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Women’s History Month Salute to Teachers: She/Hers/Nation

How absolutely blessed I am to be a third generation educator. I proudly identify as a middle-aged, Black woman educator, Pan-African Nationalist, granddaughter, daughter, Mother (intentional capital ‘M’), and educator. In fact, like many other educators, the bulk of whom are female, I am/we are every woman – she/hers/nation . . .

Women educators are empowered, life changing, Revolutionary, nation builders. I know because not only am I striving to live up to this fine tradition; I am also blessed to come from the greatness of which I speak. How fortunate that I have inherited a legacy of service as an educator on good authority and with this gift of inheritance I hereby salute ALL educators, for their daily sacrifices on behalf of the greater good. I suspect there existed a legacy of service (teaching, healing, giving) in my extended matrilineal line to include my great grandmother Bigmama Carrie and my great, great courageous and ultra Revolutionary grandmother Mary Ella. However, for my own beloved grandmother Lestine (for who I was named), she was a life preserving and enhancing scholar/pastor/humanitarian who was also a devoted wife to my equally impressive grandfather Jefferson and a revered biological mother to ten children-5 girls, 5 boys. As such, my Bigmama’s distinction is that she birthed her very own village and embodied a role as a community mover/shaker and nation builder in her own divine right. She not only physically birthed, nurtured and raised her own ten children (and countless more of her more than 30 grandchildren) . . . but she saw fit to earn advanced degrees from such esteemed universities as the University of Michigan and Cambridge, so that among other meaningful goals she could study and show herself approved to teach high school at Central HS in Detroit, MI and later led her own flock of faith filled worshippers in her small, uniquely-branded African Methodist Episcopal Church in Detroit’s historic Russell Woods neighborhood. Thus far, in my own divine right life path I have followed in my Bigmama’s footsteps both literally and figuratively by being both an educator and to starting off my teaching career in the very same neighborhood high school where her instructional experience base was cultivated so many years earlier. Ultimately, in addition to being a supreme wife, Queen Mother, and AME preacher; my Bigmama was first a teacher: she/hers/nation . . . What a powerful legacy indeed!

My warlike, Revolutionary, activist, Queen Mother JoAnn – Assata is, like her empowered mother before her, so many iterations of greatness to so many people that it is hard to limit her areas of expertise to a mere few words. But among all of the things which make her special she too, inherited the legacy of being an educator, she/hers/nation – first and foremost. Early on in life, after trailblazing a first generation college graduate legacy at the time, and earning her Bachelors degree in social work from the esteemed University of Michigan, my parents who had met, married and had the first two of their four children while still in college, later moved to my Dad’s hometown of Benton Harbor, MI. Here in this rural, small town marked by the gross disenfranchisement of the overwhelming population of Black residents, my parents leveraged their newfound status as college graduates and their own admirable brand of Black Nationalism as members of the Black Panther Party to making positive change in their local community. My heroic, educator mother served as the director of nurturing childcare center and didn’t hesitate to expand upon her educational training and certification (even after earning her undergraduate degree), by subscribing to the coursework required by the State of Michigan to obtain the license to operate the daycare center in alignment with recognized ‘best practices’. Similarly, my own small business, Educate to Liberate LLC will soon expand to include a licensed African centered childcare iteration – the more things change, the more they stay the same!

My accomplished mom later went on to birth my younger brother Stephen B., to lead the local branch Y.W.C.A. in Detroit and to later transform her organizing and grassroots activism expertise into a national antiracist platform of fighting racism, sexism, and oppression from an impactful executive leadership post from the organization’s headquarters in New York City. After having a fourth child, a baby girl who is now a brilliant attorney, my trailblazing mother could have been content to simply assume safe, corporate positions of power in various capacities. Instead, she chose to continue to fight injustice by bringing her talents back home to Detroit and opting to lead the largest branch of the N.A.A.C.P. in the nation. In this role, her leadership was cemented as one who was fearless, committed to ending oppression of our people and who did so on notable fronts such as via the National Anti-Klan Network – yes, the Ku Klux Klan is still very much alive and well even in 2023 – and leading the national call for Reparations as a national staffer for a legendary Black Congressional member and Dean of the CBC. All of the aforementioned years of dues paying and notable work ethic contributed to her being successfully elected to represent the city of Detroit as an esteemed city council member at-large; a post form which she retired as an emeritus in 2013. In true, African genius, holistic and spiritual manifestation manner my Mom’s life has now come full circle as she has leveraged her “retirement” to being a senior pastor of her own faithful flock of unity, truth seekers and to teaching, full time as a beloved and ever-popular college professor of English. After all these years of meaningful work, my mother still is//we are every woman – she/hers/nation . . .

And now that my accomplished, esquire sister has seen fit to share her vast talents with future barristers via college campuses and my brilliant, beautiful daughter has (at least temporarily), embraced her inheritance of greatness by embracing the now 4th generation of educators and absolutely shines in teaching high school science, I could not be more proud to salute the women in my own family and those nationwide who make radical change in the most meaningful, and yet unsung way imaginable – as teachers! All I know is that there is perhaps no greater misnomer than the world viewing educators through the myopic lens of being somehow lazy, one-trick ponies; when in actuality, the educators I have inherited my powerful legacy from and those with whom I have tirelessly worked (over the past 29 years) comprise the most impressive group of highly educated, moral, and committed to serving humankind people I have ever known. And since the overwhelming mass of this hardworking, admirable group happen to boast of an intersectional identity which includes being women – she/hers/nation – I salute you today, tomorrow, and always! Ase’

My Bigmama Lestine and her great-granddaughter and future educator

Mother and daughter proudly embrace their legacy of educator inheritance

My beloved grandmother and I on my wedding day – I was her namesake and a teacher!

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We Wear the Mask, COVID Reprise

“We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Like Claude McKay said, we have always worn the mask. That part of our lives is not new. Only now, it seems that all of humanity wears an external, tangible mask-not just an eerily symbolic one. It’s true that the whole world is donning a mask right now. But your masks still ain’t like ours. We are not the same. When you take off your masks you can breathe deeply again. Fill your lungs with oxygen, expand your chests and breathe life unencumbered by suffering. While all the while . . .

We literally and figuratively: Can. Not. Breathe. We wear the mask 24-7. We wear the mask eternally. We wear the mask and yet, still – We are dying. We are not allowed to mourn or to bury our dead. We attend drive through, virtual or nonexistent funerals for the countless Black lives that have been lost to the pandemics of racism and Coronavirus and we suffer silently. We mourn inwardly, cause we have to work and don’t have the time or capacity to heal. We mourn inwardly because y’all can’t stand to see our pain. We cry intermittently and out of necessity we work, serve, teach, pray, move, sing, dance, pretend, play and all the while . . . we are grasping at breath and dying slow, miserable deaths in alarmingly disproportionate rates to everyone else. We. Wear. The. Mask.

Why should the world be over-wise,

in counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

To suddenly see people everywhere wearing a mask should be startling, an anomaly to our very spirits and souls. But somehow it makes sense that the truth of the guile of humanity should be partially hidden in plain sight. As for me… I don’t want to see your smiling faces when your wretched souls harbor such hatred for Black lives. To see Black people wearing masks so faithfully, while others fight to go without and declare their rebellious right, indignation to live freely without them; should be evidence that we are simply not the same. What means life or death to us, is truly a nuisance to others. Your privilege absolves you from the losses of life, agency and joy that this global health crisis has uniquely inflicted on our lives. You seem to only know the inconvenience of Black people and other people of color from faithfully and willingly serving you. While we know all too well the very real toll the violence of dual pandemics of racism and its sister global killer, COVID can and will continue to wreak on Black lives.

Empty streets. Economy at a standstill, sane school systems engaged in online instruction. And yet, the vast disconnect between those who want a swift return to business as usual and those who want a reimagined future (without your oppressive foot on our necks), is only widening. Assault-rifle armed Klansmen, women and children protest at state capitols to demand a return to business as usual. Their efforts encouraged by the demented, unfit madman at the helm of the country who increasingly ridicules, berates, poisons and kills at will in the name of a vast, white supremacist version of America’s greatness as their driving force. And sure enough, slowly but surely, states buckle under the pressure to begin to open (but slowly, in stages), so that they can once again be “served” as Black lives and those of others low on the priority rung, re-assume their essential (read expendable), lives and duties continue to engage in the performative preservation of the status quo.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!”

Meanwhile as cities burn and mass protests ensue the pandemic lingers on to encompass a new normal and way of life. One in which there are no more illusions of power, democracy or social justice and order. The masks on our faces only reveal the long term stratifications and intersectionality of identities, layered beneath the surface. Teachers, nurses, doctors, certified nurses assistants, orderlies, maintenance staff, service employees and restaurant staff have now become the essential fabric and components to a society that cannot function without us. America seemingly can’t abide the round the clock, 24-7 realities of life with their own children and families in their own sprawling homes, communities and living freely on their own expansive plots of land. Indeed, from tortured souls arise the cries of a crumbling economy and the disintegration of an age-old facade of a global superpower, now uncovered to be the sordid, broken infrastructure of a vile, racist and rotten to the core cultural framework.

How ironic that as America hastens to its inevitable demise and irreconcilable doom . . . You too, wear the mask.

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Education as a Priority Investment

You know the old adage about how doctors make the worst patients? Well, I’m beginning to wonder whether this analogy also applies to educators. I can readily admit that in spite of being a lifelong student and learner in so many ways, I still have so much to learn about our capacity to love and to leverage education as a priority obligation – especially when it comes to our greatest assets . . . Our beloved children.

If anyone had asked me just a year ago, whether I believed that American citizens properly valued our education? My cynical response would have been a vehement “No, not nearly enough as we should”. And I would have likely shared my own experiences as a veteran teacher and school leader for nearly 3 decades and countered that too many parents are only motivated by negative stereotypes or grades as a means to propel them to get up and get actively involved in their children’s educational lives and schools (especially beyond the elementary stage). I might’ve even rather arrogantly shared, that as a small business owner myself I have only attracted 1:1 individualized tutoring revenue from the many Chinese families I have been blessed to have worked with, as evidence to support my position. Surely, while there certainly is truth to the reality that I have partnered with too many to count Chinese families in ensuring their children’s mastery of the English language, the fact that they eagerly seek highly educated Americans to teach their children English doesn’t mean that we don’t equally invest in our children in equal proportion. Well, today – the 18th of May in 2023, I can unashamedly and even publicly announce that I was 100% jaded and undoubtedly wrong by minimizing the degree to which we too, value education as worthy of our capital investment.

How refreshing it is to learn how wrong you’ve been about such a negative attitude and skewed belief in education, when you are yourself a lifelong member of the esteemed educational career in question. Especially since the truth of the matter re: our collective willingness and predisposition to investing deeply in our own children’s education has much more affirmation and value in demonstrating the limitless love, commitment, and integrity that so many countless families have chosen, when it comes to the academic success of their own children/grandchildren. I for one, have never been more proud than to stand corrected as I am right now. And I owe it all to the supplemental education company, with whom I partner (that happens to have been around for decades and is almost as old as I am) 👀. For I am now convinced in a very short span of time, and to the tune of thousands of dollars of sound investments, that our own American families are no less committed to sacrificing on behalf of our own children’s education than that of our international peers – who are frequently touted and globally regarded for their high respect for knowledge, education, and advanced degrees.

I’m being serious when I say that prior to this year, I would have lost my hard earned money in a very foolish bet against our perceived willingness to invest in education when compared not only to the affluent and working class families I have worked with in China; but also in comparison with the families on the African continent who have such an admirable esteem for the educational system as a whole that even the children in Ghana, would sooner be in school learning, than to play outside in the glorious, idyllic warmth of the soul-enhancing sun. I know this to be true because early on in my teaching career, when I was just starting out and in my early to mid-twenties and while teaching in a legendary African centered school in Detroit, Malcolm X Academy – we were fortunate enough to sponsor a fully subsidized/community financed trip for more than a dozen K-8 students (and 2 adult chaperones), to celebrate Kwanzaa, volunteer our efforts, and spend 7 days abroad in our sister school, on the Eastern region. Not only was this trip remarkable in its capacity to expose our young scholars to the glory and beauty of the African diaspora from which our ancestral descendants (and quite frankly from which all humankind) sprang. But how utterly blessed I was to share in this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (as both photographed and immortalized in the pictures and video shown herein). Among the indelible lessons learned from this life altering pilgrimage to our Motherland, we witnessed firsthand the meager architectural structure and supplies readily available within our sister school in Ghana. Moreover, despite its relative simplicity, use of natural light, and surplus of the traditional, one room schoolhouse charm; we encountered African children of all ages, who by far surpassed our own seemingly high standards and expectations for the sacred realm reserved for as the learning environment. No doubt, a teacher in Africa is/was extremely high regarded by all students, without exception. And the students would sooner welcome basic school supplies as treasured gifts than to worship and/or selfishly demand the latest, most expensive designer clothing and shoes for themselves. In comparison to Western societal norms, this was revelatory indeed. Needless to say, our students who were tasked with copiously reporting and presenting their research findings to their peers, were unanimously humbled and admittedly awed by how much they and their peers take their own (largely free and enormously well equipped, by comparison), education for granted, back home in the U. S.

Similarly, countless Americans have likely borne witness to the presence of newly transitioned immigrants who are new citizens to this country make zero excuses for their above reproach attitudes towards achievement in their studies and high academic performance pursuits. There are certainly enough demeaning stereotypes of those external to typical cultural norms who value education as a priority and as such are typecast as a sort of “model minority” which abounds. Yet scarcely do we hear about or celebrate those of us who are disadvantaged, working paycheck to paycheck, and/or who happen to comprise the ranks of the privileged, wealthy class, and who equally find themselves in respective positions of needing to supplement their children’s education’s, out of their own pockets and by any means necessary. In the case of my college educated parents, early on in their marriage and when they were admittedly strapped for cash, they were flatly denied by the bank as they sought an education loan to help subsidize my brothers and my private school tuition. Thank goodness that in spite of the reality of such racist redlining, they were quietly advised to seek a “vacation loan” instead. Without much formality, this nonsensical request was swiftly approved and we were then afforded the opportunity to benefit from a private, premier African-centered education at Nataki Talibah Schoolhouse of Detroit. The ironic headline here is that though I was an actual beneficiary of my parents commitment to investing in our education, I still believed the hype that most Americans don’t value education nearly as much as do other cultures and societies. Newsflash: I have now witnessed it as a veteran educator and the truth is much more satisfying than fiction! In fact I count myself as lucky to have even helped to foster tangible levels of academic supports to U.S. families by recently partnering with a privately owned and wholly committed, small company -which has as its core beliefs and mission, the goal of providing the needed resources and personalized learning services to K12 students and their families, per their demonstrated intention to move Heaven and Earth (if need be), to ensure that any/all struggling students are afforded the opportunities that may come more easily for our ranks of the privileged.

I guess what this means is two things: that you’re never too old to learn new tricks and that I’m never again tutoring my family members and/or friends’ children for free (sorry, not sorry)! Listen, I have seen families of all kinds collaborate in the singular goal of offering their youngest, most promising family members the literal “gift of education”. I have patiently persisted with these families in their efforts to determine and devise of new and creative ways to finance the academic supports their child needs. I have been privy to some agonizing over the dilemma of how to ensure that their child is not somehow left behind, through no fault of their own. Does this mean that we’ve somehow solved the age-old dilemma of miseducation which plagues this country and which this blog essentially exists to bemoan the existence of? The answer is of course, a resounding-No! Alas, the struggle continues. We must be ever vigilant, especially in the countless ways that this outdated educational model in the United States informs and otherwise cripples, deleteriously affects the scores of children of color who languish in the opportunity myth and gap, as so aptly coined by TNTP in a groundbreaking study. I daresay that our unending, universal struggle for educational equity and the the ever increasing need to abolish the oppressive power dynamics cultivated by thoroughly oppressive, white supremacist culture traits and construct do indeed remain (and even thrive in this post-pandemic, book banning and ridiculous critical race theory propagandist era). Still, all is not lost.

So, I guess the only question that remains now is how precisely, do families best navigate the pitfalls of our current educational systemic failures? By coalescing around the priorities of right-sizing the entire flawed system (for the benefit of our children’s children), whilst also valuing our own children’s academic success by unapologetically speaking life over their life trajectory, through tangibly investing – not in cars, clothes and meaningless things – but in education. I urge more of us to continue to dig deep (even as we work to improve what ails us), as we match the powerful energies of that which people the world over hold dear: investing in our children’s education and futures. In my own case, in addition to my lifelong passion of extolling the infinite virtues of African-centered education, for Black children in particular, I am also humbled and honored to have been in the midst to collaborate with an incredible and empowered group of exceptional educators at the nonprofit organization Leading Educators, as we tapped and gleaned from students’ own voices and envisioned a culturally relevant, responsive, and sustainable framework that by the way, can be downloaded and implemented for free (!) and which guides us all in the valiant pursuit of “Teaching for Equity”. This publication, in concert with our individual family and larger organizational institutions must forge a unified front, in ways which allow Black, Indigenous, Asian, and Latinx students who are furthest from opportunity to feel seen and to justifiably have access to an affirming educational model. Let’s all pledge to increasingly invest in the education of all children, as often as needed to offset the enormous burden and costs of widespread miseducation. After all, every single child alive is certainly worth it . . . Kudos to those of you who have helped me to learn this meaningful life lesson from your sterling examples – especially after so many years of ignorance about the depths of our investment in an industry with infinite returns! #Salute

Malcolm X Academy students in Ghana (December 1997)
Malcolm X Academy, Detroit MI –
a short, retrospective film to honor the inherent beauty and value of an African-centered education.
Malcolm X Academy students in Ghana (December 1997)
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A Nation in Grief . . .

REPRINTED by the permission of my beloved journalist Mother, Rev. Dr. JoAnn Watson, who has managed to put into words what my tearful, broken heart could not manage to process:


Recent news coverage, including this professor’s first hand account of the tragic school shooting occurring in his classroom at Michigan State University, has been so poignant, so sensitive, and so much a reflection of our troubled times. Thank you for penning what our hearts feel for ALL of the victims; who were young, innocent, bright and so deserving of a long fruitful life!

I am an Alumnus of the University of Michigan, but my eldest Granddaughter, Jendayi, is a recent graduate of Michigan State University, and majored in “Environment Sustainability”- a subject which was not even fathomable during my college days.

In the aftermath of this MSU tragedy, my heart was gripped with horror and pain for the victims and their families. When my Grand baby was matriculating at MSU and staying in a dorm on campus, my deepest concerns were about her grades, her health, and her ability to apply discipline regarding social functions on campus. I drove to East Lansing, MI frequently whenever I felt “Big Mama’s” presence would be helpful (when she developed strep throat, when she was homesick and in need of nurturing or a home-cooked meal).

I am in tears and heartbroken over every student who was senselessly slain. No student should be confronted with ‘Terror on Campus’ and no family should be making plans for their child’s funeral, or maintaining vigils at a hospital’s ICU unit, rather than making plans for their child’s glorious, hope-fulfilled Graduation!

Mass shootings in the USA must not continue to become a ‘norm’ that traumatizes and paralyzes this nation–The USA’s Domestic Terrorism must end with this generation.

Arielle Anderson, 19, was a sophomore at Michigan State University and was a straight ‘A’ student who aspired to be a pediatric doctor.
Brian Fraser, 20, was a sophomore at Michigan State University and was the chapter president of his MSU fraternity.
Alexandria Varner, 20, was a junior at Michigan State University and her father described her as a “beautiful soul.”
An initial message on the rock of the Michigan State University campus.
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No Toxic Relationships in 2023

Without echoing the cliche “New Year, New You” sentiments we seem to traditionally subscribe to and share in the beginning of the (Roman) calendar year – it is possible to firmly set your expectations and intentions at the start of even a new month or season . . . So in that regard, my personal manifesto for this year is to be fully present and make space for spiritual, high vibration energy, relationships and to avoid indulging (even temporarily), in low frequency and vibrational toxic relationships. The featured photograph from our family’s recent and spiritually uplifting Kwanzaa celebration is my own personal reminder and accountability measurement to be true to my word and promise to myself.

I have always, unofficially operated with this as my personal preference, reality mantra, and norm. But even in the past, I would almost always make exceptions for people with whom I worked, worshipped with and/or with family. Well, since even the past 7 days of the year otherwise known as the traditional Kwanzaa season, which my immediate family and I have observed for as long as I can remember. . . My sacred, meaningful observance of the 7 principles of Blackness was marred from ugly, unwarranted, and negative behavior and toxicity which has prompted me to adjust my prior exceptions to the rule of toxic relationships. And never, no more will I embrace exceptions for those with whom I’m forced to work with; happen to be blood related to and/or find myself in sacred worship spaces with. In other words, I pledge to be my authentic self in all relationships and situations, despite my own admitted high expectations of myself and others around me.

By contrast, in making allowances for OPP or other people’s problems/pathologies etc. I have been subject to toxic situations I could and should have avoided altogether. Live and learn as the adage goes. So, there are no mistakes! Only lessons. And best believe, I have learned mine and “here endeth the lesson”. And just in case what I experienced has the unintended benefits of being a cautionary tale of what to avoid like the plague for others, I will share several of the toxic traits and experiences to which I was subject to and have since learned much from.

In the most recent, inexcusable case of toxic behavior, I encountered ableism – and trust me, within the past 7-8 years I’ve seen and personally experienced much more of this prevalent form of discrimination more than I ever even imagined existed, when I was still a young, naive and fully functioning, able bodied cis person. But ableism – please click HERE for a salient explanation and point of reference for exactly what ableist means – is extremely common, grossly inappropriate and deeply harmful, discriminatory, and traumatizing to the disabled persons who are regularly subject to this level of toxic behavior and abuse. Namely, while in our church’s annual Watch Night service on NYE I ran into a parishioner who attends the church very infrequently and no more than 1-2 times per year. As a general rule, I engage with her sister, a regular member, as infrequently as possible and with a long handled spoon or at a distance (for a short history of troublesome incidents). However, in just speaking to and exchanging pleasantries with the infrequent ‘guest’, after we exchanged what I wish had only been a routine conversation about how our respective, young adult children were . . . Her follow up ableist and inappropriate comments alluded to our collective need to focus on self-care and making sure that we were in the best possible shape and health, since our now grown children have their own lives and would soon have their own families. Of course my eyes (which are truly windows to the soul), were communicating: Now, what now?! And, Bye, Felicia . . . w/ your ugly acting, messy ass. But because we were in church and in the past I had/have made exceptions for this kind of toxic behavior and energy, I said nothing. Lesson learned though and in the future, I can’t promise that anyone who would deign to test me will come out unscathed. 👀

Sadly, this type of ableism is a form of discrimination which is admittedly new to me but is nonetheless encountered almost daily within public spaces. It’s why I have made a conscious decision to make my home a place of spiritual refuge and I rarely, if ever, venture out unless related to work, worship, or family. In my own personal case, I have an “invisible” disability, which renders me vulnerable to additional slips and falls and which has plagued my physical mobility for years now. Though I do use a mobility aid (cane), to get around outside of my own home – my disability and/or the fact that I have a full leg of hardware (from my femur to my tibial plateau; achieved in separate implantation surgeries, two years apart) – my need to use the cane is not readily visible to the naked eye. I am admittedly a robust and even physically strong and formidable appearing woman of large stature, standing 5’9 in height and weighing over 300 lbs. So, upon first glance, I just look like an overweight, middle aged Black woman. And to see me with my cane, which I have used since my early 40’s is admittedly surprising to some since I don’t present as “disabled”. However, just because someone isn’t frail or have a visible prosthetic limb, does not mean that they are as able bodied as they appear. Yes, although my right leg appears intact, and the 30-40 inch long scarring from the two prior surgeries (in 2015 and 2017 respectively), have healed nicely over the years, there’s no provisions for the residual nerve pain and joint damage (or just general, daily stiffness and discomfort), that one experiences. So, the bottom line is that whether a person looks disabled or not – don’t assume that your brazen, arrogant, and unsolicited weight loss tips/self-care advice or crass comments regarding what happened to another person is appropriate and/or warranted! When in doubt . . . Just err on the side of caution and STFU especially since a person suffering fibromyalgia, enduring stage 4 cancer, and/or valiantly managing one or more invisible disabilities is in need of your simple minded, judgmental, and toxic opinions. Full stop.

I will end this cathartic blog post by sharing how and why I have similarly come to the conclusion that family values and/or love of our relatives should not exempt the people to whom we’re blood related from the same high standards and vibrations to which the rest of our relationships are subject. Within the past few days, I have relinquished my own power, energy, and peace of mind to extend olive branches to family, who were woefully undeserving of the same. On Christmas morning, I called an Aunt with whom I have held a grudge for almost a year (for publicly speaking negatively and hurting my mother’s feelings), and unexpectedly wished her happy holidays. The brief conversation seemed to start well enough until I made the grave error of extending an invitation to the informal, family Kwanzaa gathering I was soon hosting at my home. Well, I should have kept my happy holidays call and warm invitation to myself, because this seemingly innocent extension on my behalf only seemed to re-ignite the original drama and toxic behavior. Needless to say, my aunt vehemently refused my offer (completely within her rights to choose to opt out and to not be ready to forgive and move forward). And she also shared that anything she said to my mother was not directed to me anyway (sad because the total absence of remorse only means that my response was warranted). Sigh . . . Of course I am aware that all things are in divine order and that to everything under the sun, divine timing and universal order reigns supreme. But it does bear mentioning that family members are just the people to whom you happen to be related – it doesn’t require there to be a relationship to even send them love and light. And trust me, I do send them positive energy across the miles. Being in one another’s presence is not always warranted or easy. In fact, I have personally noticed that family disputes and drama has been more prevalent since the onset of the global pandemic and I could care less how a person is related to you by blood. Attitude and behavior speaks volumes and it is much more desirable to maintain your personal peace and high vibrational energy and joy than to force toxic alliances with family.

Ultimately, I plan to keep my own company, forge relationships with others who are equally yoked and to reject any/all relationships, even those tied to my livelihood and employment – which requires one to diminish or snuff out their divine light in order to maintain. I consider it a blessing and privilege to have learned this powerful lesson so early in the year. And though in the African tradition, it is really the spring months (March/April), which usher in the growing season, newness and fresh start that European culture reserves for this time of year; I pledge to start with today. No time like the present and when you know better, you must do better. Asé!

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Choosing to Vibrate Higher

As I openly embrace the month of December and universal ritual prompts us to prep for celebrations (the end of the year; the abject commercialism of the Christmas season and the start of 2023), I do so with intention: I choose to vibrate on a high spiritual frequency.

My intention is to elect to vibrate higher than my current circumstances. In so many ways, life is a never ending cycle of uncertainties. For instance, at the beginning of November – just a mere 30 days or so ago – I had an inner sense of calm. I embraced and resonated deeply with the spirit of elimination (which characterized the whole month of November, according to the Unity Church which I regularly attend). And most importantly, there were so many things of which I was absolutely sure. Honestly, even in the areas of my life where there was uncertainty, I was at least optimistic. Because in all things, my innate nature of light and love has this dynamic capacity of seeing the greatest good in just about anything. Now here in the present, the month of December has begun to unravel in such a way as to shatter the illusion of certainty and calm. Where there was once confidence and communal stability, there’s now questionable motives, realities, quiet times and lots of solitude. This too shall pass . . . And in the meantime, I welcome the lessons of this valley.

Despite this perceptible shift, I choose to vibrate higher than my circumstances. I elect to manifest my own destiny and command joy, peace, joy and light – even in the midst of this storm. There is no crisis, doubt, and fear in the world and external forces of the universe, which can supersede the impact of the reality I envision and create within my own life and experience. So with that said, I eschew the unnatural desire to resist change and to seek to hold on to the past. I reject old fears, ideas and assumptions about that which is ahead and is admittedly unknown. I embrace only those things that enlighten, empower, inspire and motivate me and others around me to encounter the greatest, divine right goodness in all things.

I pray, meditate, think about the positive possibilities of life to come and accept that all things are in divine order and timing. I drink water and stay hydrated throughout the day. I eat live foods that nourish the soul, body and mind (fruits and vegetables). I eat no more than one heavy meal per day (not for weight loss but increasingly as a ‘best practice’ for my own sensitive digestive system, clarity of mind and health). I force myself to get restorative rest and beneficial sleep (I have always thrived on 5-6 hours or less but I am conscious to quiet my mind and still myself when warranted). And as I intentionally vibrate higher – I visualize the effortless flow of blessings which are undoubtedly en route towards me and I welcome the manifestation of my spiritual vibration with excitement and giddy anticipation. I Am a child of God, a divine reflection of God and I do not inherit lack, disease, brokenness and/or suffering. I Am (as I proclaimed publicly and quite convincingly amongst a large number of my professional peers, recently), and I repeat: I Am stronger at the broken places. Furthermore, I’m “bulletproof nothing to lose . . . I Am Titanium”.

I vibrate higher, I vibrate highly, and I manifest countless treasures and blessings yet to come. In the words of one of my most beloved, classic poems, “I Dream me a world” of pleasures sublime . . . My heartfelt wish is the same for each of you. Asé