The Llama and The Raccoon

Meet Kechia Llama and Steven Raccoon aka Stevie Racc. Although Stevie Racc is full of farts, sarcasm, granola, and Yogi tea; wears the same shirt year round; and happens to be a terrible driver and a tremendous pain in the ass, Kechia Llama loves him very much. Although Kechia Llama is a weirdo whose farts are louder (but less toxic) and is far left leaning on the spectrum of normal to bat shit crazy, Steven Raccoon loves her very much. Kechia Llama and Stevie Racc are different, and they have had many adventures and misadventures. Kechia Llama and Steven Raccoon are somehow still friends, and they lean on each other tenderly atop their bookshelf home. That is how they will remain. The end.

Stream of Consciousness

It is likely my own depravity activating compassion. It maybe rooted in egocentricity, but I root for your absolution. Your forgiveness is my solution to get from underneath this shame because I know that if you change, I am not required to stay the same. It's strange how I'm drawing parallels between society and self and seeing myself connected to it all. I'm neither root nor cause. I'm human, and I am trying. And, if my interpretation of the text is correct, God dwells in me although I am shaped in iniquity. My mind cannot wrap itself around this dichotomy, so it calls it hypocrisy.  Ashamed of who I was and afraid to be who I'm meant to be, I stagger in the present overwhelmed by the variety, choices upon choices. Freewill makes one ill, but freewill makes one free. To paraphrase the revolutionist, for me it's death or liberty. Am I dying? Or am I free? It depends on one's perspective, and the world is fucking gray. Everything is subjective. I'm hypothesizing, not prophesying; the words are from LeKechia, not God. But if I am His, isn't my being God's will and as intentional as the Earth herself?  If I am created in His image, haven't I been powerful since birth with purpose upon purpose? I'm certain of few things. I have more questions than answers. None of this shit is simple. I am learning to live with these intricacies. If I am too complex for my understanding, how can I expect to demystify The One who created me? 

Perspective Shifts: Time & Excuses

I left the company I have been with for most of the time I have lived here, and it was not an easy decision to make. I turned in my notice on a Monday with the intention to take a two month break. ("I deserve a break." Right?) I got a call for an interview the next day, interviewed that same day, and offered the job that same week. I could not pass up the opportunity, so I accepted the offer.

Between my last day and today, I have had time to rest, rejuvenate, and realize that I neither want nor need a break. I need to take my black ass to work. I need to worker harder than ever before because my financial, educational, physical, mental/emotional, and life goals require pushing myself to brink of exhaustion in the short-term for the execution of my long-term vision.

I am unsure if its egocentricity or self-awareness, but I always analyze my attitudes, behaviors, actions, and outcomes. When I was working two jobs, 6 to 7 days a week, I complained about "not having enough time." Reflecting on what I accomplished during this "break" with all the time in the world, I am quite ashamed of myself.

My reality is that I do not need more time. I need better time-management. I need to practice self-discipline in all areas. Essentially, I need to shit or get off the pot. I do not want to provide myself with excuses for mediocrity. I love me too much to coddle and bs myself.

When I was younger, my father would often said "no matter what you tell anyone else, keep it real with LeKechia." (I used to think "Duh! What kind of life lesson is this?" 🙄) Now, as an adult woman, I understand the importance of that  caution. It is so incredibly easy to bullshit self, and the result of bullshitting self is either regression or stagnation.

Y'all, I realized my jobs were not keeping me from the career I want, the masters degree I intend to pursue, working out, eating healthy, spending quality time with my loved ones, having a consistent sleep schedule, or anything at all. Nothing or no one has the power to stop my progress. I was making excuses.

Yes, factors beyond my control can create impositions and impedances, but that is not the same as stopping progression. The act of no longer moving in any direction is a decision. I am responsible for each and every decision I make.

Maybe I am the only one who creates excuses rather than solutions. (🤦🏿‍♀️) Maybe many of you can relate. Either way, let's do better. Either way, I have to do better. Knowing better is not enough.

Tomorrow, I start my first day with this new company. This was not my plan, but it worked out in my favor. Thank God. I am excited about the start of a new professional chapter, but more than that, I am excited about going into this chapter with a shifted perspective.

Sustenance & Substance

She consumes his intellect

Is nourished by his energy

Then feasts on his body

He's a spread within a man

And she's a glutton for him

He calls her greedy

Says it with a grin

Then makes himself available

Again and again and again

 

Just Mercy

As I am lying in my bed reflecting on the Just Mercy film, I cannot help but think about how so many lives are impacted by the criminal justice system in this country. I was thinking about Walter McMillian and how his time on death row affected him, and I could not understand my emotional response. I read the book. I know how tragically his story ended. Still, I was unprepared. Tonight's tears are for Herbert Richardson, Walter McMillian, Anthony Ray Hinton, and my own father. While my father was not sentenced to life in prison and did not spend any time on death row, he spent nine/ten years incarcerated. He went to prison at the age of nineteen sentenced to 35 years for a first offense. I don't think I ever empathized with how traumatic and life altering that experience must have been for him. Tonight, I hurt for him in a way that is wholly separate from my own experience. I have a reawakened compassion, and I am grateful for that. Please see this movie and read this book.  P.S.: This picture was taken while my father was in prison. My dad, my aunt, my cousin, and I are pictured.

Dear Black Man

Being at war with you is being at war with self. Since our is connection is that powerful, peace with you essential. Let's establish it. I'm ready to call a truce. I'll start by acknowledging your truths. Life is hard for you and often you are not heard. You know diamonds are created from pressure, but you wonder if I know only a diamond can scratch another diamond's surface. My words cut deep; they're not polishing. I'm abrasive. The pressure from without and within coupled with the hurts you don't speak of doesn't feel like shaping. You walk through fire in the world then you're tried by fire in our home. You love me more than I know, but your peace is better protected when you're gone. And that's baffling. If it weren't for your principles, integrity, and love, you would sever this umbilical connection to me because it hasn't been nourishing you lately. Some days you wonder, "Damn, does she hate me?" You carry the torch to guide, provide, and protect. You never saw it modeled. You're learning as you go and doing your best. You feel me so deeply its as though I'm a valve in your chest. You wish I understood that I'm capable of making you feel superhuman able or like you're bringing nothing at all to the table. I acknowledge this and apologize. I realize my aptitude to antagonize. I don't show it like I should, but I empathize with your struggles. I hurt whenever you suffer. I love you enough to lay down my arms and defenses, to stop talking and listen, to sit with you in our individual and collective to truths, to honor the king in you, and help you rehab the little boy. Being at peace with you is being at peace with self. Since our is connection is that powerful, loving you essential. And I do. I love you. 

P.S.: I wrote this particularly for the black men in my life and/or who have been a part of my life. It is, in part, a response to myself and something I wrote years ago. It is ultimately an open, sincere apology to and acknowledgment of those beautiful black men who have shaped me for better or worse.