Weekly Photo Challenge: Free Spirit

I had a lot of fun last week when doing this and after being selected by the guest host, an amazing photographer named Terrence Jones, I decided to flip through some of my photos and try again.

This week’s topic is Free Spirit, and to be honest it took me a little while to think about what that meant to me. I wanted to make sure that I had a photo that really represented what free spirit looked like to me. I speak a lot about passions, fears, desires and purposes with others, but what I realized I was lacking was spirit. I wanted to capture that in this week’s challenge. I wanted the blogsphere to see what my spirit looked like; kind, soft, generous and delicate.

I went to New Orleans a couple of months after Hurricane Katrina, and I was amazed at the destruction that I saw. While walking through the 9th Ward (the area that was hit the hardest during the storm) I got these few pictures. To me, they speak volumes about the actual people that lived there and although the entire area was silent, the spirit was as loud as Mardi Gras! It was all around us and I tried to capture that with the essence of these photos.

Please take the time to comment, I love the feedback and hope you like these photos ūüôā

New Orleans- 6 months after Hurrican Katrina
New Orleans- 6 months after Katrina
New Orleans- 6 months after Katrina
New Orleans- 6 Months after Katrina

I hope these photos touch your spirit the way they did mine.

Klan member’s letter to his biracial grandson

I pay my taxes, donate to charity, volunteer my time and go jogging regularly with my dog.
My family is healthy, I have been blessed with wonderful opportunities and I always smile at those less fortunate.
But I’m not perfect.
I try to take a little time each week to meditate and reflect on that week, give thanks to those who have helped me and most of all be grateful for all that I have been given.
Credit: Dailykos.com
Throughout my life I struggled with communicating forgiveness, not just to others but mainly to myself. Being able to forgive myself for decisions that I may have made, people that I may have wronged or paths that I chose to walk down.
Credit: Spartacus Schoolnet
We have a tendency to wish others to forgive us first, a “you go first” kind of attitude. And admittedly, I felt the same for a long time. In my mind things seemed ok, but it was getting the courage to put yourself in the vulnerable situation to ask for someone’s forgiveness.
I usually post thought filled and inspirational posts on Sunday, respectfully named my ‘Soulful Sunday’ posts. I know today is Thursday but after coming across this letter, I did not want to wait. I was touched with the amount of courage and strength it would take to write this, and the strength that it takes for me to forgive sometimes. It actually brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of situations in my own life, and I knew I did not want to wait to post it. We all have our faults and this seemed appropriate for this topic:

Dear Grandson

I do not even know where to begin, but let me first start off by saying that I love you.
Throughout your life, you have gained an accurate portrayal of much of my life, although accurate, I can now say it is not something I am proud of. If I may, I would like to take this opportunity to give you a small window into my own life.
I was born in a small city to a poor mother and father who struggled to make ends meet for much of my childhood. I had minimal role models of parents. I grew up in a time when there was no such thing as hatred, now I know better. I struggled to find a place to fit in, find myself, understand why I lived on scraps and broken shoelaces for so many years. When I was in my early teens, the answer came from the brotherhood.
I now cringe when I say that word. Brotherhood. Looking back, I struggled to find acceptance and family. What I ended up getting was betrayal and bigotry. My whole world changed and I felt as though I belonged. It brings tears to my eyes now realizing the pain I caused on so many families, families just like yours.
When your mother was born, my whole life was consumed in being the father for her that I never had. Your mother is so much stronger than I could ever be. She rose out from the beliefs that I had and saw such beauty in everyone all around her. In so many ways I can see how she saved me. I was so in love with her, in my eyes she could do no wrong. Nothing about her was ever out of place. My life was complete with my little girl.
When you were born I felt so abandoned and betrayed. How could my beautiful, perfect little girl create something all for herself? Something that she loved and cared for more than me? Something that was against everything that I felt was right. I became selfish and self consumed. I vowed that I would never forgive her, for not only having a child but having a child with a black man. An act punishable beyond measure.
My hatred festered for 18 long years after that. Years that caused me illness, pain, grief and near death symptoms.  Years that aged me threefold.
And then one evening, I woke up, in the middle of the night and started to cry. And let me tell you, your grandfather is not a crying man. But laying in the hospital I realized I had nothing. Everything that I had once had, was gone. I cried for hours realizing how selfish I had been to myself and how unfaithful I had been to others. It was at that moment that the pain and hatred I had felt for others had caught up with me, and turned on me. I felt gut wrenching pain and nausea, instant headaches and tightness in my throat and chest. Pain from all of the anger, loss and loneliness I felt from not only my own parents, but your mother as well. Pain from all of the unresolved bitterness and abandonment that I had felt since I was a child.
I thought I was going to die.
But, I didn’t.
It was that moment that I knew I had to forgive myself. I did not want to continue living the way I had been. If I did, it was going to kill me. I had to forgive myself so that I could forgive others and finally so that others could forgive me. The anger that I let build up for so many years was so entirely thick that it did not allow for others to forgive me or for me to forgive them. All that was around my heart was hate and anger. It festered like an infected wound, growing, festering larger and larger and more rancid each day.
And the infection of that wound had finally seeped into my soul.
But I had to let that go. I had to let that wound heal. I had to forgive myself so that I could allow others to be angry at me, ask for answers.  To those who needed closure and to those who needed me to allow them to let me go. I had to forgive myself for all those that I had hurt and allow myself to be criticized and be vulnerable to those who meant the most to me.
My daughter. And you.
And I want you to know, that I have forgive myself for all the hate and anger I caused myself. It has taken a long, long time, but I have. I forgive myself for the anger I held onto, the guilt and blame I placed on others and most importantly And I forgive those who gave up on me when I would not let them reach out to me.
And with this forgiven, it allows me to apologize to you, wholeheartedly for any and all pain that I directly or indirectly caused you. You are my blood and a beautiful young man.
And
I love you.

The Last Airbender

There are certain songs that when I listen to them, they speak to my spirit; have the effect to stop me in my tracks, slow my breathing down a bit and even bring me back to my childhood.

I didnt grown up in the suburbs but I do not pride myself on the struggles that I faced.

I took a step back from my surroundings and submerged myself into the arts.

From the time I could understand I had one love. And that was music.

My mother would drive me to and from school when I was in primary school. She always listened to Top 40s or one of those “best of the 80s, 90s and today!” stations. She would roll the window down and you could feel the beach breeze on your face and smell the salt in the air.

Even today, when I hear some of those old songs, they put chills down my spine and bring me back to those afternoon rides in my mother’s blue Dodge Dart with my hands out of the window catching the air between my fingers. Here are a few of them..

Free Fallin’– Tom Petty

Return of the Mac– Mark Morrison

Candle in the Wind– Elton John

Breakfast at Tiffany’s– Deep Blue Something

Forevery Young– Rod Stewart

Mmmmmbop– Hanson

Truly Madly Deeply– Savage Garden

Dont Speak– No Doubt

Gangster’s Paradise– Coolio

Barely Breathing– Dustin Sheik

Music is a central theme in some of my posts and I want to share some of that music with you. I would love to hear some of your music memories…

Bedtime monsters and pole dancers

I’ve started to learn a lot about myself over the last couple of weeks.

I think I will forever not be a morning person no matter how early I go to bed


I find it rather rejuvenating standing outside in the rain

I prefer to make the dinner rather than do the dishes

And..
There is a very grey line between leaving your leg outside of the covers at night just enough to keep you cool and exposing your leg enough for a monster to grab you


This. is. Kiddie.

I rescued her off of a wooden beam. I heard her meowing when I was walking my dog. I plucked her off the pole and set her on the ground.

What am I going to do with this cat? I said to myself

Oh, I will put posters up and her owners will call!

No one called.


That was in 2009.

September 2009

She started out as “the new kitty”, something informal so as not to get attached.

When 2009 came and went and I still
had her, I dropped the formalities and just called her kiddy, but got creative
changed the t to a d and added the “ie” to the end
instead.


Yeah.

So, this said kiddie sleeps on my bed at night.


I have to ninja my way out of the bed in the morning so as not to bother her.

She likes to sleep close to me and occasionally rests her paw on me.

Which is cool, ya know, at 5:30 in the afternoon when I’m on the couch.

2:42am, when i leap up thinking it is the above described leg grabbing monster, not.so.much.


at what age do many of us develop our fear of the darkness? The stillness of night? What is it about the lights off vs the lights on that makes ones mind wander?  Why do we assume that the boogie man cannot find us under the covers as opposed to on top of them?