"Without A Leg To..."

"30 poems in 30 days" was a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, started December 15th, 2009, and ended January 13th, 2010.


#22 of 30

One brick
One beam
One slab of concrete
One window seal
One wall
One tree branch
One door threshold
One column
One pillar
Cannot make anything stand
Will never survive without any foundation
And will never make one whole house

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Found Amongst Blank Skies"

This poem was oriniginally made for "30 poems in 30 days". I decided not to do so, and gave it time to matriculate into a well of words instead.

What color is discrimination?
Shade of unemployment?
Homelessness under the census origins?
Better yet, immaturity where you sign the dotted line?
Missing the point with no direct finger to use
And the more self-righteousness we collect
The lesser self-respect used
We the people
Turn into miniature gods of Cyndi paupers
And silent killers of fat-cat tycoon slaves
A calendar with letters as days numbered
Like blood types created on seven accounts
Drinking from horns of religion
Eating the bread of Nero's gluttonous downfall
Stereotyping as if one tapped their digits against radio
Broadcasting a thought process
On deaf minds
Brainwaves be rough, crashing against shores of truth
Trying to hang ten, or break loose
So we surf for knowledge and find halfway colleges
Online like Greco/Roman formulas
For brother/sister/homo/animalhood
Sprinkled in their sparkling pimp chalice
An African staple and fables of fame
Stamped with tribalism, categorial shame
Shit, half you mafuckas don't even know your own name.
Yet...
We know the color of...











Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Under Arrest"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)


Here is #1 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project.

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx



Smiling while black
The sun charges me for
Many stars shine without
Luster
Luxurious love for my
Rays pour out on the shoulders of
Smooth Sahara sand-colored souls
Man, we kiss each other and pass lineage
Through lips and struggling
Stressed like history
Through strainers
I maintain my brown
Down the Mason-Dixon
Up the Nile
Around downtown Houston
Ground Zero in Zimbabwe
Hey, sepia sensuality
Sends me there
I'm counting spirits on her digits
Play with her toes and nose
My baby becomes quick of knowledge
As the world slows
I'm rolling deep
Without the 'Lac and white walls
But deep in the red clay
My chart's a splay of things
So Aquariusly queer to veneer
I'm not seeing the future clear
Without a little mud covered aura
To show me my way home
Turn right
Go East
Keep walking
Shh...
The ancestors from below the waves are talking
Sending instant messages in maelstroms and
Hurricanes
Communicating with copper casings
We bullets with intelligence
Target redemption
Realign to hit our points of reference
Our destiny's real destination
Wrecking the frame of shame and
Picturing shattered distress calls
Being pieced again.
Straight from Mama's Gun
Motherland daughters and suns
Charging all of us
For
Smiling while black
Concealing contraband history
In our backpack and satchels
As we grapple with the long arm of the law
That was the unluckiest of the draw
I sketch
My life to be my wife
And we artistically die together
When we are satisfied with the ruling of
Guilty on all charges
No parole on freedoms?
I smile harder!
No probation on free will?
I laugh and show strength!
Hell, I'll lock myself up up in my culture's possession
I'll swallow the key
For there shall be no more of taken from me.





© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

I BeLOnG (2nd Edition)

So I was going over a situational conversation, of sorts, with my lady the other day, and she brought up something she said she saw in a movie, (Not sure what the movie was again, but I will correct this if found) called "The Test", that fit this predicament. A male named Johnny came across a female that he felt was very compatible for him. His friend, Honey, was overjoyed at his newfound love, but after a few conspicuous calls from his love to him, she warned him about a possible dishonest result in that relationship. Johnny denied it, and played it off, but (insert movie reference) it was noticeable that when he let her in the passenger's side of the car, like a gentleman, she stayed put, not opening the door for him when he cycled to his driver's side. I know what you're thinking..."What's the big deal?" I thought the same, but really that wasn't the doom for his relationship. Honey broke down the scenarios and wack-ass excuses she gave to him, and he still couldn't figure it out as quick...sometimes you gotta let them feel the pain, right?

One thing about this disturbed me on two fronts:
1: Are women and men STILL grading each other on tests, as if many have failed an exam on love or some shit? And,
2: Do men and women care about what women really think when it comes to emotional bonding?

The femmes are on this like, "Duh, this is a no-brainer! The first 15 minutes will decide if..."
Yeah, you got it. You're like a Rorshach or Litmus design now, cat! They might even put you in a bar graph. What's the purpose of gauging EVERYTHING, ladies? I've heard it from all sides whenever men and women get together about what women like or decide. I wouldn't blame anyone if it wasn't so much silly goals and/or "traits" needed. Wallet, house, and shaft size are the most popular choices amongst the trife women I've noticed. The more serious women minds and education, subtle, but firm emotions, and laughter. Sex is kind of a buffer, considering so many males have truly screwed this dynamic up (no pun intended).

The fellas here are like, "What's the purpose? They're unlimited amounts of..." Yeah, you guessed it. He sees you like you're a resource, or fish. What's the purpose of trying to collect numbers and addresses just to release your seed every now and then? I'm all for sex, but really, it's just stupid how I see the misuse of words and physical stimulation with women and their worth for a fleshtastic experience.

There was a column that tested us back when I was at The University of Houston (Go Coogs!) that mainly asked if we all got jobs, cars, money, homes, maintenance of our bodies and education, just for the "ill nana"? (Not in those words, exactly.) Surprisingly, the males on campus overwhelmingly agreed and didn't give a fuck. So much for uniformity in common sense. Women are not commodities, nor are they trinkets and towel wipes for your seed. So why so much rush to get the golden good when you cannot seem to be satisfied emotionally, you ask? Bragging rights. Like A college football game of sex. Who gets to the red zone and dominates? Who scores frequently? Who's number one?

Just imagine our ancestors screaming to be let go, while their oppressors raped them in bunches. Breed you with some random African woman. Put that into your mind. Where's your luxury tax now, brotha? In fact, all of this may even spur the white man's question of "Who's your daddy?" in so many terrible ways...chattel ways, even. After all, sexual deviance came from their mistreatment of us. Their scores weren't tallied by "how many" but "how often".

Women, masculinity used to be sexy when men used it used properly. Don't tear him down because of his failures...especially in front of the others. Build and find out how to resolve these issues. Remember, Sally Sue is willing to put up with his dirty boxers if you don't correct his stance. Nurture the emotions, but don't neuter his dreams. men, do NOT mistake your black woman for a run-over, neither a master. She's there to deal with out petty shit when we complain. Think about what the hell she's experienced since the inception of women! Don't compromise so easily and continuously, but be able to compromise when needed.

Not many men are gonna sit back and be honest about their sexual and amorous experiences and how they've truly messed over the femmes. Women, on the other hand, will spill beans to express their anger. The new thought now days are those of the women who consider themselves "not feminine" about it (misogynist terms - "bitching about it" or being emotional). The mentality some have to say. "I don't care, I was trying to get mine," is so dead. It's become a thing of novelty to discuss being a "cougar" and such, seeing that the men of the past were heralded as champions of the fairer sex, if they were elderly, unappealing, downtrodden, plump or rotund, nerdy, and downright promiscuous. Ladies all know too well the terms given to the opposites by the males (fat, ugly, man-hating, whore, slut, freak, and fuckable). Nothing desirable. Either you have light-skin complexion, or your "assets" are huge. Other than that, silly-ass fellas are looking for that good 'head' game, or if you will at least let him and his 'patnas' run through you like a football team does a cheerleader banner. That there is a test of true emotional compatibility. Do you like her nose hair? You mind his bad jokes? You want to smell her breath in the morning? Does you need to sport that lace front? (Sasha Fierce jab) Give men some credit. The good ones, of course. They will watch your children and cook you food if you give them the time of day, which isn't spent in the sheets. Trust, I have done so, (plus, I can cook)!

Jozen Cummings, (also known to his peers as "Jock-itch Jo" or "Jozie, the Two-Dollar Ho" - @jozenc on Twitter) if you choose to divulge in his shit), actually was interviewed for his ways on misusing women and how easy it was for him to do so. he's not the only one, and before you say "It takes two to tango.", one may manipulate the dance floor, music, sometimes the libation in any situation. Furthermore, it's a form of rape when you do it to devalue and abuse the rights of the woman in any way. Mentally, AND physically (said here, first). Karrine Steffans catapulted the outing of men (particularly rappers) in her book, expressing how men were in the bed, and what their characteristics were sex-wise. As if being a video vixen isn't demoralizing enough, she content in her path to becoming well known throughout the U.S. as "Superhead", not discouraging younger women from these perils. Then again, the book speaks for itself on her character. This African now? We're on that?

As I bring this to a close, I started to go back in my past to analyze how (or if) I have done this to any women in my past. As far as I can remember, I think I am in the clear. Depending on the mutual feelings and the time it happened, I cannot say I've been that way. Or should I? What matters is this, tests are not relegated to paper and/or evaluations on a visual scale. The true tests come when you are laying beside your loved one in the morning and say, "Wipe the damn crust out ya eyes! Oh yeah...Good morning, sweetheart!"

Unlock the door to your partners, side of the relationship.
More to come.

Polished.

"Star-gazing In Her Eyes"

I can only
wish upon plotted Dogon stars for you
In my dreams

Unwrap your sultry moans in my ears as a present
Feel you when your voice vibrates upon my soul
Touch you with my poetics
Massage you with my visual holds
Bandage you with my caring soul
I run through rainfall to get close to your climax
Meditate amongst nine scented candles and sandalwood to smell you
Taste tamarind to remember your flavor
Take pictures of roses and sunflowers concealing your spirit
You make me sick, and I like it...
I shall skip work
Stay in bed and be well rested
With you in my system
What can't I be happy about?
You leave a lasting impression on me
Running through my mind
Footsteps on the thought process
Vegan to my appetite
I wanna eat you raw
And be healthy in doing it well past a diet

Play Niagara Falls with lightning bolts

making a joyful noise upon an altar for you

Sacrifice and divine for the (ase) in your embrace

I wish upon Dogon stars plotted

And spiritual time allotted
To fold myself around your coronary muscle
Keeping you warm
All inside

But if these are dreams,
Isn't it a facet of real life?

Ifeanyi Okoro
Coppersoul © 2009

Dreamscapes

I rarely talk about my dreams. When I do, they are either premonitions, or something day/night altering. My dreams are becoming more stranger, yet they correspond with what I may experience the next few days.

Just today, I had a multiple amount of dreams. I cannot remember the order, but one was about messing up somebody's art creation that was solely dedicated to African people and our displaced Africans here. He resembled a friend of mine named Marc Furi. I had a khaki cloth with one adhesive side on it, and I was admiring the piece created, while flipping the large, cloth cover. It had a black, green, and blue stripe formation horizontally, with slang written in golden. The overall message was lightly written in the middle withe the words saying something like, "We are all brothers" across the painting. My friend, Regina, was also digging the art. As I flipped the cover cloth over it, I realized the sticky part clung to the piece fast, and another brother tried to help me take it off. It began to peel some of the paint off, but it wasn't the same part that was shown...it was an "F"
in white and red colors that peeled up like a washable tattoo. We left it alone and awaited Marc to come back. He looked in disbelief, as I explained to him the situation and apologized, profusely. Then it became evident that he wasn't too upset, and was a bit receptive to my apology and token for forgiveness. He asked for some beer...one that I have never heard of, but seemingly everyone else had. As I approached the outside, several guys in suits, walking with a caucasian-looking man passed me, laughing when I asked what type of beer is "Bouyoux" (even as he responded, I visually couldn't spell it, so this is the closest I could get it) and he asked if I could get him one also. Of course, I ignored THAT request.

The other dreams were short. One involved a drive where my cousin previously left a store that she got snacks from. Something that looked like Cheetos, but lighter in color. I drove up there with someone I didn't recognize and started into the store. A passersby tried to offer me the same bag of chips my cousin described. I passed on it.

I cannot fully remember the third dream, however ALL dreams took place away from an area I couldn't recognize. Furthermore, I only anticipate what is coming in this reality, due to my recent dream of my goddaughter and godsons that led me to see them and our reactions to each other.

If I recall, the last dream occurred with me and an ex driving along with her children, and asking for something to eat, and we stopped to get something to eat, but we were arguing the whole way. Something along the lines of that.

(Previously created 11-1-09, around the time of the dream)

Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Navio Negreiro" - (A Guide to the Caravan To The Ancestors in Galveston, TX, 10/17/09)

First off, before I post this, I must give all praises and thanks to my ancestors (egun), the Orisa, and Olodumare for my being here to do so.

Mojuba!!!

The Caravan to the Ancestors is steadily approaching, the excitement is building, and yet, a few hiccups have been prevalent.

* Apparently, there will be no caravan transportation for large passenger numbers (large buses will not be available)
* A few of the participants are being stubborn in participating, due to religious beliefs (although it has NEVER been a religious majority or omission...I thought we've gone over this, people!!!)
*The weather (although not a hurricane-like situation that Ike presented last year) will be a factor, yet again, for the third time in a row.

However, do you think our ancestors put us through situations to complain and not manage? "Have faith, hope, and charity", as the song says!

The Soul of Copper, Ifeanyi Okoro, has a suggestion or two to go in the spiritual box!

Transportation:
I am going to petition you that are out there with large vehicles and patience to offer your own personal rides into Galveston on the 17th of October, 2009. If it is feasible, offer rides through a small donation request for travel expense per passenger. Galveston is roughly 45 to an hour away from Downtown Houston (3rd Ward being the approximate departure site) and may require, what...30 dollars worth of gas? If you are using a van or suburban - 50? I'm not the greatest of all mathematicians, however, 5 dollars a person, including your own scrilla can ease the transportation issues. Renting a group van at a weekend rate from a rental company (such as Enterprise) isn't bad. If you can find a rental company or someone willing to let you borrow that bad boy right in the hood would be spectacular! Support black-owned if you can!!!! If Greyhound is the way, I tell you now, it doesn't cost more than 30 dollars. Last time I left the H to go to the N.O., it was 88 bucks. Ahem...give or take a few scrillas, what's your excuse?!?! Get the numbers to SHAPE and NBUF to get directions, meet up with potential carpoolers, and also with the organizers. Let's do it, fam!

People, come in all white, for this is how you honor your ancestors. Dress in the appropriate attire. Please, this is not Seven's, Da Spot, or The Roxy. IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT THE ELDERS AND CHILDREN ATTEND. Invite the 'hood out, as well as the enlightened. They will not be at the clubs or pubs that morning, so there is NO EXCUSE. Adults, you are responsible for getting everyone up early and ready, for if you are not late to the club, shall you be late to pay respects to those who bore you into this existence? Your children need to experience this. This has NOTHING to do with not being a Christian, Muslim, Hebrew Israelite, part of the Shrine, Jehovah's Witness, Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints (God forbid), Jesuit, Judaist, Buddhist (not even a religion!), Windows Vista prayers, or whatever...this is about YOU coming to give our physically-departed ancestors their due. Their spiritually-connected ancestry their due. This is revisiting our traditions, whether you like it or not. Forget all of this "I'll pray at home" or "I'll be there in spirit, but I got more important things to do" bullshit. I'm sure while your great-great-great-great-great grandmother was trying to leap off of the ship, chains and all, she wasn't thinking about going to choir practice, nor attending Maxwell 'Live'.

Bring a coat or jacket in the case of inclement weather. I mean it IS Texas weather. It will be predictably cool in the morning, but so beautiful when it breaks open. Yemoja has a wonderful way to wake you up with gulls, doves, and the Gulf waters rushing to the sands. Oh my God, feel the breeze, my people! It is sooooo beautiful. Oya found ways to make things happen regardless of if she switched up the spot a month before. Last year it was held at Dupree Park in the heart of 'The Trey' (3rd Ward)

Blankets and something to read for the children that will sure to be trying to divert your attention from the rituals and devotionals. Really, you SHOULD have them participate. There is no Soulja Boy or Wayne here, so the box is dead. If the Caucasian people can stroll on by and take pictures, gawk, stare, and sometimes try to invite themselves into this 12-year long event, why can't our OWN???? That is another thing, DO NOT EXCLUDE BLACK GALVESTON RESIDENTS!!! Drag their tails here if you see them.

So you see, hiccups can be cured, if you hold your breath, and be patient. Then? Well, release.

I haven't been to the caravan since '05...I think the drought MUST cease for me. People attend the caravan from outside of Texas, and it steadily grows every year. Louisiana, Oklahoma, Florida, New Mexico, South Carolina, etc. I think one year we had some family come from Washington State! People do participate and hear from this in Africa as well, especially the Nigerians that happen to know a couple of NBUF and SHAPE supporters.

My people, it is high time we put these excuses and schisms behind, and start working together. Brother George Jackson probably could have said it much better than I could have relayed it, (may he rest with the ancestors), but now is the time! Remember, this is to celebrate their safe voyage amid the perils that awaited them here.

I encourage that you hear the song "Navio Negreiro" and meditate...
For the memory will never leave us.


Mojuba to Baba Sangogbemi and Iya OsunBunmi for their dedication and work towards this event!
Ase-o!!

So, who will be the first to stand against...?

You know, it's funny...as I write this blog, the title aptly discusses our futility to mobilize and unify in our own communities.
"What comes next after nothing comes at all?" is a good way of saying:

"Our people have nothing better to do than to kill each other before they celebrate graduating from high school."

Or perhaps I should say it means,

"Let's march around and do candlelight vigils and pray to the Lord until it's our baby's turn to die."
Could it exclaim that,

"We shall overcome, especially in the Year of Obama!", for it's sole entity upon this blog?

I did not know Derrion Albert, nor Eli Escobar, nor Sean Bell, nor Amadou Diallo, or Pedro Oregon, Brandon Mcclelland, James Byrd, Eleanor Bumpurs. In reading (and viewing in some cases) these grizzly murders, it is apparent that the Africans in America, whether brought here by boat unlawfully or by plane ticket, are still under attack. Unfortunately, due to the rampant acts of violence and the emergence of the volatile, unstable black youth, Derrion suffered death at the hands of other these very same people who shared his skin hue.

The question is not if it was he that started it, nor decided to participate in it, nor if he should have been there in the first place. Where were the adults during the melee in the open Chicago streets? While most of the Chicago population were either unaware in their houses or schools, and the others crossing fingers for some worldwide games bid, these children and some teens (and adults) went after each other as if it was a territorial war in Africa. I need the after-school and outreach programs to step up in this situation, preferably our young African males that are capable to take charge and instruct without the social constructs that limit the resources through government aid. They wouldn't give a fuck, anyway. However, Chicago isn't the scapegoat here as well. Houston, (the Historic Wards , Southwest, and South Park) has its share of laxing on the monitoring of our youth and their activities when they leave school, or, for that matter, if they leave the house to pretend to go to school? Compton, St. Louis, and New Orleans as well needs some retooling. Who's down to help, instead of rapping and doing poems about it? No offense to those who do both the oratory and physical labor of improving our situations.

These things were put into place to disrupt black progression since. The children must feel ignored to have dissent in their hearts, and the adults must separate from them in order to exert force and rule in the harshest of ways. I must say this...since he inception of chattel slavery, this system has been designed to tear down the image of the African people, regardless of if we were bound or not. So, where are the chains if we are still bound by self-degradation and hatred?

It's almost as if this Willie Lynch letter has evolved for the millennium. Not again.

I work in an artist/after-school program that has a fortunate few to help experience neighborhood artists as well as national/international artists directly, and hone their own talents. It's by far not the most perfect, and yet, it's long-standing and it does put a chink in the armor of the establishment's ways of destroying black neighborhoods and families. SHAPE, PABA, FUUSA, Blue Triangle, PBUA, and Operation Outreach have a hand in teaching our youth much more than "bangin'" and "slangin'". The children that come from the 3rd Ward and 5th Ward area love to participate in the programs, because they expose their talents to the world and feel much more confident. Yes, America, positivity exists. However, I notice the middle schools now take fads to another level. Saggin' and fight bragging. Video taping brawls and 'scheduled' after school fights to post online (this didn't start with them, people)! they are showing no fear, nor respect for the elders, as they are starting to clog the Ward by purposely walking the streets like vigilantes looking for justice or bloodshed. At this age, the police are licking their chops, for it is all too easy to convict and restrict them for just this alone. Again, where are the adults? Parents, especially? Don't be surprised to hear feedback from the young ones that say their own brother or father jumped them into a gang, like I heard from these two young students over the summer tell me and my co-worker. Non-profits need help as well. let's also look for help within. What's wrong with leaving the club or bar alone for that night to put in 5 dollars a week to preserve a small area for the children to learn something about our legacy??!?! Donate to black-owned. But not just any, to the ones who are using it for the greater good of the uplifting of our people, intellectually.

The police has a nice target on the backs of our black youth, as well as our elderly and, what seems to be the new trend, our women. I've been receiving disturbing emails and video interviews of young girls they put away as young, as 12 years old, for life. Some of them have their children in prison. Most are either abused children/women, or accused by the real perps that left paraphernalia in their possession unknowingly. It is NOT the police's job to protect us. It is our own. We should be able to police ourselves. Why not? Wasn't it your mother or auntie that whooped your ass when you did something crosstown, or when you acted a plum fool in church or at the library? Wasn't it your daddy that got that ass when you decided to steal something from the old man's house, or chunk a rock at the elderly family's window? Are we that "screwed and chopped up" in the Land of Syrup that we'd rather think it's cool to sport a faux-hawk, some Forces, and some skinny jeans on our children so we could be accepted...by THEM?!?
Where does the buddy system stop and the parenting begin? Better yet, where's the mentoring of our black males?!? The police's job is to make sure that your ass stays right on the plantation. Avoid the 'boys in blue' and corral your youngins into the house and learn them the ways of the elders. I need not hear about "Maaaaan, you know, Pook an em comin' out in three, but I was up in there, and Dice got shot. Imma come through and get my heat on em for dat" bullshit on the bus anymore. It is NOT COOL TO BE INCARCERATED. That is not a badge of honor. In fact, the 'badge' and 'your honor' put you there. Get it right.

Let's zero in on this foolery. First off, the radio airwaves will allow poison to wave freely as long as you have a conduit for it to be carried through. Derisive and derogatory comments on young black women and girls will continue if we done not hold those in charge responsible. My niece knows Jeremih' horrid ass song of "Birthday Sex", and yet, when she grows up, God forbid you'd have some brother trying to exude his machismo through the lure of illicit songwriting and fuckery. If someone can rap to you about 'knockin' down girls' (promiscuous bragging), selling dope (or how they used to), and flashing gaudy, ridiculous clothing with a name on it that they can't spell on a Speak and Say (Texas Instruments - old school), but offer NO POSITIVE OUTLET to avoid the trap, do you think the children will take the high road to intelligence, or 'Superman' that ass onto hustlin' for the cheddar on the corner? Television DOES NOT RAISE OUR CHILDREN. Get them the hell out of in front of the screen, and give them a book. Teach them a language. My nephew is learning Capoeira moves as I learn, giving him another way of expression. Introduce them to African countries, or customs. Something other than programming that has our children addicted to speaking like they have rocks in their mouth (i.e. Teletubbies).

Brother Jesse Muhammad (Final Call newspaper & @brotherjesse on Twitter.com) has made the beckoning towards we few black males to take part in a resurgence of mending the black male youth's image and ambition. I heed the call, and I'm sure other cities will do so as well. Do not let Chicago put us into shock and awe for a young man that many will soon pass his death of as a "killing in vain". If we have to put together a panel, or posse, something will and must be done continuously to stop the direct attack on our black youth. Otherwise, we cam show how our swag is supreme in the state pen. Parents, leaders, ADULTS in general. Put down your technologies and help, or put that technology to work and let's save our youth!

Enough marching. Let's mount up and make it happen.

The Surgery, The Implant, The Transformation (Part Two)

I have a fellow Ifa brother, (actually an elder in a way, although only by a few years) that adamantly believes Ifa is constantly changing. Many Ifa elders (rooted in the Yoruba culture and directly from Yorubaland) dismiss this claim, explaining that Ifa doesn't move, nor transform, because it is how the ancients saw nature and their surroundings. My brother argues that Ifa also related to the situations and environment around them at that time. He also claims that Ifa contributed to the drastic changes to the world scape and lifestyle. He continues by insinuating (in a way) that Ifa expands past these studies that confined the wisdom to its own world including: trees, rivers, and animals, and the sky. The elders argue that astrology and numerology are not an influence as well, whereas he thinks it's an infusion of all practices. I believe both. It is true that I and other 'Africans in America' (from Malcolm X) will not and 'cannot be Yoruba' (from Dr. Epega). Instead, we could learn the wisdom of Ifa and nature's secrets to enhance our understanding of this world, spiritually and physically.

From my POV, I was asked by my dad to take heed, due to the fact that my name and culture (Igbo) stems from the belief of 'Chukwu' and other deities, and Yoruba culture would not be the fit for my own. In doing some research, however, the market days of Nigeria for the Igbo and the Yoruba, customs of sacrifice, devotion, and the naming of the children and the meanings don't stray too far from each other, if at all. I simply believe that the Igbo and the Yoruba misunderstand each other's main stems of cultural roots, for now most Yoruba are Muslims, and, the Igbo, Christians. I am also torn between my mother's old time religion in terms of respect. She was Pentecostal, (Church of God in Christ, or COGIC), and they, of course, conjured up spirits and healing through praise, albeit they all were worshipping Jesus. My Grandmother's old church was an African Methodist (AME) denomination. The psychological boundaries were pushed for me at a young age, seeing that the stories of the bible and hearing other versions of how we came to be kings and queens didn't come to me until college. I am now a few months from 30, and I don't see the resurgence of the old time religion I had back then from my mom's days on Earth coming through me, unless it's to revere her and my other ancestors at the altar. In a sense, it's right alongside with the Ifa lineage in praising those before us, but instead, it's not focusing on a figure that is portrayed to be "The Rock of My Salvation" (his Ifa splits would be Sango and Esu).

What I don't understand is that people spiritually try to run game on each other on these trying times. Apparently, "Jesus is to return" and people will get caught up in the Rapture. 2012 is right around the corner, and people are looking for great floods, power outages, fires, earthquakes, monsoons, tornadoes, stock markets crashing, Whitney and Bobby making a tour...everything to blame on their lack of spiritual focus. That's why it's easy to mystify a devil of sorts, (Esu is mistaken for this character often, although in Ifa the 'Devil' doesn't exist), and start praying like it was ammunition and God was firing blessings at their families. Jihad is a view one takes when it is apparent that one thing (I am not entirely sure where this comes from to be as truth, but still...) 72 virgins or so will greet the sacrificial being in waiting at their version of Heaven. So let me get this straight...the Christians believe in letting the Lord fight their battles, and they will become martyrs or die in the name of the Almighty God if they just believe and not strike against their enemy, and the ones that they call radical Muslims, or Islamic extremists, would kill themselves for the greater good of "Brotherhood" amongst the Islamic world? Beautiful, right? I don't believe that all Muslims and Christians are like this at all. In fact, I know that there are some people that utilize Ifa in the incorrect way. Lack of 'Iwapele', or good character. The Laws of Attraction suggest that you call into existence the energy you speak of, or will around you. If you want to be sick, you'd be worrying yourself to death, almost in the literal sense, if you will. Ifa teaches you to hone your spirit with the world around you, rather concrete or course grass. the government constantly tries to talk about slowing down terrorism, improving job increase, and better global connectivity. However, this system was rooted in massive hatred, and karma has to run its course, Black Messiah or not (*smh*).

I have had mad suspect Iwapele ever since my dad was doing his dirt back then when I was little. The Iyaami, considered to most as the witches who bring aje (wealth) or may cause wahala (trouble) if you disrespect them have brought an aspect of how I treat women to the light. I don't think I've been the same person ever since seeing how men treat women as commodities and not as equals. I was raised to make sure I don't disrespect females, but in seeing my father and his exploits, I wonder if that jaded my whole view on how women were soon to turn the tide. I haven't had the best of luck with them, and according to Ifa, this may be a continuous thing unless I set my father's and past males in my family's deeds straight. Spiritual ase resides with the females in a magnitude unexplainable. This is not pushing up on them. This is simply seeing where ruination caught up to my father in his actions. In this case, I think my father is the direct. I am not fully aware if my mother did anything herself, however I know she kept the family glued even when he did his dirt behind the scenes, and in the accident he suffered. He wasn't always like this, and for the fact that there was a reason I came through these two people, I think it shows itself even now. I am learning more about my father's side and my mother's side, only because now my mother has passed. My dad laments the things he's done, and he was there to defend and give us the things that may or may not have indirectly affected us. Still, the Iyaami are killer with the memory and gathering respect. If ever was a time for the men in our family to reap what our formers have sewn, they know how to enact on it. My father hasn't had a decent encounter with women since. A few that have led to his paternity suits, and a couple that lead him into heartache and most of them cheating on him. Another few have had the other man threaten him physically. One thing is for sure...you don't have to believe in Ifa for it to be enacted. This is just a sample, and maybe I'm wrong on it, but Ifa can catch up to deeds quickly.

But isn't that the way with most spiritual systems from the outside looking in? Not religion, spiritual constructs that show a cause and effect. Some repercussion. Some consequence. Some road take or not taken. I embrace Ifa and its infinite possibilities. Some may put it off on their own selfish views on who or what helped them, but nature takes it course, REGARDLESS of it you let it or not.

Which is it?

Which is it, America? All of us or none of us? Indigenous occupation or Columbus land disfiguration? Pilgrim or pillage? Pilgrimage to villages of my ancestors' souls' sole prints on pyramid grounds, not Plymouth Rock. Plundering, pasty, pale face pirates barter we good for their goods in our hoods. What's under the hood? Volkswagen? Folks draggin' my mans an' nem the body tumbling and thuds background sound for America's anthem. Mexican reclamation of real estate, now y'all up at arms throwing immigrant tantrums unforeign to we colored folk that have seen this before. Which is it, America? Go green or be black? Plant a tree for your tomorrow, while we sob in sorrow. Can we borrow a saw to sever our fruit from your bigoted branches and uproot racist remarks? You lie? You lie! You lie on our creativity's bed, reproducing cash from fucking us instead. Reduce credit, reuse demoralizing themes, recycle beats for sympathizing beatniks to freak and front our flavor. Profiting from persona-pimping my people from hip-hop, to rock, to jazz, to lips, hips, hair, nose, genitals and ass. I ask which is it, America? The other white meat, get beat to the white meat, or influenza driving under the influence of swine no matter whole, malignant, or benign. Pork, police, or pressing the oppressed to get shots, or get fined, or get jailed, or get shot, or get sick, or get profiled, or get pulled, or get lynched, or get premium lunch meat. Which is it? Bald Eagle or Pitbull? Sick of Vick or sic 'em? I guess while dogs battle now, back then they circled us like herded cattle, nipping at our dogs, so tired from protesting. Gnawing at our bones simmering in the Mason-Dixon sun and determined sweat. Your pup shits on trees while your laws shit on we. At least your bullets were free to roam in our dome, right? Can't even call this place your home, right? Which is it, bitch? Health care or Hollywood head? Which? Bi-partisanship or badger bi-racial brother? Monotonous monopoly on mahogany inspiration. WHICH IS IT, AMERICA? USA...or US?