It
begins by looking closely as to decipher by secerns between elements; those
habits we model, those dreams we play out, or our courage to embrace diversity,
We gather twigs for
campfires we saw trees for timber or we listen for timbre in voices; while
needing acceptance this big calling through life while too much disdain causes
depression; our inherent prejudices or our predetermined suppositions where
human interaction should be mostly tentative.
I
understood his speech as in his voice while no one really explained humanity to
me. It is quite peculiar where a child is concerned, albeit, underdeveloped,
some whispers seem lucid and stable; King Jr. was/is an icon or a piece of
freedom or something one admires or mimics. This stranger as he whistles in a
time where slavery was still with particles.
I
imagine this nuisance this found responsibility where privilege would ruin our
obligation; but teachers were meant for this, as institutions were shadowing
this, while front-doors were barred and anger seemed quite appeasing; to
picture pure rage, for something ecumenical, while our Constitution was gravely
challenged. This battle to adore love, this fight to equate innocence with
something calm or peaceful—at this gut-wretched feeling of isolation. Where was
yoga, or better, Christianity, in a global war against something while forced
to need that something?
Silence
meant condonement where speaking boldly meant alienation while this group of
wires outlined our boundaries.
How are we with this
radical ideal that we call by Integration? If I see a person, am I aware of
that person, and if I deny seeing his race, do I really hear that person? Indeed,
how have we addressed attraction, in a world where some need this warzone? Is
alienation or pure oppression something one can consider attractive to others? This
need to undergo one’s affliction, this rightly lit pain to love another human,
or this cry for meaning out of something quite irregular and immoral. We see
something unsteady where to love might be deep empathy for something causing
guilt.
Is
it evenness in this persuasion while something happens to us?
I
felt I knew King Jr., even more than others, while a soul was an outcasted
mulatto. It seemed to make sense, and, I, too, became a theologian—but such a
journey was opening instincts; those predispositions, or this anger with
educated blacks, in a world chasing intelligence. Such relational contraction,
while sensing the worse in ourselves, at times, permitting it to guide our
actions. Or loving education, its width and spread and dynamic—into this Hippocratic Oath, where brains are for exercising and knowledge is both for feeding and gnawing.
It
seems nonsensical, but it leads us more, where even our children are labelled
by color.
