After I had waded through the waters of Katrina through the streets of New Orleans, I looked back from my place of refuge on the faces of my sisters. Katrina exposed the city’s great secret of poverty but that’s not all I saw. As I looked upon their faces, I saw countless numbers of dreams deferred. I believe that hidden in the depth of every person’s heart is a true calling. I believe her cry for help was more than for her immediate circumstance. Her cry is from an ache within for a century-old escape route. Even when she sings louder, there is no one there to hear her song. If she gives up and turns back, she is then relegated to a role that supports the dreams of others who give little thought of her dreams. I believe there are those who stand still and are caught dead in the water like the drug dealer who refuses to turn back but can’t find the way. I believe few find that path but when it is discovered it is evidenced by an endless pursuit.
But then there are those like me who know the way but it has been barracked by years of traditional and cultural oppression. I have heard it said by those of old, tales of archaic times when people were judged by the color of their skin and not the content of their hearts. They spoke of acts long ago when the contributions of the us’s were recycled, repackaged and represented as someone else’s; raping the source of genius and leaving the genius behind. I believed their tales were folklore until any direction for me would not do. When I found that calling that was all mine and I begin to walk down that path, I begin to understand the unspeakable fight that could only barely be articulated because the burden is so heavy. It is a fight that is masked in a cloud of suspicion. How can I grasp a cloud or define the ever illusive slight. I could give up and turn back. I could stand still in an act of defiance that accomplishes little. Or I can choose to push forward.
If I believe my calling is worth the struggle, I will continue to tread my path through troubled the waters.
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