Unfortunately, many people in our community are operating from an "Every man for himself" mode (which we got from our enemies). Until we get our culture back on track, don't wait for members of your village to look out for you in this age of transactional relationships. Be proactive. Identify your Soul Tribe and create self-sustaining networks built on the premise of "All for one, and one for all." I've started this process myself, and I'll be getting in touch with some of you...

To be black and beautiful means nothing if we're not black and powerful.

To be black and beautiful means nothing if we're not black and powerful.

Im A Fool To Love You
by Cornelius Eady
Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.

My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.

She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.

Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don't want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.

My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.

This man made my father look good,
That's how bad it was.

He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.

And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it's the only leverage
You've got.

Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.

Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.

This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man's kisses
A healing.