I see you, I feel your pain. Indifference and Invisibility Haunt me tooIf this can be a consolation, though you’re far from seeking consolation, though there is no hiding place from the pains of being black in America, and though there is no joy in reading from the comments…know that you’re not alone. The impersonal being of the Master that causes you to bear witness to the pains of your blackness in America lives in me too. That omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent Masters who connects you to me is all-loving. The Master urged me to say “I love you” to you.
I am very far away from where you are right this minute, Thompson. And at the time of writing I am hearing against my wishes the sermon of a Muslim Imam from the Mosque across the street. I try to deafen my ears to the sermon so as to focus on the things the Masters prompts me to say to you. I am enjoying peace of mind in my apartment in this West African city, insulated for a time, from the things that caused you to seek comfort in the warm water of your bathtub.
Insulated for a time, I say. Because your pain pulled me out of my comfort zone and virtually transported me back to my body, the black body that is the choice target of institutionalized racism as expressed by the indifference, the invisibility of all the Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Michael Brown and others who are no longer in the mist of the living because their black body mattered not to the ignorant hole of the guns that took their precious lives, the nooses or hands that choked them to death.
My dear Thompson, the Masters urges me to say to you that you must be content with that which he blessed you with — existence and consciousness. He wants me to remind you Ayn Rand’s quote: “Existence is identity, consciousness is identification.” Peace.