mississippi” as she often puts it,  moved around and not often loved as a child, and for me, a little girl growing up in Jamaica, moved around often feeling unwanted and separate, reading about someone whose story seemed a lot like mine for the first time… nothing can  be compared to that feeling.  (Since then I’ve read about other people’s  lives and saw how we all connect that we ALL just want to be loved and we declare that need in so many ways.) 

With all this emotion occuring in this moment, I wanted to make my OWN proclamation and acknowledge the difference that Oprah Winfrey has made in my life. I am not sure if I will write her or if she will ever see this but I know she knows it — that there are people out there that love her so much that she may never meet…

When You Can Endure

It is the day after Thanksgiving Day and although there hasn’t been anything that has jumped into my mind as to what I should be really, really thankful for, there is a list of things that I know for which I am grateful: life, a sound mind, shelter, family, etc. I do not take any of these things lightly. Some days I am less thankful than the others, but on days when I am in my “woe is me” stage, I am reminded (sometimes immediately, and sometimes eventually) about the many blessings that I have .

Lately, there are things that have happened that in a lot of ways are forcing me to be conscious of the simple things. Sometimes I get caught up and begin to act as if I am the only one going through emotional pain or challenges, but the reality is we are never alone, especially in our grief or pain. More importantly, we are never alone especially in our return to triumph and happiness.

I visited a bookstore in my neighborhood last week and went straight to the poetry section, I needed to read things from authors whose words soothed my soul and I came across a collection of Hafiz’s poems entitled, The Gift, and the first poem that I opened up to was:

                                       When You Can Endure

 

When the words stop
And you can endure the silence
That reveals your heart’s pain
of emptiness
Or that great wrenching-sweet longing,
That is the time to try and listen
To what the Beloved’s
Eyes
Most want
To
Say.

 

Need to say no more.

Sankofa

Last night as I got ready to go to bed, I decided to look at the time and realized that it was 1:15 in the morning. It was hot and so drifting away into la-la land might have been an easy recourse, but I was so captivated by Marlon James’ Book of the Night Women, that when reading his book, time became invisible to me, and what was 11pm became 1:15 am. My droopy eyes were the ones that validated my need for slumber.

Book of the Night Women talks about slavery in the Caribbean, but the book cannot (and demands) not to be simplified by that one statement — it’s more. It’s about pain, hurt, loss and hope…of desire and oppression without rhyme or reason. If you thought you’ve read a comprehensive story about slavery or the remnants of it, you will think differently when you read this book.

It begs me to question how one can regard themselves human when they weren’t treated as such, and how one can call themselves human when they didn’t treat people as such.

Like the protagonist in the story, within me flows at the very least blood of Africa and Europe.  I do not know completely how those two continents connected to begin the story of me, but when I read this book I understand the pain, and the anger that is often unspoken in my family, but felt.

“Thanks to the history I learned, and to the history I unlearned.” – Marlon James

Things to do on Lazy Saturday…in DC

I woke up this morning and I felt rested, haven’t felt this way in a while. I am visiting a friend of mine, in DC, who just bought a house. When I first arrived, she was still at work and use the opportunity to visit places in Silver Spring I often frequented when I lived there: the used book store on Monifant, the natural hair store, across the street where I would get locs maintained.

Over the past two days I have been here, I have been to the Whole Food market where I used to shop for groceries, and one of the guys even noticed me and said, “How have you been?” This surprised me — we used to just say hi to one another and go on our way when I lived there. I noticed that Hollywood Videos is not there anymore, I used to rent my DVDs there…and the memories came to me of Borders and Moby Dick, Persian Restaurant, slow cooked food with a fast food appeal. Although my friend’s home is not in Silver Spring, we met each, for the first time when we both lived in the area and now she is one of my closest friends. So, it is no surprise that we spent some time there. It’s been great playing “visitor” having once called this place home.
As I write this, I am thankful for good friends and even for the breakfast I had this morning which included some of this fruit salad I made to accompany dinner two nights ago. This along with a cup of ginger tea and the book I bought from the used book store, Danticat’s “Farming of the bones” makes for a wonderful, beautiful, lazy Saturday morning in DC.

Separating Real from the Reel

I went to see Alice in Wonderland. It was an impromtu affair: After spending two and a half hours at Borders, I, on my way to Whole Foods to grab some dinner, decided that to see a movie off the whim. The theatre was around the corner from Whole Foods and I decided to see if any movies were about to start. It was 8:17 and Alice in Wonderlland was starting in three minutes! Well, reader, I saw it. It was…okay but it was the perfect movie for someone who is seemingly having a hard time dealing with reality — her reality.

Escape

I am in Borders (the second time for the day) and I am typing on my Blackberry — how sheek! Lol. This is really amazing. Oh, the beauty of technology. So, before I continue with my thoughts, please excuse the errors! I am still getting a hang of this thing.

So, yes, I am in Borders. I felt the need to come here today: I was feeling restless and for some reason, reading through books in a place where I am surrounded by books makes me feel… better.

I have been looking through a lot of travel books — books on Paris, Paris, San Diego (planning a trip there soon), DC (planning a trip there, as well), Philly, Paris and now, as I type this, I am in the middle of Eyewitness Travel, New England.

Hmm, do you think I want to escape much?

For People Who Love to Peruse Places that House Books in Large Quantities

I don’t think I have been this excited about a new bookstore find for some time: Idlewild books on 19th Street, an amazing bookstore close to 5th avenue, adds flow to the otherwise stagnant book community in NYC. I am sure that there are great, independent bookstores in NYC, but around the Union Square area, there’s Strand, which I heart…and then there’s Barnes and Noble. That’s it.

I found Idlewild, after coming from the Barnes and Noble textbooks store on 5th avenue. This visit to B &N textbooks was my last attempt for finding this book for one of the book clubs I belong to, after calling and going to bookstores to find the book to no avail. I found the book at the textbooks branch of B & N. Whew! In my state of tired, I just happened to walk down 19th Street and came across this place, on the second floor whose brightness illuminated practically half of the street (I am not exaggerating, that block was not lit well.). When I looked closer, I noticed it was a bookstore. Good golly!

I met the owner, David, last night, and I expressed my excitment about finding Idlewild  and how it was an awesome find. Part of its appeal, I told him, was that it was tucked away. Business wise it might not be the best location, but it is perfect for a person who just loves to discover and peruse books and the places that hold them in large quantities.

Haiti in Words, Sound and Memory

A friend posted this on Facebook, and I thought that my blog would be a great place to post it, as well: Edwidge Danticat, one of my favorite authors, reminding us, some years earlier, of the richness of Haitian culture and the contribution that it has made to Humanity. Gale Pot!

Turkiye

I am not sure how descriptive I was about my trip to Turkey, but I know that I at least alluded to how much I enjoyed myself, and to a certain degree the trip changed me. My friend’s husband even told me how he noticed a change in me since my return — in a good way. So, it comes as no surprise that I want to return and even live there for a time.

A friend of mine who is Turkish American told me about this book that talks about James Baldwin’s time in Turkey. He stayed there for approximately ten years. I love James Baldwin. I love his books, his speeches, his complexities…and so much more and so I can see why she highlighted this book for me. The book, “James Baldwin’s Turkish Decade: Erotics of Exile” discusses his experience and also his influence on the country. I borrowed the book from the library this past Saturday (right before the big snowstorm hit the City) and was excited that it was there — I tried to borrow it when my friend first told me about it  but they did not have it then.

In between my errands, on the subway, I read the introduction by the author, skimmed the pages to see pictures and smiled at pictures of Baldwin in Taksim Square (where I stayed), the Bosphorus (where I visited), and other Turkish landmarks. ” Turkey saved my live” the author quoted him saying, and I guess, to some degree it did the same for me.