Trying to keep guard of my spiritual gate

“Life sometimes is cold and cruel/Baby no one else will tell you so remember that/You are Black Gold, Black Gold/You are Black Gold.” Esperanza Spalding

Photo taken from thehillcom’s twitter feed

I’ve stared at the bright screen of my laptop for a little while now. Frustration basically defines why I’ve stared and failed to write anything.

As I finally start to type, I read that a gunman opened fire at historic Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina last night. As many as nine were reportedly killed in the shooting and others injured.

Scrolling my Twitter feed and reading my Facebook timeline looking for updates on the shooting soon morphed into an exercise in grief.

While I can’t confirm if the shooting was motivated by race, the suspect, who the police have yet to catch, is supposedly a young white man. He walked into an all black church and opened fire with the intention of inflicting harm.

Doesn’t get more racial than that.

My spirit has been splintered slightly. Eventually the adage of “how much more can one take?” begins to take over your essence.

Really? How much more can one take?

From Tamir Rice, to Walter Scott, to McKinney, Texas and countless others; how much more of a burden may my spirit handle?

At this moment I only know sickness and grief. I know that I’m rumbling; that my thoughts are like a scribbled mess on a piece of tattered notebook paper.

Events like this are why being black can sometimes be taxing. We’re expected to be so much for so little and also carry the weight of being hated.

That tax is why I lean on jokes, cartoons, and humor to keep my spirit lifted. The story of Rachel Dolezal was nothing more than a series of memes and jokes for me. No need to entertain madness when it can make you laugh.

But not tonight.

Esperanza Spalding’s “Black Gold” is looping from the Spotify app on my laptop right now. It’s the first thing that came to mind when thinking of something that would provide some form of enrichment.

Sometimes life is tiring man. The events; the nature of what’s involved in simply being is just flat out tiring.

Being black can be heartbreaking, too. There’s love and everything positive embedded within the melanin that I carry. There’s also weakness, insecurity, and heartbreak.

My heart aches for Charleston. It simply hurts for the pain that I see gathered around me on the daily. For being a shade on the color spectrum, it can take years of vitality off of your life.

That’s about it for me. I have nothing else of substance, or lack thereof, to add.

Prayer and love will be comfort. Outside of that, it’s just pure anguish and frustration.

-JH