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Verdict after verdict, we keep getting fed disappointment. And the ‘we’ I’m referring to is Us who have confided in this judicial system for some semblance of justice, or righteousness, or fairness, or a whole host of other phrases purported to represent freedom and peace of mind we were conditioned to believe our allegiance to this great nation would afford us. Like many affected by the tidalwave of verdicts in which we had hung our faith, I too am torn. But not so much in whether or not to trust a social system alleging a promise of representation and sovereignty for the People who created it, but more in terms of my sentiment for My people, wandering aimlessly in search of an explanation, an understanding, a discernible cause to which they can pinpoint the source of this relentless hate that seems to cast over them like a magnetic cloud of inadequacy. This torn I know is more a wound absorbed vicariously through those for whom I bear a self-inflicted burden.

Interestingly, I’ve been accused of lacking passion, that burning fire to conquer something unseen. I won’t deny that my demeanor can portray such attitudes, for I even walk with a California cruise. However, I’ve always felt my passions lay deeper and pulse harder, but not for me. I am not so sure that I am here for my own benefit. On this Earth I mean. Since birth I’ve been given everything, be it natural physical ability, elite intellect, or opportunities to access forums of people, information, and experiences many wouldn’t fathom. These are not gifts to be proud of in the traditional sense. They are merely tools, for I’ve been blessed if you will with unimaginable perspective. That’s why people love being around me. You won’t find anyone with whom I’ve spent significant time who wouldn’t say Ramses is one of the most pleasant people with whom to share space. Hear me for my truth and openness. These gifts are tools to connect, to share, to open the minds and hearts not afforded the awareness of their freedom to think freely. The Freedom to think Freely!

Consumed with fear and hesitation, what ability do we have to see ourselves in the pupils of our rarest strangers? Of course we approach with caution, our defenses up, weapon in arms, prepared to subdue any perpetrator we interpret as trespassing on our presumed right to manipulate nature. Our shields drawn and cold-hearted body armor wielded to intimidate any neighbor we mistook for conjuring the very fears we carry between our wallets, purses, pockets, and padlocks, unaware that our thoughts alone concocted such a gross projection. How can the beat-walking evening officer not assume threat when he sees my nappy crown floating atop an unshaven shadowy face wearing the wrinkles past down from ancestors too frightened to leave with Harriet? Why wouldn’t I flex my chest and raise my voice to any uniform who forcibly escorted my grandparents out of the house we grew up in because the mortgage agreement fine-print stipulated that they never owned the property anyway, even though it was their energy and potential labor that created the credit to fund the mortgage loan in the first place. Reduced to meddling tenants in our own neighborhoods, why wouldn’t I stand with my brothers to defend the last frontier we know, since eminent domain and manifest destiny confiscated my ability dream about something I could see with these two eyes?

I guess my pain is inevitable and though torturously piercing, I better learn to cope so not to be detained for voicing an opinion inconsistent with those kind enough to guarantee my rights just long enough to sell them as collateral for their nefarious bookkeeping. I suppose I should be grateful….

The fact alone that many may not read this far, or be able to interpret my sarcasm plagues the heart that was designed to share love with them. Imaginably, the most hurtful feelings arise when I care for the lives and peace of mind for my human family more than they care to stop killing themselves at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, swearing daily curses like “I can’t complain,” “Oh, I’m not too bad, just a little tired,” or even “Good Mourning!”…….. What The F***!!! Do we even listen when we speak? Do we care that we create our realities in every moment of every day? Or are we just happy to stay churning the same hamster wheel that’s blinded us in a sea of monotony? For at least then we know we always have another responsible party to blame for their failure to replace the cheese in our cage.

Eventually, after some sunlight and a host of butterfly effecting breaths, my stint of frustration hits a ceiling and I am left only with borrowed verses from Lauryn Hill or India.Arie and “I love to love myself unconditionally.” How can I not? Like I mentioned, in one way or another I was given everything. The most important of these gifts I call perspective, seeded in life experience from a multitude of angles (or angels depending on your degrees of overstanding) shared with contemporaries of all walks. It is no accident that I see remnants of myself in any eyes in which I’ve peered.

With such a comprehensive journey accompanying such youth, I am left only with knowing how I alone am the sole responsible party for inviting any such pain and confusion into my life, and likewise my bliss. For football and athletics in general, the purest form of physical manifestation of which I’m aware, has taught me that at any moment any player, regardless of their vantage point, can alter the climate of a contest. The courage and determination to assert a will is unlimited in scope. It is he or she with the iron will that most influences the outcome of any verdict. Perhaps the question is, ‘what do we will ourselves To BE?’ The power is in the People. It has never left. Sometimes we just require a mirror to discern our own wrinkles a little more clearly. Perhaps you’ll even BE inspired to re-read these leaves and replace the I’s with We’s.

♦ELUVU ⋅ RAVAYE♦,

– Ramses The Jolly GREEN Giant