Posted on by Journey of a Cultural Carrier

Ingrate=Miserable

You know someone.

You know someone who is always miserable.

They complain about life, work, their spouses, their children, or lack thereof.

They come across as never being satisfied.

They’re annoying.

An ungrateful person will turn any situation into an opportunity to play victim.

They are conniving, but come off as sweet and helpless.

Beware.

No need in wasting time with these ones.

Their lives suck because they don’t know how to look at their situation as opportunities to do better.

They cannot get out of their place of lack, and imagine that each failure is a step towards their goals.

They don’t think that someone is doing much worse than they are.

They cannot imagine their situation can be worst.

We’ve probably all been there. I sure have. I’ve been the ingrate.

Misery.

Misery is linked to being in a space of ungratefulness.

If this is you, change your attitude.

Know that counting your “bliss” will help your chakra ascend.

Go to that place of peace.

Oh, there’s nothing to be grateful for? Your life is the shits?

  1. Are you breathing?
  2. Do you have access to clean water?
  3. Do you have a bed/couch/floor in a warm place to sleep?
  4. Do you have clothes?
  5. Do your legs and arms work?
  6. Does your brain still work?
  7. Are you able to eat?

If you answered “yes” to the majority of these questions, you are winning.

Most times, our situation changes with but a thought.

Change your thinking. Make plans. Today is not tomorrow.

Stop driving yourself into the ground with negative thoughts. Drive those away!

Remember, no one owes you anything. But you owe the world your gift. Find it. Share it. And that step towards your life purpose will change everything.

Remember to be grateful for the little things. That way, the universe rewards you with more to be grateful for.

Never forget a hand that helps you. Be loyal to those who are in your corner. Be grateful for the friend who is always there to help you, listen to you, put up with your shit.

Stop playing victim. Be honest to yourself. Analyze your situation and take ownership of your own decisions which have put you there. Then, design your plan of how to get yourself out. There is ALWAYS a way out.

Be kind to yourself. Stop bad-mouthing yourself. It’s pathetic, actually. You are born with special gifts and talents. Being special is a choice. If you do nothing with what you have, “special” doesn’t just fall upon you. Be great! Be special. However, sitting around moping about lack is actually diminishing your light. You’ll make yourself sick. Stop it.  

So, let’s go over this again. If you want to get out of your misery, start being grateful! Challenge yourself-keep going. You deserve peace. You deserve happiness. And we deserve to not put up with your crabby ass!

Posted on by Journey of a Cultural Carrier

Space: Protecting Your Energy

The space between you and others shorten with each interaction-social media check-in, message reading, text response, phone call answered, physical encounter, and even mental thoughts. We are essentially free of space-having none at all.

I think and work ways to achieve space. I understand that we are but one evolving, growing and pulling endeavor of energy. Everything contains energy. Everything has degrees of energy. Everyone is energy. And energy is fluid.

Have you ever had a friend call you for advice, and after the conversation, you’re physically tired? If it was intense, and you had to dig deep to give your intuitive help, even your brain hurts. They have sucked your energy. Limit these people. Be kind to yourself-you do not have to respond to their phone calls, text or messages. You have a right to reject an incoming call or text. There is no need to feel guilty. Additionally, you may take time to finally respond. You’ll find more and more that when you finally respond, the problem is resolved. Your peace is not disturbed, and you’ll be happy you honored yourself first.

If you’re an Empath, you automatically absorb energy. And let’s face it, most people harbor a lot of bad/negative energy. Not because they’re not good people, but because generally, people do not know how to let go of hurt, disappointment, trauma, worry and pain. In your interaction with them, you subconsciously give more positive energy than you receive. Thus leaving you depressed, sad, or just ill-content. And leaving you wondering why you feel so heavy.

Empaths are always tired. They have the most energy in the morning, before physically responding to others, whether through social media check-in, message response, verbal conversations with their mates, children, family or outside persons. Empaths recharge during their rejuvenation periods of sleep. Minimally, we need at least five hours of sleep to be at our optimal best. How many times have you started your day with abundant positive energy, and one phone call or interaction with a mate, friend, loved one, boss or opening of a bill sent you spiraling into a wave of anger or frustration?

I decided to write about space because it is important to consciously block ourselves from energy suckers. Energy suckers aren’t necessarily doing this on purpose, or with malicious intent. It’s just that energy suckers are usually codependent ones who constantly need your energy. Energy suckers also come in the form of other things, too-bills, obligations, circumstances. And because Empaths naturally absorb atmospheric energy and others’ emotions, feelings-the good, bad and ugly, we are left spent and tired. Consciously visualize yourself blocking that energy-even when in communication with someone else.

I block people’s energy by remaining fixed on my highest crown chakra-my 7th level, where my mind is open, yet free of baggage. I consciously absorb light into this violet place of grounded calmness, and remind myself to not absorb, or be moved too greatly (or negatively) by what I’m hearing (or whatever is happening). To be fair, while my subject (friend or other) is speaking their mind (if that’s the case), I rely on my 6th chakra to be intuitive, and receive messages that this person needs to hear. But it is my 7th level, which allows me to release my advice-speak my truth to this person, and thus, releasing their energy back to them. If it’s a circumstance which needs my attention, I focus on what can be done in the present, and prioritize what is important. Granted, I’ve transformed the energy to positive. But I do not absorb. That way, If my task was to help another, I don’t even remember the conversation. It was not mine to keep. Circumstances aren’t ours to keep, we are to learn from them, and let them go. Energetically let them go. Visualize it flying away, gently with the wind.

We have the power to manipulate energy. We have the power to filter what comes to us in the form of news, messages, programming, instructions, or status quo. Don’t allow others to dictate your mood, or state of being. Take care of yourself. Always, self first. Love yourself. Respect yourself. And most importantly, honor yourself, and your sacred space.

Posted on by Journey of a Cultural Carrier

My Niggah

Two Boys on Tracks, San Marcos

“Whut up, my niggah!” Came the boisterous greeting from Carl to his best friend from Kindergarten as he approached him. He gave his friend the once over, studying his oversized, worn sneakers, baggy jeans held by a tight belt, that seemed to swallow his thinly framed friend, as the jeans were bigger than the present-day, Hip-hop fashion commanded, and his oversized Cross Colour ® shirt, a Hip Hop clothing design which became popular in 1989, appeared weathered. The once vibrantly multi-colored, stripped shirt was now faded.  “Guess you wearin’ yo’ big bro’s old clothes again!” He laughed, still holding his friend’s hand, from “slappin’ fives”, and sliding into held fists, which remained at chest height. Carl’s eyes made it to his friend’s hair, and then Carl made a quick jerk from the hand embrace. He brought his released fist to cup his lips and he yelled, “Yooooooo! What da fuck dey did to yo’ tape, man?!” He cackled out, stomped his feet as if he meant to march away, but was suspended by a turnstile as he made a full 360° turn while dancing and chanting in synchronized march step. He looked at his friend and repeated, “Whut dey did to yo’ tape, niggah?! Dey fucked you up!” He seemed to press hard upon the word, ‘fuck’, as he held that word longer than the any other word in his query. He reached up to his friend’s forehead, where his hairline was crooked, and half of it was  ¼ of an inch further back from his natural hairline, proving that his barber was either blind or inept. Carl bent over in a belly laugh, not realizing the hurt he had imposed upon his too-shocked-to-speak friend.

“Mannn, shuddup!” Bernard muttered, grossly embarrassed and looking around as if he’d find the perfect hole to crawl into. He touched his hairline with his right hand, and palm brushed his curly hair down, as if that would correct the injustice done to it. He pushed past his friend, more angrily now, than hurt, to continue his walk to the school house. His old backpack slouched on his right shoulder, forcing his body to lean towards the left as he stalked away. His step hipped-hopped on his left leg, as was the “cool walk” of the day, taking full steps with his left, and shorter ones of his right leg. Looking at him, one couldn’t tell if that was due to the weight of his book bag, or his natural walk. Either way, his pride was tethered to that walk, which gave the perception that it did not bother him that he was lacking what he thought was essential to a successful life at school. If his mom didn’t stop trying to cut his hair, and he didn’t get some new clothes soon, his life at Miramar Elementary School would be hell. He’d have no respect, and worse, no friends. He slapped his fist into his open left palm as he thought about what he could do to make money.

“Yo, B! Wait up, niggah. Don’t be mad at me!” Carl yelled as he ran after his best friend. It wasn’t his fault dude was coming to school all jacked up. At least he still hung out with him. And if he didn’t tell him the truth, he wouldn’t be a friend. Bernard should be lucky that he still hangs out with him even though he comes to school looking like his people must be poor as fuck. He put his arm around his friend’s neck aggressively, although to show affection. “Chill out, niggah.” He beckoned, but more to show his familiarity, “We fam, niggah. Don’t get all all soft on me, nah.” He shook his pal’s neck as if that would shake off the hurt he realized Bernard was feeling.

The boys traveled two more blocks south in silence. They continued their way down to NW 2nd Avenue; their destination, 30th Street, to wait on the school bus scheduled to pick them up from behind Buena Vista Elementary School. As they passed by LaFama Supermarket on 31st Street, Carl turned to Bernard who by now was in better spirits and said, “Man, I’m hungry.”

The smell of Cuban coffee and fresh pastries filled the air. One could also get a whiff of buttered Cuban toasts and bacon. The bakery café right next door to La Fama served breakfast and dinner at the same time. Cubans ate anything at any time. They even had chicharrones, pork cracklings, right next to the pastelitos de guayaba,  pastelitos de guayaba y queso, and pastelitos de carne-the three main staples of Cuban pastries, in the pastry warmer which also contained empanadas de carne, and croquetas de jamón.

Carl fell from formation and faced the bakery. The sunrise cast a brilliant yellow light upon the otherwise pre-dawn dim of light. Workers and moms packed the outside window, and inside, a row of hungry worker men sat in the narrow café, which only had a foot of standing room between the wall, and from behind the men who sat on stools.  “Niggah, you deaf?! Let’s go, man. I’m hungry!” He started towards the café.

“But I don’t-“ Bernard started.

“Niggah, shut up. I already know yo’ ass ain’t got no money! Let’s go. You know you hongry!” And with that, he grabbed his best friend by the collar and dragged him towards the café until Bernard resolved that, that’s what they were doing at this moment-getting something to eat.

And Bernard conceded that, his friend was a jerk, but at least he looked out for him.

 

 

Image by Richard Menzies, at http://rdmenzies.com/Photography/

Posted on by Journey of a Cultural Carrier

The Attacker

Tom Hoops

Faded screams and yells melted into the rhythmic drumming in sync with the bloody fists pounding against Carolina’s head. Her vision blurred, and she faded in and out of darkness and the prism of colors.

Her attacker continued the thrashing despite the screams of onlookers.

The scene was chaotic at least. Cars zoomed by, and honked at the onlooking crowd- which had all but spill into the street from the shadowy alley where most were suspended; they watching what must have been an epic event. The crowd jumped, hollered and pumped raised fists in the air; but it had an interestingly ominous feel. One couldn’t tell if what they were watching was exciting or dangerous. Passerby-ers couldn’t tell if the crowd was happy or afraid-the excitement and mayhem was that of something gratuitous being given, or some type of cock fight. One couldn’t tell by their reaction. From behind, a new comer can only see that many had pulled out their cell phones-that prevented any newcomers from seeing the event.  These lucky ones, who had gotten to the event early, were recording. Some continued to scream at whatever they were watching. Some ran out of the alley. But most stood, cell phones capturing the atrocity being committed, too immobile to decipher what was actually happening, with their mouths agape in a silent scream.

Carolina’s body weakened under her attacker, moribund and motionless. Her face sunken by broken skin and bones. Blood splattered everywhere and revealed white flesh, and muscles from her exposed cheeks and vertically split lips. The cartilage from her broken nose protruded from her disfigured face.

The Attacker grew tired. His hands were bruised and the blood which hid his knuckles was a mixture of his and his victim’s. He leaned back against his heels as his knees were hot and sore from the hot, asphalt pavement. He took a deep breath. He looked around at the cellphones in the air, and seemed deaf to the screams. His eyes were dark, glossy, but empty of emotion-they reflected the horror stained upon his audience’s faces. His break seemed to come from fatigue, rather than remorse. He rocked himself up slowly. His right knee came up as he planted that foot on the ground. He looked up again, with his right elbow propped upon his knee, and held his chin. He lifted that arm and wiped his forehead with a bloody backhand. He winced with pain from the contact of his forehead with his bruised knuckles. He then placed his hand back on his knee to support himself as he pulled his left leg up to finally stand up. He squinted as he leaned his head back to look directly at the sky, partially hidden by the flanking buildings. He didn’t shield his eyes from the protruding, yet glaring sun. He then placed both hands on his hips and inhaled slowly. He exhaled harshly, and coughed his head back down as his chin met his chest. He slowly raised his head and looked around. He wiped his mouth with bloody fist.

The crowd seemed to stop. All noise. Stopped. People became frightened and put their phones down. A few who dared to continue taping slowly backed out of the alley, pushing and stepping on whomever was behind them without so much of an ‘excuse me’.

The Attacker’s chest heaved up and down. His faced screwed back, as if he remembered his anger. He flashed back to his victim who laid there. Lifeless. And with the gasps and screams of a climaxed crowd who could take no more of the brutality, he gave Carolina one more swift and hard kick to the ribs. The crack of her bones muffled by his loud growl. And without so much of a glance at his environment, nor victim, he stalked away.

No one followed him.

“Call an ambulance!” broke the silence from the confused crowd.

 

Image borrowed by Emmi Grace’s article (Pinterest)

Posted on by Journey of a Cultural Carrier

Numb.Dumb.

Am I numb or dumb?

The question is valid. One term does not negate the other.

Numb to your words-swords wielded to hide, abide, impose a belief, a lie.

Dumb to what is real, ideal, what you reveal, in every breath of your life.

Numb to what I should feel, what you steal like your ancestors taught you.

Dumb to what I deserve, what you serve, your nerve, to observe me

Numb to what ought not be, us, you and me, makes no sense in any reality

Dumb to what ought to be, queen, me, king, you, seeds, us, royalty

Numb to pain, gain, freedom, slain, heartbeat, sustains, life maintains

Dumb to loss, the costs, the contracts, the con, the tracts, bad deals, intact

Numb to love, hate, fear, fate, possibilities mate, lovers abate

Dumb to what’s left in the wait, bait, a date, to relate, my choice to vacate

Numb to reality, real lie, spy, cry, die, deceive, receive, a pile, of bile

Dumb to levels, degrees, merits, values, assets, carbon, magic, cosmic channels

Numb to justice, it’s just…us, what is just is, just is, nothing

Dumb to pockets, dockets, sockets, holes, deepening the space of where carbon molds

Numb to you, inflated glob of goals, moles, trolls, roles, no soles, because you have no soul.

Dumb to yield, relinquish, power, my ore-my skull, my mind, mine

Numb to relation-ships, friend-ships, court-ships, owner-ship, rider-ship, space-ship-dumb shit

Dumb. Numb. Mum. Mute. Voiceless. Overlooked. Disregarded. Dumb. Numb.