Organized Randomness: Thoughts, Dreams, Questions

Even Nothing is Possible!

2011-03-11T14:23:00.001-08:00

How inconceivable it must have been for others to hear two small town boys dream of building heavier than air machines that would glide through the sky like feathers attached to a beautiful blue jay. I can just hear the laughter of those gravity law-abiding citizens condemning and mentally prosecuting those felonious physics outlaws. How dare they attempt to defy the laws of nature? Nevertheless, they persevered, ignoring the conventional wisdom that states, "If it's never been done before, it shouldn't happen now." Fortunately, they were the "right" brothers for the job.

When a man stood before a nation and declared his right to humanity, proclaiming "Freedom!" through his dream of a better world, others mocked him and told him that his efforts for equality will never reach fruition. They told him that his ideals of fairness, justice and basic human rights will forever escape him as well as others that were the same skin color as he. They tried to kill his dream with assassination attempts on his character, telling him "things will never change, so don't waste your time." His passionate dream paved the way for barriers to be broken, and the burden of interracial relationships to lose their stigma. This literally has given birth to a President that embodies the truth of that dream and forward wisdom.

Many have told us that this is not our time. That we are not destined for the greatness as we dream it. That we cannot soar among the stars. That the sky is the limit, because that is as far as they can see. Many have told us to cease believing in the impossible, because it is not possible to have what does not yet exist. They have told us to wait to wander around the wonder of what we can achieve. They tell us to play it safe; to take the easy route, because the vehicle we have to travel down the road to success is not equipped with snow tires. They tell us our desires are undesirable — we are undeserving because no one understands our unconventional convictions. They say our over-the-top thinking will leave us sinking in the sea of sorrow. They tell us we risk too much — we dream too big to grasp what we envision. They tell us that what we want will be too difficult; that it will take too long a time to accomplish. They speak that there will be drama. They say we do not deserve it, because it is not in our nature — as if we were only made for the status quo. They will tell us of the many generations that could not generate the genius we feel within our minds. They will state that, "If it's such a great idea, why isn't being done already?" They will try to convince us that we will not be able to afford the dreams we have created, that it will be too expensive to achieve. They will want us to believe that we are too old or not old enough, or the rules will not allow us to do what our hearts desire. However, if we listen to them and say, "I'm scared," or "I can't," then they will be right.

But I refuse to any longer sit on the side lines and watch my dreams float away like a message in a bottle destined for nowhere on the waves of the ocean. I am going to unbridle my spirit and throw caution to the wind to pollinate my dreams like a fluffy dandelion being blown onto a yard. I want to spread and multiply my desires like a wildfire decimating a forest so that it grows anew. I will eliminate all the excuses that try to cling to my consciousness to control my confidence. I am ready to optimistically look into my future and see hope, love and prosperity, not fear, lack, and regret. I will build a fortress on the frontiers of freedom and uncharted territory to pioneer peace. I will to walk boldly where others have said I am not allowed to go. Rise further up mountains than any have ever dared to dream. I will lift my eyes to the sky, holding my head high with confident determination. I will be guided by principles of faith, placing procrastination and fear into a fiery pit. My soul will conquer all doubt and leave it in the deepest depth of the sea. I will not be ruled by the limiting expectations of others. I was born with wings so I was destined to fly. I will manifest my destiny by refusing to simply exist — I will live fully and without regret.

Who could have imagined that one small step on a tiny rock in the sky could have awakened our belief in the unimaginable? Or a filament in a small tube could literally provide light brighter than the sun. Or a key and a kite would give us so much power. Or a flexible membrane inside of a steering wheel could save countless lives. Or an apple falling on the head could help us understand our place in the universe. I admire the fortitude it must have taken to create and produce the most unimaginable things ever created in the world. They spoke their dreams into existence like God spoke the world out of nothing. They thought and acted as God does: without limitation. They followed through on their dreams and created wonderful things out of nothing. They used the power of God to do so, because with God even nothing is possible.

Though these people were ridiculed for their ideas, they pressed onward, ignoring the stop signs that intersected with their dreams. And we have that power. We have enough vision and capability as any other to enact the forces in our minds and hearts that is telling us to push on. We have a force shouting in our soul to dream bigger, go farther, live better, and do more. It is telling us to act upon our ideas in a way that has us risking everything. We must find the opportunity in all adversity. We must not live with the regret of watching our dreams waste away. We will not fail, but even if we do not make it to our desired end, we will be a million miles from standing still. And in doing so, we will prevail. We will achieve the success necessary to sustain our lives. But they will try to shoot us down. They will try to tell us we cannot, or should not. They will tell us that our dreams are nothing. That we are nothing. But we know that with God, even nothing is possible.

Why Did I Get Married: A Confession

2010-01-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

When I was a single man, life seemed great. I could do what I wanted, go where I wanted, date whomever I wanted, etc. I could get up at a moment’s notice and travel to the ends of the earth in pursuit of my personal happiness. I could take my savings and spend it on dreams that have taken me literally to the highest mountain tops. I could stay out all night long and not have to remember the day before or expect anyone to ask. I was responsible for me and could afford to be irresponsible. I was a jerk, a liar, a cheat, a heart breaker, a creep, a player, a sinner. But I was an all around smooth guy that could talk his way into some of the most wonderful situations and out of some very dangerous ones. I could spoil myself with a vast variety of experiences; different flavors of women that somehow still could not quench my insatiable thirsts. I could explore my options uninhibited by guilt. Other people were unimportant. I was a child then.

I was not emotionally, spiritually, or relationally mature enough to truly handle adult relationships. I was too interested in power, pleasure and my own happiness to have the lasting enjoyment a monogamous relationship can bring. I did not care about hurt feelings, loving feelings, just the immature arousal of physical lust. Ironically, I thought I was happy, even when those I should have cared about were not. I had somehow come to the conclusion – or delusion – that people knew the expectations of the “relationship” and that they were just willing participants in my twisted games of the heart. Instead of me being Moses leading the people I care about to a better Promised Land, I was constantly breaking treaties, exiling them and leaving a trail of tears.

I was not willing to accept that other people existed; that they were special. That they possessed a unique quality that should be exalted not exploited. I was blind and could not see them internally, deaf to their cries and concerns, and did not desire to touch their hearts, if their bodies were intangible. I was “smelling” myself, as the old folks say. I was an arrogant, pompous, ostentatious coward, too afraid to expose the inner most regions of my being. It seemed that opening up would reveal the well orchestrated hoax that was cloaked with a beautiful smile, profound vocabulary, an unrivaled intelligence, and an unrestrained capability to create adventure. I feared that others would know that I did not possess all the answers, that I was filled with self-doubts and insecurities. That I was secretly in pain from utter loneliness and despair. That I was more unraveled than I led on to be. That I was desperate to not be alone or experience abandonment and rejection. Consequently, I engaged in multiple, simultaneous and inappropriate relationships. Addicted to the feeling that sexual experience would provide. People were reduced to body parts and the stimulation, affection, and comfort came not from human contact, but was sexualized. I felt a sadistic sense of safety.

But no one knew these things of me. At least I did not allow them close enough to me for them to intervene, or hang around long enough for them to express their concerns. No one was allowed to penetrate my soul’s inner chamber. My friends would get frustrated at my inconsistency, my withdrawal, my seemingly erratic behavior. They would be angry at my progressive distance, lack of consistent communication, and inability to open up as they would with me on occasion. They did not understand my absence from the relationship, the unavailability that has perhaps forever left gaps between us. They did not – could not – know the extent of my pain. The child inside of me still searching for the loving touch of his father. The angry kid deep inside still caught in generational addictions and curses that manifest in the most deplorable ways. They did not know how unworthy and inadequate I perceived myself. The masks I have worn that resembled laughter, adventure, experience, and poetry. I was unreachable because I did not believe I deserved to be reached. Consequently, I soaked myself in sin that concurrently cured my afflictions, while at the same time reinforced them. My lonely pain was temporarily eradicated with the enticing touch of a stranger. Yet at the same time it confirmed the delusion that I was a bad person. One-night-stands were the norm. I delved deeper into pornography, adult bookstores, losing my cable because of pay-per-view charges got too high. I was in a relationship with sex and was too afraid to seek honest friendship and heart-felt human romance.

I have always traced my incontinence and nefarious behavior to my first love. We met in high school and quickly became an item. I fell hard for her. I genuinely liked her and showed her love throughout our time together. I saw her as beautiful, intelligent, sexy. As with most first loves, my infatuation led me to believe that she was perfect. I believed she was incapable of hurting me and I poured myself into her. I exposed myself through beautiful poetry and prose that proclaimed my love for her. I was in awe when in her presence. She provided a warm space where I could be free to reveal who I truly was. I felt an acceptance that I had not experienced up until that point. It was like she was my air, thinking that a moment without her would cause me to suffocate and die. I wanted to die when I found out my angel had fallen flat to the earth. Reality revealed its ugly head when I discovered she did not love me the same. That she had several relationships while we were together. That she had lied about her virginity and was still in a sexual relationship with her ex, a schoolmate of ours, and perhaps even more (I admit, my emotional memory may have intensified her behavior over the years). When I confirmed some of what was going on, it was like she ripped my heart from my chest and placed it in a shredding machine. Or trampled my soul as though I were caught in the path of a herd of elephants.

I hated myself for loving her. I despised the fact that I wanted her back; even after all I had found out about her activities. I felt like an idiot for loving her; for trusting and believing in her love. I blamed myself for her behavior. I felt that since I was unworthy, inadequate in some form, or not deserving of love, that I did not deserve to be treated well. It was truly embarrassing. I justified her behavior with a self-loathing attitude that said I was at fault in some way. “If only I had done more…” “If only I had not…” “Why didn’t I give….” These were the thoughts swirling in my mind as I dug deeper and deeper into my self-doubt and depression. I felt lost and alone and wanted to duplicate the wonderful feelings that I longed for with her – only without the risk of getting crushed like a speeding tractor trailer being smashed into a concrete wall. I was determined to reinvent myself; construct a wall around my heart and soul and guard it with deadly force. I secretly vowed to never allow anyone else to get close enough that they could hurt me in that way. It began with me attempting to lose the part of me that cared. I purposely sought the companionship of those I knew I could only give a portion of myself.

I vehemently refined myself and rehearsed a charm that could mask my truest intentions, my deepest feelings and utmost desires. I learned how to manipulate situations that would fuel the fix of my sexual high. I fell in love with sex and the wonderful feel-good it provided, though temporarily. Relationships were valued on if and when I could have sex. Everything revolved around sex; it was the center of my life and the reason to live. I would find myself in crowds and observing women for the potential conquest not companionship. It was sick – I was sick. And I needed a way out.

It has taken quite some time for me to realize these repulsive qualities about myself and more importantly that the origin pre-dates my first love. First Love, I forgive you and I am sorry. I now realize that the cold loneliness, self-pity, self-loathing, angry, hurt portions of my personality were only enhanced by that experience, not necessarily caused by it. I have placed more time and energy into creating an exterior that is quite wonderful, full of life, doused in inspiration, well spoken, beautiful, and learned. However, I have allowed my interior to remain damaged and beaten, broken and confused. For too long I have been slowly dying on the inside, deteriorating away like a rotting corpse. To all the girls I have loved before, I am sorry. I have in many ways taken your beauty and attempted to use it to try and make me whole. I have tried to find my laughter in your sweet smile. I have tried to replace the hurt and damage within myself with the wonderfulness you have freely given to me. You have allowed me to trample over you like a wild horse, while patiently you have stood there rope in hand trying to tame me. I sincerely and deeply apologize to the men you have loved after me; for you comparing my thoughtlessness and insensitivity to their good intentions. For not giving them a chance to get close because I had pushed you away. For wanting to do to them what I had done to you. A couple of you had even broken through the wall I built and for a moment we loved each other the right way. But, I was missing an important ingredient in my development that you just could not provide. That I could not provide for myself. This, I realize had to only come from a Higher Source.

On November 2, 2007, I rededicated my life to God, fully accepting Him into my heart and desiring to be a new creation, leaving behind my past. I immediately felt the awesome power of God that resonated throughout my body, mind and spirit that provided me a personal strength I had never felt in my life. I knew that I was more than what I believed myself to be, more than my actions, more than how others perceived me, more than my mistakes. I turned my obsessive personality into a passion for Christ. I was dedicated to fasting, prayer, studying His Word that began to give better meaning to my life. I wanted nothing more than to discover my purpose, to utilize my natural and acquired abilities to lead people to an amazing place where God is head of their lives. God allowed me to open myself up again. Completely. God gave me permission to set my fears aside and discover what love had in store for me. I was ready to love again. Ready to potentially be that fool for love and fall deeply for someone that loved me just the same. God made me ready to love again. Ready to accept me wholly and give of myself to someone, accepting them for the perfect imperfection God uniquely placed within their heart. I was ready to discover what it felt like to want to give your life to someone, entrusting them with your all. I wanted to know the feeling of falling head first and the prayer that God's outstretched hands are there to cushion the impact. I prayed only that I had the strength to overcome my pain and that He forgave me for all that I had done.

And it happened. All of a sudden it happened. I was in the midst of being obedient to God’s calling on my heart by serving His children with the Youth Ministry at the church I was attending. We had organized an all night lock-in for the youth to run freely, listen to inspirational teaching and get closer to their peers as they took on the awesome challenge of building a better relationship with God. I was one of the four adults there. Two of them were married. The other was a gorgeous representation of sunshine. She had a smile that lit up my darkened soul. She carried a beauty with her like an expensive purse full of riches. When she spoke a cool breeze traveled up my back and made my spine tingle. In her presence, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up like a frightened puppy in the midst of his master. We introduced ourselves to each other and did not cease the conversations until the dawn of the next morning forced us to part ways. I said a prayer that very night, “Lord, thank you for all of Your infinite wisdom and wonderful ways. Thank you for all that You continue to bless me with. Lord, if it is Your will, show me the path to matrimony. Reveal to me my wife. Show me with whom I am to spend the remainder of my life….” She called.

I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago, realizing that God often speaks to us and answers our prayers through signs and situations. He revealed several signs and placed us in situations that allowed us both to know and accept that we were meant to be together. Beyond the fact that we shared similar life goals, similar interests and talents, we both displayed a passion for God and trusted that He would guide and lead us to our place of purpose. A year and half later, we held hands in front of two hundred of our friends and family and proclaimed for the world to hear that we would not let anyone or anything put asunder what God had sanctioned and put together. We swore in the presence of God that we would continuously bind and rebind our connection with the strongest glue of His Word. That we would make sure that the institution of marriage would be tougher than any situation or circumstance that would arise. That we would pray the hard times away. Read our love into a rock that could shatter any spirit that comes to attack our union.

The minister said something very poignant at our ceremony, “Not all marriages are in trouble, but every last one of them is in danger.” Meaning that all marriages are constantly being attacked by forces that attempt to break it up. It is constantly being bombarded by external powers that take the form of ex-lovers, co-workers, strangers at the Mall, in-laws, unmarried friends, talk show advice, magazine columns, research statistics, and un-Godly people. More at work than ever in a marriage is the amplified internal struggle that once again shows its hideousness resemblance to past mistakes that you believed you had gotten over– or at least forever repressed. It takes the form of unresolved insecurities. It brings to light a flawed and faulty upbringing. It conveys messages that confirm your deepest fears. It frustrates you to no end because you begin to overestimate the power you have to change the other person, while underestimating the power you have to change yourself.

You develop the tendency to hold on and dig in to protect yourself from losing yourself. From being stripped of what you believe to be your ideal self-image that you are too afraid to give up being with someone that demands compromise. No one says that marriage is easy. As a matter of fact, nearly all that have entered into this institution insist that it is difficult. Some do not make it, balking at that pressure that it seems to conjure up. Some treat it like a commodity, an article that can be traded for advice from a relative. That can be bought or sold at the solicitation of a stranger. That can be thrown away because the interest is lost. But love is supposed to be stronger than that. It is suppose to support you in these times of trouble. It is supposed to conquer all. Be all. Love is faithful and forgiving. When you truly love someone you are patient. You take your time and give the benefit of the doubt – not doubt the benefits. I love being married – in spite of how hard it is. I truly enjoy the ability to open myself and share the inner most regions with someone I love, even though she often has to pry it out of me. I did not enter into this institution lightly and will strive to be with her until the end of my days.

I have actually, finally matured to the point where I do not desire to return to the walled-up child that was too afraid to explore and express his feelings. I am ready to be strong in the face of adversity and accept responsibility for my portion of the difficultness that occurs in my marriage. I am willing to not give up when circumstances seem impossible to mend. I will give my problems to God and pray He empowers us to seek Godly counsel, remain steadfast in our prayer regimen and daily devotion. God has already provided us with the tools to repair any hole in our soul to make us whole again. He has already given us exactly what we need to get us to the next level. This is why I got married: because I believe in her and the beautiful spirit she has to make me want to fight for her love. Because God has sanctioned our union and blessed us in a tremendous way. Because I love her. With all my heart. Even though I know that love by itself is not enough to keep us married. It will take the hard work and conscious choices to work through the hard times – no matter how hard. It will require the two of us to beleive in this endeavor and desire to give our all.

But we cannot allow our doubts to be our traitors or let our ego rule over us. We cannot allow fear to forge a path to an exit. That which is fear is everything love is not. We must not let our thoughts wander carelessly into an unrealistic fantasy that perfection can be achieved. We must hold fast to our vision and never allow our passion to wane. And we truly must know that God is in control and all things are possible with Him. With God all things work to a greater good. And believing in this very fact, we realize that problems are a part of solutions. Pain is a part of healing. And sorrow is a part of joy.

Are You a Citizen of US or Them?

2010-01-04T06:00:00.000-08:00

We arrived at the Mauritanian border and things went surprisingly well and fast. This was in stark contract to what everyone was trying to prepare us for. I did not have a visa to enter into the country hoping to get one at the border, and Abdullah, our driver said I should have gotten it in Casablanca for 200MAD because they will jack up the price to 1000MAD ($100 USD) plus a little pocket money for the Boss. I didn't even have that much money on me and this worried me a bit. But I left my worries in a prayer and enjoyed the adventure. I fumbled through my mind of things I could use , like clothes, a flashlight,etc as currency if need be. When it was our turn to go into the station my desert dwelling brothers were very excited to see a Black American in their country, stating we only go to places like Ghana and Nigeria but never to the desert, never to Mauritania (well there is a reason for that: 1) it's the desert, the Sahara Desert at that; and 2) it's Mauritania...known for....its desert).

I was happy that they were happy and approved my visa right away and everyhting was cool. David and Veronica, my Swedish friends had a little more difficulty, but I said that they were with me and they stamped their passports right away. This is where the Swedes and I are were to part for they were continuing on eastward and I needed to go south to Nouakchott. Enter Mack. This Englishman living in France decided one day to fix up his old work truck and drive from France to Africa, sell it somewhere and then return home. He said it was just too cold in France and wanted to change the weather, so Africa was one place he hadn't discovered yet. Mack was next in line behind us at the border and we chatted it up a bit, he said he was headed east from Nouakchott and accepted to give me a ride that far.

How do I describe Mack without being too insensitive.....hmmm....well the best thing I can come up with is this: he appeared like he was raised in Kentucky, moved to Arkansas and founded his own anti-government militia,complete with truck, flannel shirt (perspective: we are in the desert!!!), trucker's cap, long beard, long mustache, etc. Stateside the two of us rolling cross country would raise more than a few eyebrows, unless of course I played tamborine for his bluegrass band. But that is the beauty of being out here in the world, you meet all sorts of people from many walks of life, many different stories, many faces and you break free of your personal prejudices about who you think people are based soely on how they look. (But if someone calls me Bob Marley one more time...)

Mack had made it this far completely by himself and was starving for someone to talk to. The day had reached the hottest point and I had't really been to sleep from Dakhla talking with the Swedes the whole way, so I was hot and tired. I fought through it and we spoke about everything that is life and it turns out mack was a wealth of knowledge and wisdom, telling me about the mistakes of the '60s when he was sharing needles and in an instant nearly distroyed his life. I told him about Black life in the U.S., my reasons for being in Africa,etc. One recurring question from everyone I met is do i know where I was from in Africa. They are suprised when I say No. "How

could you not know" they inquire, "can'tyou just re-trace your history?" Uh...No! So then I ask them, how do you think Black Americans got to America? Italian Americans, got up one day decided to go. Chinese Americans, said hey family, lets' go to America. German, Spanish, Japanese, etc. all made a choice to be there at some point in their lineage. So how did we get there. It was like the horrors of history had been erased, not one person could fathom that there were people taken from this land and brought to the West and could not keep their own history. It was amazing to them, they knew about slavery, but had some notion that it wasn't so bad.

I could have been in New York having this coversation ( as a matter of fact I've had this conversation in New york), because it is something that world as a whole has forgotten and underappreciates. The effects of the slave mind is still persistent today.... (sigh!!)

Continuing on. We talk into the night, and I get to see for the first time wild camels everywhere and experience the Sahara Desert in all in wonderous glory. We got stopped at several checkpoints. The first question is "Nationality?" Mack said French, "let me see your passports!" (in a demanding tone) Mack thumbs over, "well he's American". "Go!" And we get to leave with no problem. It's amazing that I have never quite felt American, never quite African, just a misplaced soul wandering the earth with no real home. But to everyone outside of America, I AM American. It seems the the only hangups about American identity are those we have created within America. There is no Red, Black, White, Brown or Yellow out here...just Blue...the color of our passports. And in that, at least, United We Stand....

1st Day: Wonderful Life

2009-12-30T12:16:00.001-08:00

It did not ring true until I told it to someone else today. There he was in my office, reeking of failure, sadness, a self-loathing that can only result from years of misguided-ness and mistake. "Look dude," he said with an unconfident determination, "all I want to do now is sit at home and raise my son." Without missing a beat I said, "Well you know he doesn't know anything but what you teach, and he certainly will be looking up to you to for lessons. Not teaching is a form of teaching in way" he nodded his head as if he understood.

"I know." he said after awhile in a lowered voice, realizing the mis-education he has already provided his three year old student. "Possession and dealing, man, I'm looking at 18 years. Dude, they tryna give me 18 years!" he said answering a question I was probably asking with my eyes.

"You know," I said with a teacher-like-preacher-like-fatherly-like tone, "mistakes happen, and most of them have consequences. We are probably no different. We have even made similar mistakes. But, it is not the mistake that is important, because we all make them. It is what you do after the mistake that matters most."

Lately, it has felt like I have been living in a haze, not knowing what to do or how to react. But there it was like a loud bell ringing in my ear, or an annoying alarm clock blaring off minutes after I had pressed the snooze button to return to my slumber. It was like the light of a brand new morning was coming and there was nothing I could do about. In other words, I was telling him the exact words that I needed to hear for myself and my own personal strife I was experiencing at that time.

It was medicine I was administering, yet not prescribing for my own afflictions and ailments. Those are the hardest pills to swallow. It was the answers to tests that I already knew were on the syllabus. Intelligence withheld is folly at best. And I was tired of being stupid, tired of the same old situations emerging in my life that I have helped defeat in another's. I was weary of fighting battles on foreign soil, while domestically, my security had been breeched and I was on the brink of civil war. It seems most difficult to wage war on an enemy that is the inner me.

Our business was finished and he prepared to leave. Just as he was approaching the door, he stopped and turned around and walked back over to where I was standing. "Thanks, man. Thanks for the little pep talk. I…I know it will make a difference." We shook hands and he left. I felt sort of like a hypocrite. Like a failure. I felt as if I was defrauding myself of the much needed education that I was freely giving to others. I made a choice at that moment, a promise to myself that I would strive to be the very best that I could be. I figured I was not living up to my potential; after all I had literally been on top of the highest mountains. I had already traversed the earth adding adventure to my repertoire of memories. I was already a commissioned cadre of positive consciousness. As a matter of fact I am powerful. Beyond measure. Beyond what I was not forgiving myself for. Beyond what unhealthy spirit I had allowed into my heart. Beyond the insecurities that manifested itself in self-deprecation and depression.

It was not arrogance, but an adjustment of attitude that allowed these conclusions. It was the greatness displayed 19,340 feet above the earth. The wonderfulness shown crossing the finish line at the end of a marathon. The beauty of dreaming so large that I would certainly have to augment my audacity to hope and change my perceptions of limitation. I made a promise to no longer be afraid to utilize this power to continually change my life, and inadvertently change others. And I was beginning right then and there. No longer did I want to be the vagabond paradoxically giving financial advice – the beggar lending millions. But instead, I wanted to claim my riches as a cache for my own spiritual and emotional wealth. True altruism begins at home. I want to live up to my potential in the sky like I did looking down from atop mountains.

I smiled. Returned to my desk. And even though it was still cloudy, somehow I knew the sun was just on the other side, not hiding, but waiting to make things better again. This is the first day of a wonderful life, briefly interrupted, but still….a wonderful life.

No better Day

2009-12-28T06:00:00.000-08:00

"Nothing is worth more than this day." -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

It is Monday…again. Today is not only the most important day of the week; it is the most important day of your life. How you begin this day, can determine how well, how fast, how stress-free, how wonderful your week will be. If Monday is weak than the rest of the work week will be the same. Attempt to do all that you can today to make sure it begins and ends in a positive way. This is also the most important day of your life because it is the only day you have. For all we know this could be our last day. How will you live this day, will it be a day to remember all the difficulties that other days have brought you? Will it be a day that you still hold on to outdated grudges and contempt? Will it be a day that you postpone telling those with whom you have contact how special they have been in your life? With all the things we have put off until later, tomorrow just seems too busy and too unpredictable as to its arrival, to not use this day as a chance to have a wonderful life.

Look back and reflect upon this year. Did you accomplish everything you set out to achieve? Did you find ways to eliminate the stress in your life? Was it a great year? Did you become closer to the ideal You that want to be? Were relationships ended for the betterment of you or to the detriment of you? How is this year going to be worse than the next and not the other way around?

This year has brought me so many reasons to smile, laugh, cry, dream, and climb the wonderful mountains that life has for me. I have married the Love of my life, a beautiful, strong, and passionate woman with whom I look forward to spending the rest of my life. We have celebrated the birth of our first child, Zyla Marie and have added this special, beautiful gift to our family. We especially now have a reason to want to make this world a better place, nicer, more tolerant, and safe. So strive with me to improve the world around us and live happily, because if this day is all we get, why waste it!

13 Stripes

2009-12-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

My reaction to it surprised me. I didn't understand it at first. There it was in the distance staring at me, like a friend's outstretched arms welcoming me home. My heart actually skipped a beat and I just couldn't stop smiling. 13 stripes, each one had to be about 20ft long, suspended in air like a cloud providing momentary comfort
from the noonday sun. Being here in Africa you cannot escape the harsh realities of global colonization and the constant effects it has had on the indigenous cultures of so many people. I thought back to my childhood history lessons and the term colony is something that brings celebration in America. We even get two days off in November to eat turkey and remember the destruction of the native peoples of our land. But that was over 231 year ago. The colonization of Africa is much more prevelant and immediate. It is like I have gone back in time to
see how cultures were being destroyed and "civilization" merges into one way.

I phoned the US Emabassy in Bamako, Mali early in the morning just to check in and to re-register my trip (on the State Department's site you can register your travels just in case something happens they know you are in the area and will help you get to safety). I was altering my route a bit and the road from Dakar to Bamako was a little shady with armed bandits car jacking people along the way (thank God it did not effect our bus). I wanted to make sure they knew my movements in Africa. The man on the phone said that I could come down to the embassy at my leisure and speak to the consulate about anything I wanted and I could even file my taxes there and of course re-register my trip. I hung up the phone feeling good. Off to the Embassy I go.

In countries that the U.S. has diplomatic relations there is usually an Embassy in that country to tend to the U.S. affairs, interests and citizens. The US Embassy in Bamako was a grand place (in true American fashion) and walking into the place gave me a strange feeling. I didn't think I would be this excited to be there. And technically, you are on US soil when you are there, so if your baby is born in that building it was born in the US and may be eligible to be a U.S. citizen, amamzing huh? Anyway, I conduct my business with the consulate and get all my documentation in order and leave. On the way out though, I pass by those 13 stripes again, a symbol of America's
past colonization of the land we now call home. In just a moment, I will once again leave my country and step back into a former colony ruled by France, with its aweful legacy evident in the country's impoverished condition.

In just over 233 years, America has risen to become a great place. The more I travel the more I am realizing that there is no other place on earth I'd rather be or be from (ignore for a moment every poem/commentary have ever heard me recite on the subject). Of course it is not perfect with its second-rate, unequal public urban education system, disproportionate incarceration rates and struggling social service system, it is still a great place. I am learning more and more what makes America tick, why so many people want to come here and better their lives and what about America I was missing so much being here.

I guess that is I why my heart skipped a beat when I saw it and a smile was on my face. Yes, those 13 stripes represent a terrible colonial tragedy that occured on American soil over the last 400 years and a past that cannot be forgotton, forever represented as our national identity. It is a banner that now bonds us together. But, as much as it shows us where we have been the 50 stars on it also show us where we are, and ultimately where we can go. I even thought about putting my hand up to my forehead and for the first time in my life solute it, proud to be a representative, a citizen. But I didn't (because we still have a very long way to go). But I did feel a little better about these French colonies I was in, and was more hopeful that one day these lands will emerge from their cultural destruction into the wonderful, diverse, yet somehow united people like where I was from that I have too long under-appreciated.....

Flower Power

2009-12-23T06:00:00.000-08:00

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anais Nin

We can look at a colorful flower and smell its sweet scent and marvel at its magnificent display with no thought to what it took to get it where it is today. Most flowers begin their life a tiny seed. The seed alone does not have the ability to turn itself into a flower. The seed needs to find the right soil, endure rainy storms and needs ample light to stimulate its growth. When take an honest assessment of our own lives, we see how like the beautiful flower we are. We too need the proper soil and environment in which to plant ourselves. Likewise we must endure seasons of rainy tears that enrich us with its pain because it was needed to make us stronger. And finally our growth would not be complete without the light to shine, us being praised for our efforts, works and energy that we have given. Today find ways to open up to others, to have compassion toward your friends/family/colleagues/customers' stage of their personal germination process. Flowers, like us come in all shapes, sizes, flavors, colors, but together can make up a wonderful garden. And although we need the rain, let us strive to provide more sunshine so that we can continue to blossom.

Dates With Two Swedes....Watching the Sunrise

2009-12-22T07:56:00.000-08:00

I left Marrakech on a bus at 03:30 bound for Agidir in southern Morocco. This bus was no Greyhound (also sworn off those many years ago), but it was only a 4 hour ride and I fully prepared myself for the 20+ more hours on a bus once I reached Agidir. Agidir seemed to be a ghost town in the morning, nothing was open and when I inquired about the next bud to Dakhla, the lady told me 7pm and it will get me there 5pm the next day. weighing my options, I figured to take one of the "Grand Taxis" to Layonne and feel my way through to Dakhla from there. If you've ever wondered where do all the Mercedes Benz cars circa 1979-1990 have gone look no further than Morocco. The entire taxi system are old Benz', regular taxis in the cities and in the remote places like Agidir they are called Grand Taxis. The Grand Taxi was a bit cheaper than the bus and I would at least arrive 12 hours or so before the bus. the guy at the station "the Boss" explained to me that there are 7 places in the Grand Taxis, therefore 4 in the back and 2 in the front plus the driver. I quickly said no thanks cause I am just too tall to sit in the front seat with two other grown dudes, it too hot and plus where was dude going to sit, this was a stick shift. I preceded to get out and said I will just wait for the bus. He assured me that there would be no problem and to get back in pay the money and we could be on our way. I should have know something was up cause he was the only one the spoke English.

Everything was great, the roads were surprisingly smooth and the weather got increasingly warmer. 5 hours into our trip at a town called Tan Tan (should be renamed UGheta Tan Tan) the temperature must have been over 120 degrees, but things got much hotter. I driver opened my door and asked me to move over because he was picking up another person and with the 7 places in the car we had room. I staunchly refuse and hold my seat. He keeps insisting (mind you this isn't in English, but I understood what he wanted). He keeps putting up 6 fingers and yelling something at me and I keep repeating what I was told back at Agidir that the Boss assured me that I could retain the front with no problem. Driver gets upset tries to take off my seat belt and when I snap it back in place he reaches over turns off the car, takes the keys and walks away in frustration.

Several people come over to try to resolve the situation and I hold my place, keep my ground and calmly explain my position (no one spoke English and I don't understand French or Arabic). The situation is at a standstill and my Rosa Parks stubbornness is holding everyone up. Finally a guy comes from nowhere asking my if I spoke any Spanish, I say a little (man do I know more Spanish than I ever thought I did!!). We have a conversation about the situation and he explained the drivers position and I explain mine and what I was told by the Boss. he understood, say that he would've have told me anything at the beginning but on the road it's a different story. Anyway we come to an agreement that I would pay a few dollars more to keep the front seat so that we could continue to Layonne and everything would be fine. We leave and the Driver and I became friends, he helped negotiate a taxi from Layonne to Dakhla for me and I keep the front seat all to myself.

22 hours, 104 police Checkpoints from Agidir, I arrive in Dakhla, a quaint town in the country of Western Sahara. I planned to stay there for one night and continue on to Nouahibou in Mauritania, but the ride was so exhausting that I ended up staying a few nights. While there I ran into two Swedes, Veronica and David who were wandering the earth like myself. They bought me tea and we sat and laughed and chatted the night away and agreed to leave together for the border. A man approached us with a deal to leave at 4:30 in the morning to beat the traffic and most importantly the sun (all other transport left after 9:00). And the Mauritanian border was notorious for the traffic and slowness. We weighed our options and agreed to take the car to Nouahibou where they would continue east and I south to Nouakchott and then on to Dakar, Senegal.

Leaving in the night proved to be a great move. There was no traffic no heat (we travel through the Sahara Desert) and things were well. They shared their bag of date with me and the best thing about leaving at night was we got to see the beautiful sunrise over the desert...

Time, Flies: the Road to Bamako...

2009-12-22T06:00:00.000-08:00

We finally pull off...at 4:30 PM! We were "scheduled" to leave at noon. Apparently the transportation system here in Africa is as followed: "we don't move until we have a full bus". And that is exactly what was happening now. They held up the bus until one by one people trickled onto the bus and the seats were filled. While waiting on board the hot bus so long, I was being attacked by scores of flies that just thought I was dinner or something, I'd shoo them away and they would double and triple team me and come back for more. So I couldn't even relax while waiting to leave. Finally, we take off.

We are headed to the country of Mali with our final destination being its capital city of Bamako. I was particularly upbeat because I was getting to continue on with my journey after almost considering quitting because I fell ill. We head east...right back into the Sahara Desert. Oh, well, at least we left so late that by the time we are in to heart of it, it will be dark. The entire journey takes two days to reach Bamako. By early morning we reach the Mali border. Trouble. They saw my American Passport and hold it, trying to extort money out of me. I don't have it. They threaten to send me back to Senegal if I don't pay and I don't know what to do.

Enter Tony, Emmanuel and his girlfriend (don't remember her name). I did not know what to think of this trio at first because Tony kept approaching me throughout the night with a scenario that sounded word for word a scam I had read about numerous times in preparation for this trip. They didn't have enough money to reach Accra, until they got to their bank to withdraw funds...the banks in Senegal did not work to retrieve money, etc. He kept asking and pressuring me with this story for me to help them out with some money. I didn't know, but said a prayer asking what to do. At the border Emmanuel came over wanting to help, so did 4 other people. I felt a little overwhelmed and chose someone out to the crowd to speak with. The guy said give him 10,000CFA ($20) and he would negotiate on my behalf. OK, but I was all out of cash (of course until I could use my bank card at a machine to retrieve cash because the bank machines in Senegal did not work).

Emmanuel comes back over and offers to help, he will pay the man and he negotiated with the border patrol on my behalf and we were on our way. I felt conflicted. Here I am in need of help and the one person I turned away because I didn't know if I could trust him, turned out to be the angel I prayed for. In addition, I had the same problem his brother said he had needing to go to the bank to retrieve more money. I continued to pray and told myself I will wait until we reached Bamako before I gave any conclusive answers. Tony said I was a fool to be out so far with no money and internally I agreed, he said that if they weren't there what would I have done. I informed him that he was there because I had faith that God would see me through any and all situations.

Between Dakar and Bamako, there isn't much to look at. There are only so many donkeys, goats and emaciated cows one can marvel at, and the heat in the desert is hot. Frankly, I am board. I start making up songs, "hey little goat, one day you'll be a coat or somebody's din -ner, If that little sheep, make the slightest peep, the farmer man will skin her." Random stupid little thoughts start to fill the time: "Wow, how ironic, cows are vegetarian," Two donkeys mating, after, what does the male run to tell his boys he got some of? And of the ever present flies swirling around my head, buzzing by my ear: I wonder if American flies and African flies speak the same language? Why do they do that thing with their legs, what's up with that? What is the opposite of opposite? What is the definition of definition? Too much time on my hands. Too many flies.

We finally reach Bamako and everything I own and every piece of clothing has this bright red dust on it. Everywhere in Mali is this red dirt and clay-like substance. And it is hot, Africa hot! (Africa Hot: taking a shower, getting clean and dry only to step outside and 9 seconds later you are completely covered in sweat). I immediately go to the bank machine and withdraw enough money to last me until my next stop. Tony is hovering around me and even tries to get into the ATM booth with me. I assumed he wanted to see my code or how much I was getting out. I politely asked him to step out and he did, pacing back and forth trying to look in. This of course made me suspicious of him even more.

The first chance I had alone I stashed away most of my cash and only had enough in my pocket for the two days I'd be in Mali. Tony came at me hard this time asking for money and giving his pitch which kept changing slightly with each time. Anyway I told him I would see what I could do. He then said that they had absolutely no money to continue on. I repeated to him what he told me about being out in Africa with no money and he said it was hot and that he didn't know what he was saying when he told me such things. Hmmm. Still I prayed and just asked that their true intentions be revealed to me. What didn't make sense to me was that they were traveling together with no money and apparently according to Tony on their way to Venezuela once they got to Accra, Ghana.

This sounded bogus because it cost them 25,000 CFA ($50) each to get to Bamako. And it would cost another 31,000 CFA ($62) each to reach Ghana. That is a total of 56,000 CFA each person. So if they had all this money in the bank in Ghana, why wouldn't they just send one person all the way for 56,000 CFA total and not 3 people half way for 75,000 CFA. Of course Tony had no answer for this inquiry. Ultimately though, I left them in Bamako and continued on to Lome, Togo. I repaid Emmanuel's 10,000CFA and gave him an extra 10,000 CFA, to say thanks for helping me at the border. I decided to give as much as they gave to me, because rather they were lying or not I am sure they could use it and I felt better about doing something.

This situation has given me a little more insight into how God works. Often He will use people, circumstances, and experiences to teach you that He can use all things for good. God will take some unsavory characters and make use of them to help you on your way. Too often we tend to look at people at face value, making a judgment about weather they need to be in your life, but God will reveal that He is in fact in control and each and everyone you encounter is in your life for a reason and a season. I am fortunate to have met these people and wish them nothing but peace and well-being.

I get on the first bus leaving for Lome -- it's 07:58. Getting to Lome will take us just over two days on the bus. Slowly, one by one people trickle in on the bus. We are “scheduled” to depart Bamako at 08:45. Three hours come and go. Five hours. Seven hours. So I sit here on a hot bus in Bamako and wait to go to Togo, wasting time, fighting flies......

Let Monday=Friday

2009-12-21T06:00:00.000-08:00

"Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength. Let me not cave in." - Rabindraanath Tagore

Your weak end is approaching. Because it is time that you end the perceived weaknesses that you hold on to, live through, that cause you to stop moving forward to find your strength. Yes, it is Friday, a day we usually long for, celebrate and smile at its much anticipated arrival. But it simply being Friday should not be the sole motivation to pep up our step and greet each other warmly. If in a couple of days we are back from the weekend for our "weak" to begin again, then we perhaps should re-evaluate our intentions on being here, our attitude, our goals. Can we find ways to be stronger each day? Can we discover the lovely possibilities that are locked inside our pain? Can we be grateful for the wonderful gifts of life and purpose? Let us end our weak this week and make the happy Friday that we feel last throughout the moments of our weak(ness), and I promise that happiness will last for weeks, and we will be stronger, better. Happy Friday, and I pray that come Monday, Friday will emerge once again in our lives.

Christmas 22

2009-12-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

I wrote my very first book when I was 8 years old in the third grade. I was in Mrs. Tucker's class at IPS School 70 and the assignment was to write a few poems and short stories and then craft, bind and illustrate a book. I can vividly remember most of my classmates not wanting to do this, even dreading this assignment, but not me, I was excited...very excited! I got an "A+" on my project and the book was showcased as one of the best in the class. If it weren't for the fact that we had to write our stories in class, Mrs. Tucker would not have believed that I was in fact the author of them. She even had to defend my work to the other teachers who thought I got help from my parents or from my teacher. I wrote a poem and two short stories, one of which was called, "At Night, a Knight!" It was about how creatures of the night come from under the bed and in the closet to attack the unsuspecting towns people and how the little boy with his "pillow as his sword, covers as his shield, and bed as his horse," turns into a brave knight that defeats the night crawlers. I often marvel at the gift I have been given: to translate life into words and mental pictures that can curl up the corners of one's lips, accelerate the heart, moisten the cheeks with tears that flow like rivers forging a path to an ocean of joy. Even though I can look back at that book and chronicle it as my very first, I do not remember it primarily because of the content, rather I remember the obscure words I prophetically penned on the Dedication page.

The Dedication Page read: "I dedicate this book to my mommy and daddy, my big sister and my little brother in my mommy's stomach." My mother laughed when she read this, because at age 34, she had no intention whatsoever to have any more children. And she was definitely nowhere near pregnant at the time. She asked, "Do you think your mommy is that fat that you believe she is pregnant?" "No, mommy!" I replied, "I just know that you will be and I will have a little brother." She smiled and carried on and told me that if she ever has another boy, I could be the one to name him.

By the end of my Fifth Grade year, my mother told my sister and me that she was pregnant and that my father (already a grandfather at this time) would be a father at the tender age of 50 for the seventh time. "Is it a brother?" I asked excited that my prediction was coming true. "We don't know yet," she said. "It's a brother!" I said, confident that I needed to think of a name, eager to have my mother fulfill her promise to me.

A few months later, on Sunday, December 20, 1987, my little brother was born. I had the honor of giving him the name Derrin Shane and received a special Christmas gift that year. Each year I have had an even better honor: to watch this gift re-gift himself over and over to those he encounters as he uses his special gifts, talents, warm smile, beautiful inner strength, and curious mind to uplift the world. Over the years I have seen him grow. I have taught him how to play basketball, never allowing him to win to gain his confidence, rather beating him just enough so that he will want to come back for more the next time. Now, to give me confidence, he has to allow me to win, because my skills (if they were ever there) have declined severely with age and increased waist size. I have been able to share many wonderful experiences with him that have taught him character, showed him love, corrected his behavior, and have made him laugh. Now, watching how wonderful a father he has become, I turn to him for advice on how to be a better one. Now, he is the one chastising me for my erratic behavior, or less than excellent character, telling me that I am better than what I display. His words and actions toward me are all too familiar, for they are often regurgitations of words, thoughts, ideas, actions that I once told to him to help him through the challenges life tends to bring forth. And my words to him were more than likely ideas, thoughts, etc. told to me from our father.

This year will mark the twenty second time I have had the pleasure of celebrating Christmas with my little brother, a gift I get to open each time he calls, I get to play with each time we work out together or play basketball, I get to share with all my family and friends, I get to continuously unwrap at the end of each hug. Now I get to dedicate more than just a book to him, I have an opportunity to dedicate my time, energy, and well-being, for as I constantly seek ways to improve myself; it unconsciously gives him permission to do the same. He is a wonderful book that I get to witness being written, with most of the chapters God personally organizes. I marvel at his level of growth and determination to accomplish his goals and the way he defeats the things that approach in the darkness of night that come to destroy his peace of mind. His “pillow is his sword, covers are his shield, bed is his horse….” Know this little bro, as long as I am alive, you will never have to fight alone.

Inspire

2009-12-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

"Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others." -Plato

As you begin this day, think about all the wonderful, positive things you can do that can inspire someone to live a more productive, optimistic and excuse-free life. When something is not going quite as you expect, or a dark, rainy cloud of negativity seems to follow you throughout the day, take a moment to assess whether you are being a part of the solution to remove the clouds and offer sunshine to all those you encounter. Just as we have taken special precautions by washing hands, huge jars of hand sanitizer, surgical masks, etc. to protect us from germs that bring infectious diseases, we should be just as proactive in shielding our spirits from negative people, places, and things. Today, make an effort to remove your mask and infect us with your contagious smile. I promise, you will be inspired, will inspire other, and make this a wonderful, beautiful day.

Sunshine and Rain

2009-12-18T06:00:00.000-08:00

"He who has a why can endure almost any how." -Friedrich Nietzsche

You are an important person. You are a unique creation that is needed here to bring joy, love, laughter, perspective, life, relief to us through your gifts. Everything that has happened and will happen is the perfection you need to bring you to the point that will make you a better you. Today, plant positive seeds of purpose within the soil of your heart and soul. Keep in mind that seeds will only grow to flower with a delicate balance between the sun and the rain. Likewise you will only grow through joy and pain; through times of sorrow and periods of happiness. Never forget that you have a purpose, as well as others have a purpose too. Practice this day displaying compassion to others, regardless if their today is sunny/warm, or a windy/rain.

Today: YOU Asked For It!

2009-12-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

"We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." - George Bernard Shaw

Think about where you are in life: your career, your family, your friends, your hobbies, etc. Take an inventory of all the "things" you do that occupy your time. Think of all the stuff that life/society/family/responsibilities/work has thrown your way that you feel drains the life out of you because you are obligated to them rather than want to do them. Think of all the energy you have wasted complaining about the very things that you once would have given ANYTHING to have. Remember when work brought you joy, if only to anticipate the reward at the end of the pay period, you eagerly fulfilled your obligations with a smile. Time seemed much quicker then than it does today. Doesn't time seemed to go too slow these days, Friday used to come sooner. Remember when you were childless or spouseless and you wanted, more than anything, to have a family. Remember the feeling you had looking into your child's eyes for the first time, or holding your spouses hand vowing to not let hard times get the best of you. Remember when the hard times got too hard, but you lifted your head to the sky, bended your knees and begged for an intervention. And now the child is grown, and your marriage has also. The car may make noise today, but remember when you prayed for "any ol' transportation" just so that you can get to work and take the family out every now and then. Today you have once again received a blessing in that you are able to be here, you should again be excited as you use to be. Laugh, smile, tell a joke, play about while here because being here is the answer to a prayer that you have spoken several times. Be grateful for all that you have and when things are not going as you completely expect, take a moment to check your attitude, your energy, your intentions. Make the best of this day and time will once again move, and maybe unfortunately, a little faster.

Beautiful Mistakes

2009-12-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

"Life is the art of drawing without an eraser." John W. Gardner

Wouldn’t it be great if we had a do-over in life; that we could just copy and paste better saved versions of ourselves into the present. It would be wonderful to simply hit the delete key in our memories to get rid of unwanted baggage that we have packed for this short journey called life. Since we are all made for a purpose, it is safe to assume that everything that happens in our life it a necessary component to move us closer to that purpose. Having a firm acknowledgment of this concept will help us to become a little less occupied with what we deem as mistakes. Take a moment to reflect upon a time when you thought you made the biggest mistake, instead in retrospect you learned that without the blunder it would not have lead you to where you are today. Most of us do not discover the true purposes for our lives until we have made these mistakes and discover the beauty that was trapped inside our pain. Keep in mind also that our stories are not as unique as we may think. When we speak to someone, or interact with a stranger, remember to show compassion and respect, because they too have a purpose. The painful poverty, heartache from the loss of a loved one, debilitating illness, etc. may be the catalyst they need to move them closer to the reason they are here on this earth. So do not consume yourself with thoughts of repeating or deleting things of the past. Just have a higher level of acceptance and your mistakes will become opportunities for growth.

Positive: Solution

2009-12-14T09:24:00.000-08:00

"You won't find a solution by saying that there is no problem." -William Rotsler

In going through this day attempt to discover ways in which you can look at reality for all of its possibilities, rather than its challenges. However, when confronted with a difficult situation/person/task think positively about it and the outcome will be one which gives you strength not take away the awesome power you possess. Try today to not put off addressing these difficult things until a later date, find ways that will turn the difficult trial into a determined trail that leads you to your path of purpose. Adversity builds character, but only if you allow yourself to learn from your shortcomings, perceived failures, and complacent attitudes. Remember how you begin this week determines how weak your challenges will be. Let us weaken our adversities, build character, think positively, and make this day the best one of our lives. I look forward to seeing your smiles.

Perfect Target

2009-12-11T00:27:00.000-08:00

"Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you have decided to look beyond the imperfections."

I recently heard the story of a young man that once visited his great uncle on his farm. When he arrived he saw several targets painted on the sides of his uncle's barn, each and every one of them had several perfect bull's-eye holes in them. This impressed the young man and desired to inquire as to how the old man could be such a great shot. He asked of his uncle, "Uncle Bob, how in the world did you learn to be such a great shooter. I mean, every single time you have shot you hit the bull's-eye target perfectly! Wow can you teach me how to do this?"

The old man smiled at the excitement of his only nephew and replied, "Son, I have tried most of my life to be perfect at everything I do. I used to get terribly upset at the times I would miss the targets and fall short of the goals I set for myself. I used to view myself a failure. I did not realize that the success can often come from the decision to take risks, experience the journey on the road to your dreams. It is more impressive to know that I shot those bullets from 450 yards, and not up close. The fact that the bullets took so long to get there and still hit its spot is a testimony And just like life, it is how far you have come to get you where you are can make the difference in how you view life. And to remain happy with where I am, I have learned to accept where I am and who I am, because that is the perfection I need to be, flaws and all."

Perplexed, the young man asked, "But how did all that teach you how to be such a great shot?"
"Oh, that," replied the old man, "I just simply shot first and then painted the target afterward.

The Man of Still

2009-12-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

It wasn't good night. Not at all!. I tossed and turned and rolled around violently throughout the night. Then it happened: TD. Most people that travel usually get anywhere from mild to severe TD no big deal, you get and that's it. TD is Traveler's Diarrhea. After more than a few days of not being so regular, I didn't mind it, a little Pepto and I'm all cleaned out. But after the restlessness and the 5th or 6th time going, I consulted my binder with health information to make sure that all things for the most part were well. I open the page to find the words, "if you have a fever seek medical attention immediately!" I check my temperature and to my astonishment the thermometer read 106. So yes I had a fever, I should have thrown down the book and ran to the nearest medical institution. But remember, I'm in Africa, I ain't going out there in the middle of the night and besides all I needed were a few aspirin and I'd be better in the morning. More TD. 7 or 8 more times. Brain is starting to work, there might be something wrong, I thought to myself. I check my binder again, this time with the light on. Body aches. Check. Severe TD. Check. Fever more than 105. Check. Check. Check. "If you are experiencing one or more of these symptoms, FOOL GO TO THE DOCTOR!!!"

Hmmm, still in Africa though and it's still the middle of the night. I said a prayer and promised myself I'd go to the hospital at first sign of daylight.

Daylight. Symptoms went from bad to worse, everything intensified times a thousand. I wake up the auberge manager and try to explain that I need a doctor. Up until this point I am all too patient when attempting to speak and understand the language but right now, I just keep screaming "hospital, hospital....I need a doctor" He looks at me with a blank stare and says, "yes". OK yes tell me where the hospital is. Again the blank stare and he says, "yes. OK you go now? Leave key". He turns away and goes back to his room. Oh never mind. I was getting progressively worse as the minutes passed. I dragged myself to

the street and flagged down a taxi. "Hospital, Hospital....I need a doctor!" The taxi driver says, "yes" blank stare included. I get in and he asks, "where are you going?" Oh never mind. I don't have time to be playing around, I exit the vehicle and flag another. He had the presence of mind to stop someone who spoke enough English to direct us to the hospital.

I get to the hospital. Nothing is remotely in English. No signs pointing to ER or Triage. Nothing. No one speaks English. This hospital is a large campus and no one apparently has emergencies in Senegal. And I am not getting any better. I can feel my fever getting

higher, pain worsening, TD turned into vomit. OK this is it, this is how I die. In utter pain and suffering in Senegal. I stop and sit on a bench with my head in my hands. I dial the number to God, "Dear Lord, please see me through this, please send me a angel to help me get help. Amen." "Excuse me," I stop the next person I see, "can you direct me to the Emergency Room?" "Follow me" she said, oh thank you Lord.

I get to the ER and am confronted with another obstacle. No one speaks English. I go up to the intake lady and say I need a doctor. She stares at me blankly as if to say, "look around don't you see everyone here needs a doctor?" The nerve of these people. Here I am an American citizen and they aren't giving me special treatment? I sit down (I am way out of it at this point) I phone the US Embassy in Dakar. “I'll show them, treating me like this” I say to myself. Ring. “I'll get someone down here right away and I'll receive the best care you got.” Ring. “I can't wait, ooohh you gonna get it, watch.” Ring. “Secretary State Condi is a sistah too, she gonna hook a brotha up.” Ring. “Ya'll don't know? I'm from the land of liberty, one time we went to war over tea when Paul Revere shot Crispus Attucks, a Black man....so you know they getting me outta here. Ring...."We're sorry, the U.S. Embassy is now closed, please call back during normal business hours..." Hmmm. I get real humble. Real fast.

I approach the lady calmly and we struggle through what I need. She has me fill out papers and pay a small intake fee to see the doctor and I sit and wait to see the doctor. OK, I am out here dying which everyone can see so I will see the doctor soon, right?. Wrong. Two hours pass and each half hour I go back to where the doctors are and demand to have someone see me. At least take my temperature or something. Jersey City Medical Center (who rivals Senegal in service) would at least had taken my temperature by now. Nothing. I am moaning and groaning in pain and each time the nurses would snicker. Three hours. Four. Five. What's wrong with you people cant you see I am about to die!!?!!

About six hours into my walking into the ER the nurses came to get me and placed me in a room and take my temperature, now at 104.2, and placed an IV in my arm to drip fluids. Finally the doctor. "Do you speak English?" I ask him. "Yes" Oh thank God! He and an assistant examine me and place me through a series of x-rays and blood tests. After about 30 minutes I ask him, "Doctor, am I going to die?" He responds, "yes" (blank stare and all). I feel the life escape my body. Hope drained. So this is it, this is where I will perish. After a minute though, I begin to smile. Hey, it's been one heck of a ride. Many people never leave within a quarter mile from where they are born and here I am, I get a chance to die in Senegal. I just hope my personal effects get to my family (someone needs to profit off of this experience). An hour later the doctor comes into the room and pulls the IV from my arm, gives me a paper and attempts to explain to me what is on it. Wait a minute, I thought you spoke English. "No English" Apparently, "yes" (accompanied with blank stare) is the Senegalese word for "I don't know what the heck you talkin' 'bout, but I don't want to be rude. Hmmm not going to die here after all. Whew!!

It turns out the smallest little thing caused all this medical drama: a tiny female mosquito that could have bit me anywhere between Morocco and Senegal. Wherever she bit me, she left microscopic eggs that hatched inside of my liver attacking my red blood cells. This in other words is called malaria. Malaria is a serious, deadly disease that kills many people worldwide. When I finally informed my family, they predictably panicked. They begged and pleaded with me to end the trip and come home and I made a deal with my father that if I was not better in 4 days (the doctor gave me a 3 day treatment) I would.

By the 4th day I was nearly 90% and felt as if I would continue on with this journey. The treatment cured me and I am glad to have gone through it because I know how to better protect myself from malaria. About it being a deadly disease you might be thinking, well it is. Before you write off third world countries as a way to continue to justify why you don't travel, let me put it in perspective. We at home have our share of communicable diseases that kills many with the same rates as malaria, like the flu (granted all things being equal like time of diagnosis, access to treatment, age and general health of

individual). If you were to get the flu this season, you'd be out for a few days but know how to treat it, help prevent it and what to take to make you feel better. Malaria is Africa's flu. It is so common that when I told my friends I met here I had it, they thought I was being all too dramatic in my reaction.

As soon as I felt 100%, I boarded a bus headed to my next destination: Bamako, Mali. I am grateful that I was able to have this experience and was able to be still long enough to get my thoughts in order and health back on track and viewed this as a test of my

continued faith to call upon God in such hours of need. Through the red octagon I go, crossing yet another intersection on the road to my dreams. The journey continues....

The Man of Still (a poem for the movement of dreams)

I want to stand ten feet taller than my condition
--Perspective: we aren't even 10ft taller than ants--
I want to rise high above my burdens
Like a mighty mountain on the horizon
I want to cannonball off the cliff of complacency
Into the warm waters of hope
--Warning: cannonballing can cause serious injury
If the subsequent waters aren't deep--
My hope is deeper than destiny
Runs far beneath the surface of my see
And is the evidence of what I cannot
Faith will have you running through the forest blindfolded
Believing you can fly
Or thinking you can defeat an army with a switchblade
Because my belief is that my demons
Are not as powerful as my perception of them
That is why I am still
Motionless like a lion lying in wait
in anticipation of the antelope as his next meal
Still like the wind prior to a fierce storm
Like the roots of a dimba tree embedded in Malian soil
I am still
Here pushing forward toward my dreams
Hovering high above the clouds where the rain cannot touch me
My tears aren't even wet
Because I don't cry anymore
I am beaten, broken, burdened
And still I laugh in the face of adversity
My misfortunes are mistaken if they think I will deviate from my path
I am naive enough to believe my dreams will come true
It feels so good to know that the next day
Could possibly be better this one
Because I am still optimizing my options
And as long as I still have air in my lungs
I still have a reason to push on
I still have a reason to push on

Derrick S Slack
March/2007

Thoughts of the World

2009-12-09T11:02:00.001-08:00

"The mind has exactly the same power as the hands; not merely to grasp the world, but to change it." Colin Wilson
As cliché as it may be, but yes, you can change the world. Let us think of each person as their own world that comprises this universe, that makes up this universal truth: the beautiful, random, kind acts that you do for someone can change the world as they see it. Today, have nothing but positive thoughts about the people with whom you work, the job you have been charged to complete, the people that that you must encounter and allow only good thoughts to consume your mind. Remember: your thoughts will most certainly become your words; your words become your actions; your actions create habits; habits become destiny. The power to shape your destiny and change the world begins with your thoughts.

The Journey Mets an Octagon

2009-01-05T06:00:00.000-08:00

Nouakchott. Mack and I arrive just before midnight and quickly find a nice place called Auberge Sahara (my first encounter with an auberge; very similar to what we call hostel). The owner's wife checked us in. We had to get the big room with 7 other people in it, I run to the bed and fall fast asleep under the mosquito net. Mack takes a shower and declines one of the beds opting to sleep in the comfort of his cargo compartment of his truck/van. I sleep very soundly and wake up around 10:00 to shower and gather myself for my next move. Mack was already up and ready to push on. We exchange emails and a firm handshakes and he drives away. OK now I just need to find a way to get from here to the Senegal border. Easy right? No!

Mauritania is a country without one single ATM, not a one, nada, nowhere in sight. If you ain't gots no cash, then you flat on yo' ....well you know up a creek and all that. All the money that I had, I paid for the auberge and went to food and gas. How the heck am I stuck out here in the middle of the desert (literally) with no means to get anywhere? My Moroccan SIM card doesn't work out here, Mauritania has no place I can buy a new one, besides I don't have money to get one if it did. What to do? Pray is what I did. "Lord please send me an angel of protection, I need the resources to get to the border, please help."

Enter Tiago, a Portuguese living in France with his girlfriend Ellacho. I approach them and ask them did they know how to get to the border from here. They said they were getting a car to take them to the border in an hour for free because they had sold the owner a car for cash and the promise to take them to the border and they would ask if I could hitch a ride. Sidi, the owner, was getting someone else to drive them and said he would charge me 20 Euro to go, plus he was also taking 3 other Frenchmen to the border so it may be a tight squeeze. I told Tiago I had no money, and that I didn't know that the entire country hadn't any ATM's. They agreed to spot me the fare and anything else I needed until we arrived in Senegal. Extremely grateful and cheerful all 7 of us squeeze into this station wagon 7 hours to the border. This time of course I am not complaining about the overcrowding situation and proceed to kill my NBA career dreams by cramming my knees into my chest for hours.

We finally make it to the border and the driver turned out to be a shady character making several side deals with the checkpoint personnel to extort cash out of us, even threatening at one point to turn around if we didn't pay (we called his bluff to his grief). But we do make it to the border and the driver dumps us off and drives away. Middle of the night, bugs crawling all over me, our destination miles from here. And he leaves us. The border people ask for a little compensation too and once we paid they were all smiles and happy. It turned a bit ugly when it was time to go. Of course we were at a disadvantage being that it was the middle of the night. They brought a few cars to pick us up and take us to St. Louis the nearest town for us to get a hotel and rest the night, but they wanted some outrageous per person fee to do so. I am completely silent while all of this is going on because I don't' understand a word, just the tone. The three Frenchmen relent and scurry off into the night, while the three of us are left sitting. Tiago hangs his head in shame saying that they wont speak to him anymore and that maybe he shouldn't have been so stubborn in his position. Now we have no way to get to St. Louis and we are stuck here in the middle of nowhere.

I say a prayer and then say to Tiago not to worry because positive always wins over anything negative. Let us remain positive and we will get out of here real soon. Man, the power of prayer and positive thinking! Like clockwork a Frenchman on his way to Dakar through St. Louis pulls into the border agrees to take us door-to-door and make sure we were OK. We make the 32 KM quickly and check into an auberge for the night.

I spend a couple of days in St. Louis before saying farewell to my new friends and head south 5 hours to Dakar. While in Dakar, I stretch out a couple days before heading to the village of Bambey to volunteer at a school. I use the time to explore this city. I meet a guy who willingly takes me around to all the important places of the city, including the museums and political buildings. We then go over to Goree Island, one of West Africa's major ports during the Transatlantic Slave Trade. I have been to such slave dungeons before and it is never easy to be in a place that was the source of so much pain and human suffering. The next day my guide invites me to go to Lac Rose a red colored lake on the outskirts of the city. I agree and he introduces me to his friend that lives in Germany and brings students each year to Senegal to learn from its culture. Malek was a very nice Senegalese man who had limitless conversation and curiosity about me and my goals in Africa. Turns out, he knows of another way in Bambey that I can help out and he was bringing his students there in a few days to do the same. He paid for everyone's lunch and we ate dinner that night at his home in the small village of Rusfisque. During dinner I interacted with the 10 German students he brought and we had great chats about life and the state of the world. I read them poetry and they all wanted my autograph as though I were a famous poet or something (maybe I am and don't know it yet).

Senegal is the fourth country that I have entered into on this journey to South Africa and unfortunately it may be my last. It is amazing to me that no matter how grand your goals are, how much you prepare or how strong your will and determination, the smallest, tiniest, little things can bring your journey, any journey to a complete stop.....

Politically Incorrect

2008-10-24T09:27:00.000-07:00

I am blessed to have some wonderful, beautiful friends. They challenge me, they tolerate my aloofness at times, they respect me, they put up with my soapbox stances, encourage me to do more with my life, while at the same time accepting me just the way I am. I love them dearly. Often, we have these long debates about a myriad of subject matter from the state of Black America to the role of preachers in the church to the readiness of our candidates to run our country. In these debates I usually quote a statistic or utilize my vast trivia knowledge (I am a History Channel, A & E, and PBS fiend) to support my position or statements at the time. In one such debate, I was speaking with Kal about the 2008 election. We had actually started this conversation in late 2006 when we learned who the major candidates were. On the Democratic side in particular, there emerged the two strongest, Barack Obama and Hilary R. Clinton. When I do make bold statements and predictions my friends challenge my sources or make me give specific reasoning behind what I am saying. I truly believe that nine times out of nine I am correct. But there is that rare moment that a prediction I make I get totally wrong.

On February 10, 2007, in an effort to make it clear my stance at the time of what my feelings of what the world and America was ready for in their next leader, I committed to writing who I thought would be the 44th President of the United States of America. Below is that email. And yes, I did get it incorrect. Way wrong. Although, I still stand behind my statements for all the reasons listed, I think it was actually the candidate herself that shifted the momentum to the other candidate and vice versa. Looking back at all that has happened in the 20 months since this email was written; I am so glad that I got this one wrong.

Re: For the Record...(originally written February 10, 2007)

Kal and I have been having this debate that we'd like to include you guys in on: the 2008 Presidential Election. So far, I believe, that most of my predictions have come true (i.e. in Feb 2001 on the train in France that Bush would lead us into war, etc.). So that it is stated early and before the Presidential run season officially begins, I truly believe that the next president of the United States will most certainly, definitively, conclusively and fah sho be none other than Senator Hilary R. Clinton. My reasons are simple: people are upset at the current state of things and with all the attention that Obama is generating, the Dems will finally reach the elusive so called MTV demographic and lead legions of minorities to the polls. Obama will stir things up but will not get the nomination, naturally transferring his support to the next best thing: Clinton.

The world is ready for change and she is it. She is smart, has the right connections and represents more than "the lesser of two evils" that has inflicted politics over the last 40 years or so. More importantly, I believe she represents more than the traditional Dems. vs. Them mentality that she can play up very well and make her campaign more about the issues. Furthermore, the world body is looking for change. While other developed nations have exalted women to powerful positions including Britain with Thatcher (by the way the longest serving Prime Minister in UK history), the US lags so far behind that other nations are looking for this ceiling to change. History is waiting for Clinton and some people will vote for her based squarely on that. The Speaker of the House: a woman; the Sec. of State: woman (black woman at that) the next president: a woman.

However: President Clinton II will ride her historic victory for 2 years after which she will be called upon to fulfill some of her lofty goals, fail and become a 1 term president with no real positive legacy. Therefore ruining it for the Democratic Party for the next 8 years. She will get the incumbent nomination in '12 knocking out Obama (or the next hot ticket) and lose because she will no longer be a novelty, eliminating her fickle minority base....

There, have officially gone on record...any thoughts!!!

Colin Powell: My Favorite Teacher

2008-10-21T11:50:00.000-07:00

I couldn't wait when I turned eighteen to participate in an election, to take my place as an American citizen and cast a vote for the person I felt most qualified to run my city, my state, represent me in Washington DC, or represent this nation as President of the United States of America. In high school I was part of a history class that was designed to give us an indepth knowledge of the US Constitution and then compete in a state competition against several other high schools throughout the State of Indiana. Our inner-city high school had won this state contest five of the past six years up to that point. Our team was the only one in the state with vast racial diversity (meaning the only one with black students), so some of the teams were not only surprised by our continued success, they were visibly upset. I would have to survey a few of my friends, but I don't think that we even understood the complexity of racial discrimination or truly felt its impact at the State Competition. Our success was derived from one of the best teachers of which I ever have had the pleasure of being a student, Mr. Karl Schneider. Mr. Schneider's teaching style I have tried to emulate whenever I am in front of a group of eager minds waiting for knowledge to be poured into them. We were such students. Mr. Sneider though would lead us into certain answers, but never quite gave us the answers. He would approached the subject matter by asking us to find the answers using research methods, critical inquiry and analysis, discussion, and a myriad of other techniques that came from the student rather than the banking model of depositing information in our head only to regurgitate it on tests and class work. His methods had us investigate ourselves and truly discover the wondrous world that transcends the viewing of it in Black & White.

Mr. Schneider encouraged us to set aside friendship, race, class status (in this case it class refers to both economic and high school standing i.e. freshman, sophomore, etc.), physical attributes, and GPA when critiquing the papers and speeches we were developing for the competition. He told us to look within the person delivering the messages and find the flaw in what they were saying not the flaw in the person him/herself. He told us it was no need to revise the person, but ok to challenge their work and encourage revision. The We The People competition was designed for high school students to argue before a panel of judges five to six different categories of issues related to the US Constitution. It was cool how it was set up to mimic a Congressional hearing, so our argument had to be coherent, concise, and credible. The panel was made up of lawyers from around the state, state representatives and professors that knew their respective field as it relates to the Constitution, so we had to be thoroughly prepared. We worked nearly an entire semester in this class studying the Constitution, practicing memorizing our speeches, and learning about each other in the process.

This past Sunday I awakened and turned on the television as I always do and catch the round of Sunday political programming. I had heard buzz that one of my ultimate heroes was going to be on and announce that he would endorse one of the candidates running for President of the United States of America. This was big news because he is one of the most respected military, diplomatic and political figures in the nation and when he speaks people seem to listen. I took a deep breath because I knew the severity of his being on television this day, two week and two days before the election. I wondered exactly what would happen, would he endorse the candidate of the party of which he has benefited from for the past thirty plus years, or would he cross political party affiliation and endorse the candidate that resembles his race. I knew the arguments before they even happened, if he went McCain, the Republican, it would be praised as a thoughtful decision, not a loyal soldier backing his party. In contrast, going Obama, would certainly come off as he is not thinking, he's voting for him simply because he's Black, and not that he did any due diligence in reaching this decision.

I looked on with intent as he was asked, "General [Colin] Powell, are you ready to back any particular candidate for President?" he responded with the most thoughtful, thorough and insightful answer no one else but a seasoned diplomatic statesman such as Colin Powell could deliver. He broke it down into in minute piece and talked very concisely about the vision for America and how the core issues were not being addressed by his party's candidate, such as the current economic crisis and the responses to some of the defamation of the Democratic candidate. He spoke of judgment and how the Sarah Palin fiasco was a disappointment and that he felt she was not ready to be President on day one as the Veep should be (like a back up quarter back ought not be injured if the starter goes down). I was impressed by his answer because it reminded me why I like Powell so much in the first place. Though a staunch loyalist (great soldiers are), he still had an aire of independent thought when it came down to issues that affected the vast majority of the American People.

I thought of Karl Schneider. He taught us about the Constitution, how he loved its concept and despised its misuse. He told us that the true American looks within a situation, a process or a person and make judgments based on character and commitment, and all challenges could be overcome with this type of "on purpose" living. I admire Colin Powell in the same way I admired my history teacher: he was fair, balanced, challenging, respectful, loyal and committed to changing the world for the better. I wish Mr. Schneider could be alive today to witness how far America has come, how the content of one's character overrides pigmentation of the epidermis.

One of the last things I remember about Mr. Schneider is a few weeks before the State competition, he told us we would be the last class that he would ever teach formally, because he would retire at the end of the year. How lucky was I to be taught by this man, who forever changed my life, because he changed the way I processed thought. We won the state competition and went on to place fourth at the National We the People competition that April. Two months later I graduated and Mr. Schneider retired. A few years later he died, but his spirit lives on, because I saw him Sunday morning on television sharing his in-depth wisdom and encouraging the investigation of the issues, the character and commitment of those that will lead our nation. The best teachers teach us to find the teacher and teachable moments in all things....thanks Colin, Karl...

Running for Ray

2008-10-14T18:02:00.000-07:00

I never met Ray. I've never spoken to him on the phone, never have seen a picture, and never have heard his voice. I didn't know one thing about him, that is until I met his daughters. We were all waiting for the Indianapolis 500 Mini Marathon to begin when Kal and I made a pact that we would motivate at least 10 people during the race. This of course we hoped would keep us going and make sure we interacted with a few people of the thirty thousand or so that were running this day. One of the first people we saw were three young women wearing bright yellow shirts that read: "Running for Ray." When I asked them to explain who exactly Ray was, they cheerfully responded, "Ray was mine and her father," pointing to her sister, "and my uncle!" the other young lady chimed in. "Why are you guys 'running for Ray'?" I asked. "Ray is our hero!" Suddenly the wager my three friends and I made seemed all too trivial. Suddenly it seemed no longer enough to just be motivated by not finishing last to prevent me from buying them dinner for the next year. I felt a bit silly, like I could be using this experience for more than a game between friends.

Ray had died a year earlier of cancer. It was his dream to have his little girls (they were in their twenties) run in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with him. But like so many of us that believe that we have unlimited opportunities to spend with those we love most, his dream never came to fruition even though he had completed 12 Mini's prior. So they were running for Ray, but in a way they were running with Ray also. I felt joy for them that they were doing something special for someone they loved, keeping him alive by making a bold statement to complete their father's dream. In turn they inspired a few of us, including me.

When I looked around I saw thousands of such journeys printed on the shirt of people who had a myriad of reasons they were taking time to run the 13.1 miles for "something." The reasons varied from a lost loved one to cancer survivors to a couple that were beating the odds of obesity and completing a run/walk just to prove to themselves that they could do it. "So why are you here, what are you running for?" a gentleman asked me as the race began. "I don't wanna buy dinner, my friends will tell me I suck if I come in last place," I said with a huge smile. Kal laughed. I felt much better about our bet. Once again Kal, Shauntea, Michael and I had set a goal and now were able to complete it. We had spent many adventurous nights laughing and fellowshipping over the years camping at Clifty Falls, getting lost in Paris (Kal and I getting stuck on the train [sigh]), experiencing the ruins of Rome, Naples and Florence, Swimming in the bio-luminescent lagoon of Puerto Rico, New York, Chicago, etc. The bet seemed as good a reason as any.

But secretly, I had another agenda. Twenty years ago at the tender age of twelve, I had ran in the Indianapolis Mini Marathon with my school. We had trained for about nine weeks to prepare for the race that should have taken about 3 hours to complete. At around mile 7 of the 13.1 miles, I came down hard off of a curb and twisted my foot so far I could see the bottom of my shoe and hear a loud cracking sound. OUCH! My teammates saw me stopping and I told them to keep going for I was all right. I wasn't. Not at all. But in those days the route was a little different than it was now. We began at the Monument Circle and ended at the Speedway Track. Therefore my parents were waiting for me 13 mile away at the track! Cell phone technology was non existent and I am a little kid so I didn't know how to ask strangers for help. So I did the best think I could think of: continue running. I ran and ran and tried to forget the pain that was radiating from my shoe and just thought happy thoughts to get me through (iPods--not invented yet!). I did make it to the track and at the entry I saw my father and mother eager to see me and excited that I was almost finished (the track is the last 2 miles of the race). My father came up to me and said that he would run the remaining distance and I said please take me to a hospital where they diagnosed it as a broken ankle. The doctors were shocked that I make it so far on my foot. In other words I never finished.

This day, I was determined to finish, cross the checkered line and make up for the decades that passed that I had this "failure" on my mind. Two hours twenty-one minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, I cross the finish line, first among my friends, who came in within seconds after I did. Although time-wise Michael beat all of us (he began the race a few minute later than we did), and Shautea crossed last, having to purchase dinner for all of us for the remainder of the year, I felt very proud of all of our accomplishments. Kal was battling with knee problems the entire race, Mike, in his second Mini completion, had an injury a few years ago that could have kept him from ever running again, Shauntea completing the Mini for the second time had a newborn baby months prior to the race and I literally collapsed in pain from cramps in my leg as soon as I crossed the finish line. Damn, we're old!

I am so glad we made the bet, not because I get free dinners, but because I get to be free with wonderful people I love dearly and enjoy knowing. I get to challenge and be challenged by beautiful friends that are my heroes. I wish I would have made a T-shirt for them. Some were running to overcome obstacles, just for fun and others--for Ray. But my shirt would have read: Seizing the Opportunity, Running With FRIENDS!

For Fernando Mercado

2008-10-09T21:25:00.001-07:00

This Poem was written for Fernando Mercado, who ended his own life on October 8, 2008, leaving friends, family and an extended network of many who cared to wonder why. My prayer is that those that knew him find some peace and this poem helps you with acceptance of this event......Find opportunities to celebrate his life, and less to mourn his death.

The Best Thing You Can
Do For Me Right Now
a poem for Fernando Mercado

The pain is just too much for me to bear
I don't think anyone anymore even really cares
About my plight that has taken flight
Far above where I can no longer contain it
I can't maintain my sanity
There is a man in me that I don't recognize anymore
I feel so trapped in silence
In a room that contains no doors
At least God manifest a window
So I can at least see that there is a world outside myself
Tear down these walls, oh Lord
I can't afford to pay attention to my sorrows
Happiness seems as uncertain as tomorrow
I feel as though I am followed by storms
And the sun is there to blind me not keep me warm
I often pray for frigid temperatures and snow
Because at least everyone else will feel
The coldness that I seem to know
Everything I touch is a failing endeavor
I can hear everyone laughing and taking pleasure
In seeing me fall flat on my face
So if there is a trace of hope inside of me
I want it to provide for me
A beacon so that I can make it through to the shore
I want to be sure that my pain does not transfer
Into a cancer that love cannot even cure
My message is for you to endure
For you to carry on the burdens of this life
Because it is worth living
It is worth giving of yourself
And being in the company of friends
Don't allow your life to end
Without loving with your best effort
Comfort those that cry for me
And try to be strong
For you have a long way to go
Show me that you care
By being there for each other
That is the best thing you can do for me right now

Derrick S. Slack

10/9/2008

Head of State

2008-10-07T23:06:00.000-07:00

Last year (2007) when I lived in Ghana, I was up late like I am right now, anxious and preparing my notes, doing last minute research and pacing in my hotel room nervously. The next morning I would have met the (in)famous African leader, Robert Mugabe. I had been calling out all week during the African Union summit on my radio show on VIBE FM Ghana for the African heads of state to come on my radio program and "tell their side of the story." I realize with the Western media outlets like the BBC and CNN, the story that was being circulated around the world may not be the lived reality of the people actually living there (there in this case being Zimbabwe). I received word from his people that he was in fact interested in talking with me (I had generated a lot of buzz on my radio programs as a straight shooter and outspoken critic of just about everything, although I was somehow perceived as fair and balanced). I had already interviewed Jesse Jackson (on July 4th ironically) and we had a blast talking about everything American, African and of the African American. I couldn't get a straight answer as to why he was in Accra, Ghana attending the African Union Summit, it seemed like a last minute decision, because he didn't even have credentials to get in the place. But boy what a name makes, he somehow made his way in and, I don't know what he did, he wouldn't really say.

Mugabe was the first (actual) Head of State I had met and had a focused conversation with. He was surprising short (unless I am just abnormally tall) and calm. I thought his presence would fill the room with an ominous mist of fear or an internal loudness that I imagined a "dictator" would possess. But if had not been up all night and all week preparing and getting a crash course in African politics and the situation and history that lead up to what was currently going on in that country, I probably wouldn't have even recognized him. This man came in with two people, not the entourage I had expected, no one checked for bombs or weapons, but somehow I suspected that one of those men had a gun, a machete or at least some tear gas to stun a would-be attacker. I just allowed him talk, asked a few probing questions and kept my word that I would let him tell his side of the story -- which by the way was quite fascinating!

I had the same feeling last night because I knew that today I would see for the first time up close and personal the (what I hope will be) next president of the United States of America: Barack Obama. I had been waiting for him to come back to Indy so I could be one of the first in line to hear history in the making. I woke up early and dressed and was ready to leave when my sister called and said that she too wanted to go, finally accepting my invitation from earlier in the week. I was excited to spend this historic occasion with her. We think we were leaving early to get up front, but to our surprise the line was already wrapped around the entire Fairgrounds where the rally was held. The line had to be (no exaggeration) a mile long! Well, I thought to myself, it's too late to volunteer for this event so that I could get a front row unobstructed view of the man, and its so many people we might not get to get in at all! So I remained patient, after all I am organizing a trip to the Inauguration, so I could potentially get another chance, or I could just fly out to another rally and see him there. The line was moving and pretty fast to get in. So there was hope.

We finally get to the door and are confronted with another obstacle, we had a white ticket. The Orange tickets were for the pit in front of the podium, the green were for the stand behind the podium (where you can be seen forever on film of the rally) and the white tickets were for general admission in the bleachers. I am used to getting into places usually reserved for others, but this place was highly organized and secure. Even my trademark, don't look them in the eye, look like you know where you are going routine didn't work, they wanted to see my ticket. So reach into my pocket and I just so happen to have an orange piece of paper in there that I pull out. Wow, good thing I wore these pants yesterday, when I got an email address written on this paper that I did not remove. I waive it in the air and they let me in. But little sis had to go the other way toward the stands. Somehow minutes later (that Slack ingenuity) she shows up at my side in the pit in front of the stage. We have the perfect spot!

Two and a half hours later waiting in the rain, we see him. Unlike Mugabe, this man was tall, full of energy and his presence filled the outdoor stadium with something I can only describe as special. I knew that I was looking at our next president. We met several friends and were all inspired to not only go out and vote, but to go out and change the world. So many people in one small place and nothing terrible happened, I felt blessed being there. I also felt the confirmation for my own path to greatness. Listening to him I heard my friends, relatives, strangers alike telling me that I potentially have that same power that I saw so fluently radiate from this man. I felt as if I could be an officer of change, that I could speak to the multitudes, inspiring them to overcome challenges and stand up to adversity. I wanted to go back in time (just a year and half ago) and speak with Robert Mugabe again armed with this knowledge and challenge him to do more with the power he has. To use it to bring beauty, peace, prosperity....like Barack will as a Head of State.

Racist Attribute

2008-10-07T07:54:00.000-07:00

Nearly each day I call in to the Greg Garrison Show on WIBC 93.1 in
Indianapolis and debate many issue with the host Greg Garrison, a
conservative former prosecutor in the area. This particular show he
went off when I questioned some of his comment of how "Barack Obama
scared him" and how he "absolutely fears this man. He was praising
Sarah Palin for her "experience" and grace and how she is a breath of
fresh political air, etc. This is the letter I wrote to explain
further my position. For an archive of the show go to
(http://wibc.com)

_________________________

Greg,

I fully understand your frustration with people using race as a factor when bringing up certain issues, and your visibly (audibly) getting upset this morning. Let me be clear I was NOT calling YOU a racist! Please check the archive of the show this morning (September 24, 2008, around 10:37 AM). Believe it or not Greg racism is still a problem, perhaps not as overtly institutional as a generation ago, but it certainly still does exist on an individual basis. I am sure that at least one, two or maybe even a thousand of these individuals listening tune in and hear "Look, guys, I'm a smart guy, a lawyer even, and I am so afraid of the Black man running for president...but the other candidate's VP, whom I have only heard speak once or twice, she has to be all right....she's White AND a woman, so we have NOTHING to fear with her." I know the power of radio, and even further know the power of ignorance, primarily why I chose to get into education and dedicate my life to helping dispossessed people around the world. And face it, like your guest said today, most Americans get their news from talk radio and the internet, and a lot of it, yes including your show, is from a narrow perspective. When I can hear colleagues regurgitating
comments from the day before's Rush Show it worries me, especially since, when challenged on their view they give me a look as if to say, "Well I heard it on the [news/Rush/Garrison/Fox/etc.] so it must be [what I should be thinking/true/valid]."

You gave a lot of time today in defense of YOU not being a racist, and I do respect you for your comments, your show and that you allow me on even though you know 93% of the time I will have an opposing viewpoint. You even said that you "don't want that (the race card) brought up again." That's great but I challenge you to have a conversation with anyone about the GOPs VP choice without bringing up the 1) she's a woman, 2) opposing views on her are sexist. Perceived
racism/sexism, is just as real as the indoctrination of it. For according to some examples you have said on your show, i.e. African Americans are CEO of large corporations (Dick Parsons, Bob Johnson, Kenneth Chenault, others), have an equal access to higher education, have served in the highest branches of our government (Senate, Congress, Supreme Court, Sec. of State,etc.), even one of them is running for president, so by in large we can move passed this race thing.

We have moved a very, and I mean very long way from the racist (and sexist) founding of this country. But when you can say people are being sexist for their view of one and NOT being racist for the other, I question your intentions. Haven't women been given the same access to education, been leaders of government, large corporations, and 18 million people voted to have one as the Chief Executive of their beloved country? Are not we beyond the sexism that has defined Western Civilization? Why not give as much time explaining this to your listening audience?

On the issues, Palin is empty, you have to realize this. She was chosen and a political ploy to win votes, not make policy. Obama, whether you agree with his policies, is at least speaking about them. McCain's campaign chief admitted at the RNC that the election is about personality, not policy or the issues. This scare me to no end that they'd rather have an empty pretty face one heart beat away from the Presidency, then a proven uniter of both policy and personality.

I enjoy our conversations, regardless if in my attempt to try to at least get someone to think about the other side actually happens, I would like to continue trying. But, I certainly apologize for being unclear as to calling you a racist, for I was not......can't promise not to bring up race though, for I believe it is an important subject to explore.

Derrick
http://www.dslack.com

Sterling's Silver

2008-09-25T04:32:00.000-07:00

I met Sterling about 2 1/2 years ago when I became the first
African-American male to teach at his high school. He was in my
poetry class and was always eager to display for me his new rhymes that
he had written and viewed himself more of a rapper than poet. Everyday
he would come to me (before and after class) and share with me his work
and general guy stuff in which he wanted my advice. Having a strong
physical presence (being 6'2" tall and hair running the length of my
back) and an all too confident spirit that all things are possible and
of course being the only African-American male adult at the school made
me quite a popular novelty (school is more than 95% African American
and Latino). This was especially true for my male students. Perhaps
it is because we are in a society plagued by children being reared by a
single parent, usually the mother, the male students generally will
gravitate to me and often latch on to my every move and word as though
I were the father they longed for and needed. I both enjoyed and am
flattered to have had this opportunity and responsibility.

But I couldn't figure out Sterling. He would often tell me
stories about his home life that in many ways differed from his peers
at school. He and his siblings were fortunate to have two parents in
the house and both with advanced education. He adored his father and
would tell me stories that seemed wild about his profession and life.
His parents were Princeton grads and a host of other wonderful
accomplishments he revealed to me about them. But the way he attached
himself to me and seemed to look up to me, made me wonder internally if
in fact all of what he told me of his parents were true. Perhaps some
of the adventures and general attitudes they carried with them were a
bit exaggerated. My experiences (or ignorance) led me to believe that
these students needed a father-figure, so why would someone with one
treat me in the same way as someone without one. It was just hard for
me to understand Sterling.

That was until I reached Accra, Ghana and met a man named Dexter.
Ghana was my 8th African country I had visited on this adventure and up
until that point I had met 12 Germans, 9 Dutch, 7 French, 2 Mexicans, 2
Swiss, 1 Portuguese, 1 Englishmen, and 1 guy from Japan, but Dexter was
the first African-American. I called him while I was in Togo and
informed him that I would be in Ghana (the neighboring country to the
west) the next day. He was in Ghana only another day and a half,
heading off to a business meeting in Sierra Leone and agreed to hook up
with me when I arrived in Ghana. I was excited because I had only
spoken to Dexter one other time months prior in New York when he called
me because he heard about my Mt. Kilimanjaro experience and he was
interested in climbing it. And now we meet face to face for the first
time half a world away.

Four hours after leaving Lome, Togo, I arrive at Dexter's Hotel
and when he approached, I instantly knew who he was. It was like I had
already met this man before. In a way, I actually had. Dexter is the
father of Sterling. "Hey, D. Slack!" he says with a big, inviting
smile, firm handshake, and voice resembling the one he lent to his
son. I outlined this update even before I experienced it, thinking
that the main theme of it would be about Black Americans and our lack
of enthusiasm for international travel, evident for the fact had hadn't
met any along this path. I was reserving it for when I met the first
African-American. So swirling in my mind on my way to Accra were ways
to complete this message. But that was of course until I met Dexter.

This man is certainly alive. With a thirst for life and seemed to
completely enjoy the vast experiences he was afforded. After helping
me secure a room at the hotel (helping by paying for it), we get a
beverage and he says, "Man, I have a lot for you to do today!" and he
begins to tell me of all things that could happen this day. After
eliminating the smell of the road trip off of me, we go to the arts
market to look for a few things, then to the monthly meeting of the
AAAG (African American Association of Ghana). He was invited by a lady
who ran several NGOs in Ghana and thought that me linking up with her
would be fruitful to my mission in Africa. And this encounter has
proven the most fruitful thus far! There were 20 Black Americans at
this meeting. In just a matter of hours I met the largest number of a
particular nationality.

I met so many progressive people interested in helping Africa and
those across the African Diaspora at this meeting and in some way each
has influenced me, causing me to alter the course of my journey
slightly. I have always dreamed of being part of a school in Africa
(founding one or helping administer one) and I met a young lady from
Atlanta who has just opened one in Accra. This journey I wanted to
help African people, socially, economically, spiritually and I met
several people that have provided me with opportunities to utilize my
energy and talents to do just that. And through Dr. Sandra Ross, the
lady introduced to me through Dexter, I even got a teaching job (funded
by Gate Foundation).

After the meeting, Dex took me on a mini tour of some of the
Attractions in Accra. And some of what I saw truly surprised me. The
infrastructure of Ghana has vastly improved in the three years since I
have been here. This may be because the world right now is looking in
at Ghana, waiting for it to take the lead on changing the face of
Africa. This year (2007) marks the 50th year anniversary of Ghana
Independence, the first African country to win independence from European
colonial rule. Pioneering freedom, innovation and stability, Ghana has
the opportunity to become the beacon of hope for other developing
nations in Africa. Comparatively speaking, it is clearly decades
beyond the other 7 African nations I have been to thus far on this
journey. But like everything else, it has years to catch up to truly
compete global as a solid and truly independent nation.

Dex and I had many such conversations about life, politics,
America, Africa, business, public school education and we truly became
fast friends laughing, joking and hanging out. By the time I actually
closed my eyes to sleep 24 hours was in between then and when I woke up
that morning in Togo. It was certainly my longest day thus far in
Africa and honestly one of my very best. Dex had trouble with his
ticket and had to cancel Sierra Leone, so he had an extra day and a
half before he had to fly out to Kenya (conincedentally, my exact next
destination). We hung out some more and I not only gained a friend,
but more understanding of why Sterling was the way he is. Unlike most
of the male students I have encountered, Sterling was not searching for
a replacement for his father, rather he saw so much of his father in
me. We liked so much of the same things it was kind of scary. We
wrote with the same blue Bic pen with the comfort grips (the only pen I
write my journal entries with and the only one Dex uses), we ordered
the same things on the menu and even (here's the scary part) had the
exact same Samsung t809 mobile phone.

When learning these things about each other, he said what I was
thinking: "Man, it's no wonder my son loves you so much....I see why he
talks about you all the time." I smiled. Warm fuzziness invaded my
heart, thinking, "I see why he talks about you all the time too!". It hasn't been
often that I have heard that I have made some
sort of positive impact on someone, yes, I have seen the positive
difference that I potentially have made in a child's life, but hearing
it can never get old. It made me think about some of the conversations
I have had with Sterling. He always seems to have a answer to
everything and is always optimistic about his future and abilities,
just like Dex his father. Meeting Dex made me appreciate the work that
I am able to do in a young person's life, and also of the more important
role parents play.

Dexter Wadsworth seems to both enjoy and except his role as good
man, great father and now to me, a wonderful friend. His golden smile,
diamond outlook, platinum personality has passed on to his Sterling as
one beautiful silver lining in darkened skies. Dex, I can't until I
see you again, 25 years younger, discussing poetry, rap and general guy
stuff......

African Journey #1

2008-09-25T04:09:00.000-07:00

The last time I was in Africa (exactly 10 months ago to date) I
just about froze to death. I lost some brains cells because of it, but
for some reason I was on top of the tallest free standing mountain in
the world, Mt. Kilimanjaro, about to die yet determined to make it to
the top: and I did. What a reward! Now, as I sit here in Fes,
Morocco, I am once again freezing. However this time there is no
mountain I can use to justify leaving the brisk wintry, snow filled,
slush ridden sidewalks of New York City only to be caught in the winter
rainy season of North Africa. Cold as ever! Here I am Bermuda shorts
and all getting off the plane only to think, like some people just a
day earlier, we had been stuck on the runway for the last 6.5 hours.
How can I travel all the way to Africa and be this cold, I thought to
myself. That turbulence must had been my stomach grumbling. I whisked
on my jacket and sweater and braved the chilly Casablancan air. Where
is my reward?

Thirty minutes and several passport and customs checks later I
discovered my reward: I was in Morocco! I had made it, once again I
dreamed of Africa and here I was on its soil, no matter how chilly/cold
the air, I was here.

Arriving in the morning, I spent the day getting acclimated to the
Moroccan culture and familiarizing myself with where things were how to
use the trains and how the currency worked. I knew I'd be here a week
and these things proved to be important know-hows. I stayed the night
in Casablanca, waking up early to head to Meknes to link up with folks
I had been in contact to hopefully volunteer. Meknes proved to be a
dead end because my contact was unavailable this week. I arrived too
late to Meknes to really see the city, so I got a hotel and rested. I
wrote in my journal on the way to Meknes for God to send me an angel
upon arriving and when I stepped from the train there was an eager
Braham, registered tour guide and happy to see me. He directed to me
to a nice hostel and told me to go to Fes and see its Medina (from my
understanding to seeing several Medinas now it is the old part of the
city, completely surrounding by a wall with entry points/gates along
the way to get in). I was just happy to have a place to stay that was
cheap and clean so I said I would check it out.

Again the turbulence rumbles in my stomach. Searching for food I
stumbled upon a quaint restaurant with a very nice man all smiles that
brightened the darkest night. I sat down to eat and he sat right down
with me and we chatted the night away talking about our respective
homes and about the journey in which I was preparing to engage. He
gave me pointers of how to navigate and which parts to stay away from
and after dinner he took me on a tour of the city. Meknes turned out
to be a wonderful place rich in history with grand castles that date
back hundres of years. After the tour we embraced and a piece of my
heart opened to put a piece of his inside. I will remember this angel
sent to me to meet.

Awaking the next morning, I quickly dressed and headed for the
train to take me an hour to Fes. Again in my journal I wrote a prayer
for guidance and protection and to only send an angel to help me today,
casting away all things negative that can happen. Again, getting off
the train there was Braham, who had taken the earlier train to Fes
coming toward me with big eyes and a smile. He directed me to a hotel
to put my things and to freshen up. Putting my things away I said to
myself, "this dude is about to rip me off, he smelled me coming." But
just as quick I reminded my self of the prayer I had written asking for
protection and only an angel be brought my way, and smiled eager to go
get my blessing.

Braham in deed turned out to be a blessing! He took me high in
the hills to see the Fes Medina from high up and it looked like how I
imagined the cities in the Bible would look. And it turns out this
city (maintaining a wealth of it original splender) dates back nearly
1500 years. We went down into the Medina and explored the old ways and
spoke to many people whose crafts were many generations old. The
streets of this Medina were so narrow that only one and a half people
can fit side by side ion the streets. Therefore cars were prohibited
to enter. The only form of transportation was the mule taxis that
carried your things. Braham was an interesting source of knowledge
about Morocco, its culture and he too wanted to hear stories of my home
and my journey. We exchanged many thought s and stories and parted
late int he evening at my hotel. I relaxed to the feeling that this
journey was starting to take shape.

The next day I traveled north (6 hour train ride) to Tangier, the
closest point from Morocco to Spain. Tangier was a hip town full of
Europeans and people there spoke so many different languages that no
one seemed to understand each other. Needing to be in Marrakesh (10
hour train ride south) by Saturday (I was on Thursday at the time), I
tried to get a quick ferry across the waters to Spain. It turned out
there is no quick or cheap way to accomplish this so I did not go.
Each journal entry has ended with the same prayer for protection and
the arrival of an angel. This blessing came in the form of a man named
Ydriss. The train rides are so long and when you can get an entire
bench to yourself you seize the moment and stretch out to sleep. I
made it about two hours like this before a woman tapped violently on my
shoulder telling me to move over. Her and her family took ALL of the
remaining space and pushed me in a corner against the window. A few
curse words and unpleasant things said about her mother floated in my
head, but again I felt I was being tested and tried to make the best of
this situation. It turned out that this family was the wife, mother,
sister, and son of Ydriss, who came into the car later and introduced
himself and we spoke for hours about everything. Upon getting off the
train he invited me to the hotel with his family and he would negotiate
a good price for the night. I followed him there and rested well the
night.

The next day Ydriss took his family to the ferry for Spain where
they live and we hung out the entire day, him telling me stories of his
Moroccan home people he has met in his life and I did the same. He
took me on tour of the Tangier Medina, had someone fix my phone and
later we boarded a train headed south to Marrakech. He owns a shop
here in Marrakech, speaks 8 languages and turned out to be a great
listener and friend. At one point we were laughing so hard that soda
came out of my nose. We really connected when I let him listen to my
poetry on my iPod and promised him I'd leave a poem with him that I
write before I leave.

I think this is a good place to stop. I am leaving Marrakech
tomorrow headed south to Mauritania and then on to Dakar, Senegal where
I will begin my mission work helping my African Brothers and Sister
there.

Language of Love (dedicated to Maroc)

Love is the language of which we were all born native speakers
Conversing in laughter and games we play
While breaking bread like brothers
We are no different-- Citizens of this world
Our blood flows through us like the mighty ocean
Ebbing against the Tangier sands
Love is the language spoken when strangers
break their silence and connect palms and eye contact
And smiles and stories of their home
Only to realize that we were from the same place
We breathe the same air and our tears originate from similar pain
Love is synonymous with "Welcome"
For it invites peace breaking the barriers of what is unknown
And embracing faith
I have known such a love while ingesting cous cous with lamb
And exchanging side wrenching laughter in the Marrakech Medina
I have felt its presence under the Moroccan moon
Surrounded by its wind that send chills like the serenity of a silent prayer
Love is the Hand of God manipulating our moments so that we may meet
Love knows no nationality
It is a language spoken only with our hearts
Heard only when we open our minds
Love is the reason we dance, or play music, or sing, or cry, or whistle
Live, die, try, dream, believe, hope or travel
It is what we give our sons as we bid farewell
Sending them off to distant lands unknown
What we give our brothers as they dream of new worlds
And possibilities uninhibited by fear
What we provide for our sisters as they struggle to remain positive about life
Love is the gift given to the world by God
More abundant than air, for it transcends life
More beautiful than the African Landscape at dusk
And more fertile than its soil, for it can grow in the harshest
Climates of hatred and bitterness created by borders
Love is more delicate than a newborn child
Wild like a rose among dandelion
It is a language without a dictionary defined only by the
Good we find in others, in ourselves
It is what we speak each time we close our eyes and dream
Speak to me, my friend, in Love
And our souls will be forever altered
Our hearts will sings songs
And loneliness will disappear

Derrick S. Slack
24/Feb/2007
Marrakech, Maroc

John Mc(Wayne)

2008-09-25T03:41:00.000-07:00

The latest polls have Barack Obama for the first time above 50%, an unprecedented feat that (I pray) carry on through the election in less than six weeks. What also is unprecedented is the fact that yesterday, John McCain suspended his campaign and rushed back to Washington to sort of oversee what the Fed is going to do regarding the $700 billion dollar bank bailout. I cannot believe that the poll numbers and this campaign suspension are unrelated. McCain is shaking in his maverick boot at the notion that he will lose in November that his pulled this stunt to appear as if he is putting the country first. But think about, what good will he actually do in Washington, other than do what we are all doing, wait and see. And listening to his cue card holding, oneliner, side kick running mate, I just get frustrated that this man seems so desperate to win that all of these antics are making a mockery of the whole election process. When asked by Katie Couric on specifics, Palin, could only regurgitate the rehearsed lines that were given to her from the campaign, with no elaboration, insight or depth. Now this suspension thing. I pray that America is smart enough to look passed the stunts and look to the only candidate that is about the real. BO will inherit a broken White House, broken Washington, broken system, and more than likely will be blamed even for this latest bailout mess, but he will rise to the occasion and prove to the world that he was the best choice for the job. Those John Wayne, run home and be a hero days of Washington politics are over Mr. Palin, I mean Wayne....sorry McCain.

19, 340: Almost....

2008-09-23T21:17:00.001-07:00

Samuel Dhumass-Blacksmith (fictitious name), inventor of the game horseshoes, on his deathbed said the following, "In my life I almost did a great many things, but I have learned that the only time almost counts is in the game I invented" then he died. Obviously the idiot in the family, Dhumass-Blacksmith was dead wrong! Anyone who almost lost everything they worked for in a hurricane or was runner-up in a beauty contest, or got a Silver Medal in the Olympics or was two hours short from the top of....wait I'm going too fast.

Day 3

I woke up late and was feeling extremely delirious when I went to the bathroom outhouse and for a minute I didn't know where I was. I was nearly feeling the full effects of High Altitude Sickness (HAS) with a

full blown headache and the funny bloated turning feeling in my stomach. I didn't sleep well at all the night before with the tossing and turning and these crazy, bad dreams that I felt were caused by not having a pillow (you try sleeping on a pad made for a midget with no pillow). I was though all packed to go to our first major altitude

test at Lava Tower which is 4,600 M (15,000ft). We ate lunch there and man was it some test. The altitude was murder, my hands swelled to nearly twice their already enormous size and the headache went from

a 7.6 right up to 11.9. We stayed there for about an hour to "acclimate" and then headed down to about 3,900 M where we would camp. During the 3 hours it took to get to camp I had to utilize some DSlack Mind Trick to take total control of my body who kept saying, "Dude, I'm tired let's give up" I said back to it ignoring its requests to cower, "I can, I will, I must, I trust...my mind is stronger than my body!" saying this only 4,003,274 times till camp.

Day 4

No appetite, deadly sign of HAS. I only drank some tea the porters served, not realizing I only ate the eggs and not the 4 other courses they offered. We trekked for about 4:30 to the next camp which was about 4,300M and I am convinced that I have full blown HAS only without the vomiting that usually occurs (good sign I only hope).

Though the only reason I wasn't actually returning my food to the earth the wrong way was perhaps I wasn't eating, now at all. I retreated to my tent freezing cold around 13:00 and an hour later the porters were shoving food in my tent. They came back about 45 minutes later to see that I hadn't touched a thing. They kept waking my up

every 5-10 minutes saying eat. By the time dinner came and everyone figured I wasn't eating, they sent in the big guns: Joshua, my guide. A very matter-of fact speaking gent, he said, "Derrick, my friend, eat or you will die tomorrow!" I took to the soup like air, and the other food-like concoction like water, or so I thought. After learning that I still had only eaten very little, they said they would make a big breakfast and let me sleep. I slept all of 16 hours.

Day 5

We only hike for 3 hours, but they seem like 35, with my HAS and all and lack of food. Anyway we hike to 4,600M where we camp and rest for our midnight attempt at the highest point in Africa. By the time we get to camp, me singing to my self about how much stronger by mind is than my body, my 11.9 headache went all the way down to 2. Of course this gives me confidence that I can in fact make this dream happen. I still do not eat and I can see the pained look in Joshua's eye. He simply says that I need this food for energy, but he will make sure I have some cookies and tea before we leave at midnight. I sleep surprisingly well.

Day 5/6

I was awakened at 23:22 and the porters were excited for me. They made the tea and then served me the cookies and I must have swallowed them whole. My headache now completely gone! I can do this! I thought to myself and with a final look at all the encouragement and love received from back home I thought, yeah I really can do this...to the top we go. We leave at exactly 0:30 and we head into the darkness up to Uhuru Peak, the highest...well you know, Africa. "Pole, Pole (pronounced po-lay, po-lay)" Joshua and John who for some reason decided to go with us this time out, say. "Pole, Pole" (Swahili for slow, slow) I shout back excited and a bit nervous. This trek to the top should take 6 hours where the sky is clear just in time to see the beautiful sunrise and other awesome views from the top.

Day 6...the first 2 hours

I am making a great run at it only stopping every 500 steps or so (what else are you to do on a mountain in five layers of clothing, surrounded by snow and nothing else, so you count your steps and make up words, songs, etc.?). My mind is stronger than my body; I am certain of this at this point. Oh, Uh, the Body fights back. "We'll see who's stronger..." it says making my knees shake. "Uh, Body, I'm in control here" Mind says with agitation in its tone. My Body gave another shot and made my knees wither once again. My Mind growing more convinced of its imminent defeat says, "my mind is as strong as my body...ok already we're equals let's make it to the top of this thing!" Not liking the tone, Body makes my back, knees, arms and everything else shut down. This process takes 2 hours.

Day 6...Almost

Body scores so many points that the Mind is defeated. Mind stops its arrogance and is now under complete control of Body. "Eh, I didn't make it....I've come further than perhaps I was capable...It's not so bad to get 2 hours from the top there's no shame in that" Mind saying totally brainwashed. Joshua and John are trying to encourage me, but there is no use...I'm done. The lack of food and the HAS and everything else running through my mind is all pointing to failure...all system failure. I begin to cry. Well, I almost made it to the top and I guess Dhumass-Blacksmith was right, Horseshoes Game contains the only valuable "almost". Feeling like a failure, Joshua says, "You are so fatigued we need to get you down, this mountain isn't worth your life!" He's right, I guess until I learned how you get off of a mountain...manually. "You mean we have to walk back the same way we came?" I look back, take a long, hard, deep breath (50mph winds and all) and Mind says to Body, "Dude where's your second wind, you always have a second wind, you beautiful Black Body you" Body too an ego-maniac, but stubborn, continues the fatigue. Almost, Almost, Almost.

Day 6...Giving up?

Nothing worked to get Body moving again and it's been 30 minutes in the blistering cold, not the water (now completely frozen), the banana chips some Americans gave me two days before...nothing. So, Mind now trying to fight back and refusing to give up because it would be (physically) harder in its mind to go back 4 hours rather than 2 hours up (not realizing that is more hours to get down, oh well). So Mind remembers we have one last "energy drink" in the pack. This isn't an energy drink at all it's truly canned tang with added orange pulp...disgusting! But I ingest this nonetheless and say four words that changed the very course of my history, "I can do this!" Joshua, hearing the shear determination in my voice, says "ok then twinde (let's go)". I grabbed him hard, turning him around and deeply look him in the eyes and say, "Don't you dare let me fail!" Mind wins, although Body gave it a go at taking control, it did have a second wind in it after all.

Day 6...on top of the world

We take 2 hours to reach Gillman's Peak, the "almost" of the peaks, the second highest point in Africa, and all my emotions flowed out of me. I felt such a shear sense of accomplishment that tears and every emotion known to man came out at once. I (almost) did it! All of this caught on the video camera I brought to capture such beautiful moments. People were coming over to me wondering what the heck was wrong. "I made it! I made it!" I shouted. One person came over and shot that to Hell. "No you almost made it, the true peak is up there" Up there was another hour. So off to stand on top of the world we go. Mind was in full control and Body knew it would share in this glorious story if we made it so it complied (ahh, the male ego). One hour later, cameras rolling, I stand on top of Africa, yes I made it. All the months of preparation, all the annoying count downs, all the metaphors came down to this one very important moment in the battle between what your mind is capable of and how much you can push yourself beyond what you thought were your limits. Uhuru Peak, the Highest Most Awesome Place to have a dream come true.

Day 7...The Certificate

The day before, I made sure I had everything packed and ready to complete our descent to Mweka Village to receive my Certification that I summited the great mountain. This 3 hour trek took us an exciting 2 hours (surprising because Day 6 we hiked a total of 14+ hours). Anyway when we reach the bottom, my tour company was waiting and giving congrats and I received my certificate and felt like I won the Nobel Prize for Not Giving Up.

So this trek to the top didn't go as planned, I had no idea I would get so close and feel that way, but it lends itself to a great and wonderful story that I am sure I will annoy you with for the rest of your lives. But don't yell at me too much, after all I will at least be alive to tell it.

The Bank Bailout

2008-09-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

It always amazes me the hypocrisies the flow from Washington especially those on the Right. They clamor in groups against Obama talking about his strategies will lead to a bigger government. Obama is in a sense advocating that Big Gov get more involved in the lives of the average American, not so much to intrude, but more to make sure we have the tool necessary to live a prosperous life. This current situation with Big Gov, leads us to bailout the large corporations when for so long we were made to feel guilty that we were losing our houses and it was our fault for buying too much house (that they say we couldn't afford). For nearly two years while the CEOs of these companies were getting richer and the gap between them and their employees were widening, they were looking down their noses at our mismanagement of our personal funds (most of which was going to rising property taxes, gas bills, rising utilities, and food soring out of control). So now the Big Biz calls upon their leader GWB to cash in on their favors he promised seven years ago when he ran for the job the first time, saying that he would be the President for Big Biz, lowering their taxes and easing the regulations, i.e. the FCC.

There is an argument that states that had the government stepped int o help the markets, there would not have been a Great Depression and that helping the largest Corporations will trickle down to the common man. It is true that these companies need people to work in them, they do not run themselves. But a lot of these companies have been send there work force overseas to cut expenses, while their products and services have on average increased. And of course while their CEOs get richer and richer the middle class is quickly fading away.

Living in third world countries (on purpose), I saw the devastation of a non-existing middle class. The gap between the haves and the have not is so great in places like Ghana that the common person essentially has neither the ability to advance, nor the power to change his lot. When businesses rule the government and greed is the law of the land, the nation is doomed. Bailout the people, suspend taxes for a year so we can keep all of our money, and we, the Great People of the United States will revive and stimulate this economy like never before.

DS

Welcome into my Randomness

2008-09-18T11:49:00.000-07:00

This blog has been created to organize some of my random thoughts and feelings that I believe should be shared. Friends and family alike (and occasionally the local talk radio) get my rants about a myriads of subject matter and I think that most, if not all should be archived (for future reference, Kal, because I am right 9 times out of 9).

Anyway, I am kidding,I am not always right and would welcome the challenging of my opinions (and sources, and motives, etc.). With what is going on currently in this country and the world, I believe that healthy discussions should take place. In this space, I will not censure my thought nor yours, if you so choose to participate. Some of what I will place in here is quite old, but feel free to comment of those too, because I have several articles and posting everywhere, I want to put them all in one place.

Not all things I write in this thing will be important, some of it I must admit will be down right stupid in certain contexts, and I may post the occasional "what happened to me today" blog, because you know I get board too sometimes. If you can tolerate me and my crazy mind, I think we will enjoy the space we share here quite well.

Tell a friend to get in on the debates! I dare you...

DSlack