Wings, without the sauce…

photo: Diem Jones

Before deciding to raise and stretch my arms nearly as wide as the room, I blinked — the blink extended into a nod as I envisioned my arms to be featherless wings, and then my nostrils twitched…

…while my taste sensors reeked of Mambo Sauce, my mind raced to Ishamel Reed’s “Mumbo Jumbo,” and my eyes opened to see clouds below and light above…could this be heaven or was I still on earth?

I wondered if Jes Grew (ala Mumbo Jumbo) and the Placebo Syndrome (ala Funkentelechy) were the same, as my aural sensors detected music, which became a power so strong that I thought I must dance…

…then I realized that I had missed my calling to remain docile as I was no longer whipped by the “new’s views” of the day. I had freed myself of the attempt to program me and my entire community to feel the pain instead of smelling the roses…

The test of live vs. memorex was a reality check I chose to ignore…this was my flight! No sauce on my wings, no greens in my bowl, no walls and borders, no guardians of denial, no agony of my feet, as I was and am still flying!

I choose to look down when I fly and up when I pray…the sun is always shining and I have been blessed to carry a torch…the walls can never be high enough to reach the clouds and I also choose to never again share my mental space with the makers of the wall, who are determined to be naysayers and fakers of the truth.
photo: Diem Jones

I no longer long for what I want as what I want is a fickled pickle sandwich and what I need is my choice vs. the dim, programmed view of mambo sauce on my wings.

r.u. with Understood Stasis or US?

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