A Native Introspection: to be civilized

Hotep,

You have no idea how often I invite cats, from the row, to join me on this journey.  I mean, if you’re truly seeking a Worthy Opportunity to Reveal your Diligence, then W.O.R.D. to the Masses is the ice cube for your lukewarm water.  So, drink up!  Na mean?

It moves me when someone – with something constructive to say – approaches me with a literary expression worthy of this viewing audience’s cyber ear.  In saying that, teaching is not exclusive to a particular race, creed, or social background.  And, learning shouldn’t be a discriminatory practice.  Feel me?

In this particular session of W2TM, you’ll hear the Native spirit of Lil’ Bison unfurl a passion for the true essence of civilization.  Now, for those of you who have never heard of Chief Luther Standing Bear, or may be unaware of the Native contribution to this land of the free and home of the brave; tune into the following introspection of what it means to be civilized.

Lil’ Bison the ear of the masses is now in tune to your voice.  Make it do what it do.  Ya heard?

Always 100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann

------------------------------------------------------

To Be Civilized

Peace,

I want to give thanks to the MannofStat for giving me this chance to speak to the masses. 

“The man who sat on the ground in his tipi meditating on life and its meaning, accepting kinship of all creatures and acknowledging unity with the universe of things, was infusing into his being the TRUE essence of CIVILIZATION.”

- Chief Luther Standing Bear

The great Chief Luther Standing Bear spoke these words long ago.  Obviously, today’s world leaders have no use for these words.  The very concept of being one with Nature is absurd to those who rape Mother Earth, exploiting Her resources.  I often wonder how is it that there can be all these so called educated people, yet the simplest understanding of when we destroy Mother Earth we’re destroying humanity, eludes them.

My ancestors fought, not only to be free from the Founding Fathers’ oppression, but they also fought for Mother Earth to be free from the subjugation of the ‘new comers’ ways.  The war continues to this day in age.  As I and countless women and men fight to be free of the penal system, so does my sisters and brothers fight to protect the ‘reserved’ lands, called reservations, from those that have no regard for Mother Earth. 

I assume imprisoning my Native peoples on these small portions of land isn’t enough.  If committing genocide,  mentacide, which is the killing of the mind, creating poverty, sickness, starvation and enslavement is what defines civilization, then a savage is what I will die as.  Strength and love to all peoples living this struggle called CIVILIZATION.

One Love,

Little Bison

Copyright © 2013 by Paul Cummings

Room Without A Roof: sky’s the limit

Hotep,

Congratulations are in order for my son’s upcoming wedding.  Ms. Jessica Freeman is officially becoming a member of the Mann Tree.  A much welcomed addition, no doubt.  I mean, meeting the Mann of your dreams at the altar can only solidify the link in our family chain.  Right?

The preparations for this monumental event is a beautiful gesture I only wish I could physically be a part of.  SMH.  You see, for so long, I’ve wanted to be the pillar of strength in my son’s life.  Teaching him how to be a Mann and giving him the: “Behind every good Mann is a great woman” talk.

Well, I guess the roles are reversed now, Son.  Watching your life from afar has given me the strength to endure any and everything the state has to offer.  Feel me?  If there is any advice I could give you before you jump the broom, it would simply be: True love can’t be wrong.  You’re marrying your soul mate Son.  Nothing can be wrong with that.  That’s what’s up!

Whenever I see my Lil’ Mann (Deuce) rocking his Jordans or my Summer Breeze (Tear) in her latest baby girl fashions, I’m reminded of the beauty this union of Daveante and Jessica has permitted this fam to experience.  The sky’s the limit for this young duo.  Beautiful people making beautiful babies; makes for a beautiful future.  The Mann Tree has been fruitful, indeed.  The more Manns the better.  Ya heard?

And to the great woman behind the good Mann; I only wish I was there to tell you just how welcome you are to the right coast side of Daveante’s fam.  You’ve been a part of this legacy ever since you made the choice to give me a grandson, Mrs. Mann-to-be.  I can’t even begin to explain how your choice affected my life.  Though we’ve never met, I have every reason to have love for the mother of my grandchildren.  Feel me?

Jessica, as far as traditions go; I can’t give you something old, something new, something borrowed or something blue, but something genuine I can offer.  The Mann in your life, is the Mann I’ve always wanted to be.  Ain’t nothing wrong about that.  Ya heard?

So, cheers to Mr. and Mrs. Mann!  May your love be as infinite as your undying legacy.

Much Love,

MannofStat, a.k.a., G-Dad

Mirror, Mirror… I’m Talking To You!

Hotep,

Is there anybody out there with a definitive explanation behind the emergence of a gray hair?  I mean, I’ve heard that the gray hair is a manifestation of the wisdom and life experience its bearer has attained over the years.  Trust me; I’d like to believe that just as much as the next recipient of the gray stripe, but as I gaze into this mirror, I’m inclined to think the single gray hair – within my mustache – has taken it upon itself to initiate change.

Now dig:

I’m still at the stage where I can count my gray hairs on one hand (stop laughing Chelle).  No matter how much I brush, comb or trim my facial hair, that single strand of gray continues to stand out.  And, as it sustains my grooming techniques, it encourages others like it to follow suit.  Gradually altering the reflection of the shiny black facial hair I’ve grown accustom to viewing for more than two decades.  Now, would I be wrong if I wasn’t willing to accept the change the minority of gray hair is bringing about?  Should I just shave away my facial hair in its entirety – pretending the gray strands don’t exist?

I can vividly remember the excitement when my reflection revealed scattered whiskers on my chin and a hint of a shadow above my upper lip.  I was officially in the throes of manhood.  I couldn’t pull myself away from the mirror.  I was a young Mann with the world to conquer.  My emotional baggage was minimal at that time.  So, I traveled light in a world I believed to be my oyster.  Somewhere – hidden – there was a pearl awaiting my arrival.

Well, it took me nearly 30 years to reach that pearl of potential.  The journey has been nothing less than rough, rugged and raw, but this pearl I now possess, makes me like the gray strand of hair in my mustached; a symbol of change.  No one can turn back the hands of time, so you just have to deal with the reflection you bear.  You may attempt to shave away my existence, but my roots will always remain.  A ‘blind’ Lady Justice has been caught looking in the mirror, and here I am.  A gray hair in her reflection – making way for others like me to follow.  Feel me?

Today, when I look in the mirror, I see a single strand of gray hair in my mustache, tomorrow it maybe two.  Who knows what my mustache will look like 10 years from now.  The bottom line is this: I’ll still be looking in the mirror.  Na mean?  Today’s lone gray hair makes a statement equivalent to the newly discovered Spiral Galaxy being 522,000 light years wide (5 x the size of the Milky Way); my journey knows no limits.  Ya heard?

Mission Not Impossible,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Hanging In A Jar Life

Hotep,

You know, writing has a mysterious effect on those who choose to use it as their tool of expression.  E.g. this particular post was shelved a little over a month ago.  I guess I was just over thinking the expression.  Sometimes I forget that these expressions come through me and not from me.  Ya heard?

The Gotham Writers’ Workshop teaches the aspiring writer that the time spent thinking of ideas for future projects, is considered “soft time.” Now, the flip side of that is “hard time.” This is when the writer is actually pushing the pen or punching the keys to bring his/her ideas to fruition.  So here it is:

I looked out of my cell window this morning (6/22/13) and immediately noticed a sight that hadn’t been there, in the days prior.  This sight took me back to a time back in Philly, where I would hang around the neighborhood steak shop, in hopes of obtaining a gallon–sized pickle jar.  I’d clean that pickle jar until the scent of pickles no longer existed.  Finding a twig or small stick – to place inside – was too easy.

I would use my Pops’ Phillips head screwdriver to poke holes in the top.  You see, this new sight is a spider resting at the center of a silk–sewn octagon, an underrated version of Divine Creation.  No doubt.

As a pre-teen, this form of Divine Creation intrigued me.  The independence and diligence of a spider was something I wanted to harness, bottle-up and have as my own.  Once the spiders got past the traumatic experience of being surrounded by glass; they’d eventually begin to spin their webs – in a fashion resembling their natural habitat.  I find that ironic because I’m sure the various eyes – possessed by this particular spider – observed me cleaning and rearranging my cell this morning.  Who knew?

Tell me; what form of a jar life would be considered the norm?  Life on death row is just that, a jar life.  The boundaries of your existence are constant reminders of the misfortunate chain of events that led to this life of confinement.

Unlike the spider, I’m trapped within the web surrounding me.  Once a spider creates its residence within that pickle jar; you can remove the top without fear of the spider’s hasty exit.  A spider’s web is its identity.  This prison cell is merely a situation for me.  No matter how often I clean it, no matter how many family photos occupy this forced place of residency, when the lid comes off, I’ll be more than ready to walk away from this web of legalities.  Word is bond!

I can recall constantly invading my neighbor’s flowerbed in search of spider nourishment.  Sorry, Ms. Angie.  Searching for bees, flies and the occasional grasshopper left your flowerbed to look more like a sandbox.  But if it’s any consolation, a very valuable lesson has come from my boyhood actions.  A jar life isn’t meant to contain independence, diligence and promise.  The tides have turned and now I know exactly what it’s like to be on the other side of the glass.  Feel me?

Be Easy,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann