A New Flavor

So today was my first taste of salsa and I must say it was tasty. Full of flavor, spice, and passion. It's my hope that everyone knows I mean the dance and not the condiment.



My homie took to me La Pregunta, a small bar and cafe on 153rd and Amsterdam, for lessons. We arrived a little late and everyone was in line waiting to be paired up fellas on one side and ladies on the other. We quickly moved to the end of the line. The instructor explained that he would teach us the basic steps, we would then add music, then the ladies would rotate each time. We began three steps forward...5,6,7, three steps back...1,2,3. Then we added a turn and a spin and finished off with 5,6,7,1,2,3. Some of my partners were great teachers, others were beginners like me, and several tried to lead me (which was a humorous exchange) but after a few times I was moving pretty well. The lesson ended and we moved off of the dance floor to rest and the professional stepped on the floor.




When you watch these two people interact with each other it's not hard to see the sexual innuendo presented by this exchange. The movement is sensual, man guiding woman, woman being guided by man and for four minutes two becoming one, moving together to create beautiful movement. Well idealistically. I seemed to fumble around trying to get the basics down. But give me a break it was my first time and we are all awkward the first time. ;) but with practice I'll be making a new flavor.



PS The reason the pictures are blurry is because they capture movement.

A Pause for Prose: Shades over the Soul

It was a beautiful sunny day- fitting considering it Easter Sunday, and I was on my way to Brooklyn Flea Market. I looked up and my eyes encountered beautiful young lady stepping on the train; demur, feminine, and demanding attention, with shades on. I watched her and wondering what she was concentrating so hard on. She briefly looked at me or in my direction before she got off the train and I begin to wonder.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul why do we consistently cover them up? Are we then afraid of what others may see in us? Or are we afraid to show our souls to the world? It such a shame that we hide such a beautiful piece of ourselves from each other. Aside from the physical beauty of eyes, eye contact allows us to connect with each other in unspeakable ways. "At that moment when our eyes are locked in silent communication, we are, in essence, touching." -Debbie Bailey. Have we become so disconnected with others, and so self absorbed that we are afraid to touch someone with a pleasant look?

Sure shades have their function but it seems like recently for most of us that function is to protect our looks our expressions and pieces of who we are. Interestingly enough we are willing to expose so much of ourselves today, but are unwilling to convey the thing that gives insight to who we really are. With our windows open who knows who may enter our souls.

Resolved I will be better…

The other night a most unfortunate thing happened. I got drunk, well drunk is an understatement. I found myself waking up with a hangover but a more disturbing feeling of not remembering what happened at the end of the night. We have all had those moments I’m sure, lucky for me my brother (from another mother) was looking out for me and gave me the 411 on the evening’s activities. He informed me that I was very rude and disrespectful to a young lady, and if that wasn’t bad enough I didn’t remember the encounter. As the story goes she was a beautiful young woman who obviously wasn’t enamored with my inebriated charms and I snapped on her, which she didn’t deserve. She should have slapped me-I would have deserved it, but she constrained her self. This was followed by throwing up outside and being loud and obnoxious going into my apartment. And while some of it was funny it was unsettling to know I acted like an ass.

Over the years I made the claim that I’m on a path to be refined and sophisticated so that I may be a pleasure to others while in their company. However these blunders often make me wonder if I will ever arrive at that destination. Wise enough to know my limits, courageous enough to step away from the indulgence when I have reached it, aware of the characters that they can conjure up.

It’s been said that “final mystery is oneself” and on this journey I have realized that I have qualities unbecoming of the man I want to be. Yet we all seem afraid to confront the things that could give us the most liberation, the darkness that lurks within our souls awaiting the moments to rear its ugly head through our vanity or our vices, and seemingly diminishing our characters. But we must ”confront the dark parts of ourselves, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Our willingness to wrestle with our demons will cause our angels to sing…”

To the young lady I encountered I wish that I could apologize to you face to face, taking with it whatever verbal tongue lashing or worse that came with it. But this is my only forum with which I can offer my sincerest regret for my actions, intimidated by the allure of your femininity and charms, and filled with “liquid courage” I did not present myself as someone worth your time instead as a coward who couldn’t handle rejection. But as I continue to live, I continue to learn, and I evolve and resolve to do and become a better individual.

Here I am.

Life is funny. We define ourselves by what we do thinking that our position makes us who we are-interestingly enough historically occupations did define our status and name in society that’s where many of our last names come from. Our perception often times seem skewed we are either complaining about our situation with no plans to change it, or we’re holding on so tightly to it that we think we will die if we lose it, when letting go could be the most liberating opportunity for us to really begin living. We forget about our fellow man or woman who have it much worse than we do. And rarely do we really appreciate the things we have. I was blessed to be educated in a conversation that I had with a young lady who was going through a storm in her life and had almost given up. I found myself encouraging her, yet simultaneously asking myself the last time I encouraged myself? Telling her she needed to speak life into her own situation, and asking myself when was the last time I gave myself affirmation? Telling her that her substance didn’t lie in possessions, but asking myself how much substance I was giving to the material things in my life? Our conversation inspired this prose and I’m truly thankful for her lesson and her blessings.
It’s quiet now, and the silence deafening. All I hear is my thoughts screaming accusations of all of my faults and shortcomings, all of my failures, all of my mistakes to me. I am only rescued by the sound of crying, I look to see who is there and only realize it’s me when I taste the salt from tears. It is so cold the winds of doubt and loneliness are blowing all around me I cry out for help but no one seems to answer. It is so dark that I can’t see what is in front me and so here I remain seemingly drowning the abyss of dispair. Lost in the recess of my perception.
My history is comprised of what they thought of me, because they think they know me. Hell they ought to they raised me and developed me teaching me what they thought would be important in life. But now it doesn’t seem to hold weight in this place. They told me “get good grades so you can get into a good school” so I did. They told me to “get a good job, a house, so you can find a mate” so I did.
The sun was shining on my life, then the clouds of trials began to roll in, and the rain of tribulation began to fall and the floods of stress and fear consumed me. I lost my job then my house, and nobody wanted me, so here I am, cold, destitute, and lonely. I am haunted by all of things that I was supposed to be, with the promise those accomplishments would bring the blossom of spring in my life but spring never came. I have lost everything but here I am.
Here I am.
Here I am breathing, clothed, sheltered, and in my right mind, with all that I have lost I must never forget what I have gained. Here I am stronger with the knowledge that life’s hardships could not break or deter me. Here I am Here I am wiser understanding that those things they said I should have don’t mean anything if they don’t mean anything to me. Here I am finding my strength in my struggle. Fulfillment truly comes when there is balance. One cannot not truly appreciate pleasure without pain, cannot truly appreciate success without failures, and can’t truly know their strength until it is tested. That substance lies not in what others say about me, but what I say about myself. I found peace in the chaos of my thoughts He touched me and the warmth of the Son filled me and the light that was in me permeated the darkness and I began to shine.

Lovers and Friends....

It’s been said that friends make the best lovers,
I have often wondered why?
Is it because they know ones ins and outs?
Or because they know what lies behind their eyes?
Is it their attention their history and comprisal of all the things that make them up?
Or their ability to see the beauty you possess even if it’s in the morning without your make up?
Or is it simply because they took time to experience your story?
In this fickle world we are often afraid to reveal who we are intimately,
But a true friend takes time to displace insecurity,
When one truly cares, they want to experience your mind,
Far before they are ever concerned about the other side of “quality time”,

When you tell them your deepest secrets,
They are not dissuaded or intimidated,
Nor do they find perverse intrigue,
They simply understand that’s apart of your personality,
And you can rest assure that they won’t tell anybody,
Or even more so it because they know all of those pleasurable places others never privily to, simply because they took the time to listen to you,
Stories you freely disclosed, racy, sometimes wild,
And with attentive ears they simply listened and smiled,
All the while respecting you and suppressing selfish desires,
Allowing you to fine solace and affection in their arms,
A lady or a gentleman they remain,
Unless you both fall victim to seduction and her charms,

Regardless of the each situation what is most important of all,
Whatever should happen you can always depend on your friend
To be there whenever you call,
So next time your making excuses of why you think it won’t work out,
Go ahead and try the friend thing out,
You never know what may happen in the end the greatest lover in life could end up being your best friend.

Pause for Prose: Baby it's cold outside

There are universal questions that we all ask ourselves throughout course of our life's journey. One of them seems to always be “Who am I?” For some of us it feels like it takes a lifetime to answer while we are met with more and more intense questions at varying crossroads that often feel frightening. Frightening because it requires reflection of ourselves, who we are and we desire to be.
Yesterday I awakened work to freshly fallen snow that covered all of New York as I was getting ready for work. This was a totally new experience for me because I am from Texas. It rarely snows there, and when it does everything shut down. Here in New York folks don’t miss a beat, so with a “when in Rome” attitude I began my trek to the job.
In the midst of tingling frozen fingers, a runny nose, and a flurry of flakes hitting my face, I had an epiphany. Not just that it was cold but something more. As I walked down the avenue to my train I noticed footsteps in the snow going in every direction. Some seemed to disappear in the dirt and grime of the street while others were going right and some retreating back from whence they came. As I began to make my own impressions I thought about all of the pressures I have put on myself to be something grand and to make my impression on the world. I heard the crunch of contentment and felt myself slipping on a path that says, “Life is too short for mistakes you have to get things right the first time” yet when an elder passes we are often met with words of solace like “they made many mistakes but with those mistakes that were life lessons, and left impressions on them that made them the person they are. We should celebrate their life for their greatest successes and many failures.”
Too often we focus on the destination that our footsteps will take us to, yet we forget to enjoy the texture that life brings and the journey that leads us to our destination. We step out into the cold world feeling all alone, on our own trying to make sure that we don’t slip and fall, or get on the wrong path and having to turn around.
Often discouragement and fear lies in the knowledge that these paths are unchartered and therefore unknown. There are holes you could sink into, snow covering ice that could cause you to slip an fall, slippery walk ways that could cause you to lose your footing. For this reason it seems that many of us run from the path that was laid before us, retreating back to beginnings and never progressing. You got folks telling you, you may get out there and that cold is going to kick your ass, only to find out that it’s not that bad. For me as I moved forward I began to see things differently, as I took each step I was creating a temporary path for someone to use as a guide and even if I were to fall or step in a hole my mistake helped expose my followers to not step that way. But the thing I think I liked most about the snow is that any misstep I made would soon be blanketed so that I could try again, and soon after it will all wash away when I reach the warm destination of self-contentment.

A night at the Opera

Despite a long day, working midnight shift then getting off at eight in the morning to be at my internship at nine, I was anticipating going to my first opera with a co-worker of mine who is a lover of the arts. After I received the call that she had gotten the rush tickets (if you don’t know you better ask somebody) I hopped on the bus headed to 62ndstreet. There was a light but consistent rain as I got on that was just heavy enough to make it annoying. That, coupled with the traffic from the lighting of the tree in Rockerfeller Center, would have been enough to aggravate most but I was enjoying the rest I was getting and knew that we had time before the show started.



Because we arrived so early we had about an hour and a half to spend, so we decided to check out the gift shop. I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to find something for my mother for Christmas. Unfortunately even the smallest trinkets were out of my price range. Still, the place had some beautiful costume displays and other nice memorabilia to look at. As we walked a little further and listened to Pavarotti playing lowly in the background


I was drawn to this painting. The gentleman in it was poised and elegant in a brocaded suit with knickers, cream silk stockings, and pumps with a cape to match. I couldn’t help but feel underdressed in my car coat, cable knit, and cords, but it was my first time at the Opera so I figured my fellow patrons would cut me some slack.





Before going into the lobby area we checked out an exhibit entitled Mary Magadeline that showcased artist's different interpretations of Mary Magadeline. Check the “Good Book” for more info on her. The thing I especially enjoyed about these remarkable artists was that they each had a individual interpretation of who Mary was and what she represented and they conveyed them in an array of mediums -- one in sculpture another in mosaic, some depicting her as a saint, others demurely, and others still in a more seductively and rakish manner. While the mediums, depictions and dispositions were quite different from one another, all of the artists came together to create something beautiful. Life is a lot like art in this way.



As we walked through the museum the pictures and keepsakes from the house spoke to it’s rich history. Speaking of history, this is the perfect place for a little bit about the Metropolitan Opera House, it was founded in 1883 by a group of business men who wanted their own theatre. In the beginning the management and language changed frequently which often meant translating original scores from one language to another. Finally management decided it would be easiest to keep each play in its original language. The Met (as is it is typically referred to) host more than two hundred performances with more than a quarter million people in attendance each year. New York’s socialites and movers and shakers often come out opening night in sartorial splendor to celebrate first curtain. The Met seems to be vested in continuing the arts developing a new program that commission playwrights and composers with whatever they need to develop new works that can be produced at The Met. The Met also offers a rush ticket program that provides discounted seats ($20) in the orchestra section which provided this opportunity.



With all the visual and audio stimulation around me I was amped going into the autotorium and was pleasantly surprised to see that I wasn’t under dressed. We found our way to our seats and I prepared myself for “The House of the Dead”. I was comfortably in my seat as a hush fell over the crowd when a the first act began and the lights went out. And then, so did I. I was awakened by my co-worker telling me she had to use the powder room and if I didn’t see her she enjoyed attending with me I couldn’t believe it, I had fallen asleep. Oh well at least I could say I had been to the Opera and I had a reason to go again.