Tag: Humanity

Sister Death and the Tragedies of This World

trE

I posted my last piece on Medium for the time being. I am sharing that same piece here as well.

Every day, there is a new form of pain to sort through

Sister Death Intro via Netflix. Photo Credit by Tremaine L. Loadholt

I want to say I am moving through every day without problems. I want to say I am moving through every day without pain. I want to say . . . I am moving through every day without leaning into the fears that stare at me at every turn. The truth is . . . I am hanging on by a string.

Every day, there is a new form of pain to sort through. As soon as I have made my way past that form of pain, there is one waiting just at the edge of my uneven breaths for me to fight as well.

I am not alone in this. I know. The world is steadily crumbling around us and fire and brimstone are piquing at their hottest points. When human beings choose between whom they can lend their empathy to, the world is already at its end.

I do not condone any form of violence taking place at home (in the US) or abroad. I also hate that our tax dollars are being used to fund what I believe is a nonsensical massacre at large, with no apparent end in sight, and authoritative figures bent on greed and boosted by their egos will be our downfall.

Numbers have never been my favorite thing to assess.

I am thumbing through and clicking on so many news sites and platforms of educated people honed in on what’s happening. However, I am also questioning many trusted sources, too.

When I read phrases like, “What we know,” I am moved to pause. Do we really know this? How do we know this? Who found out the information and when? Who have we paid for the facts and why? When will this senseless bloodshed end?

Below are a few key points taken from NBC News:

What we know

Israeli officials sent tanks and infantry into Gaza overnight, where they remained Saturday. Officials said that with the air and ground campaign, the “ground shook in Gaza.”

Most communication in Gaza has been knocked out, and U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres said it is “facing a total collapse with unimaginable consequences for more than 2 million civilians.”

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu warned that a long and difficult war awaits.

More than 7,000 people, including women and children, have died in Gaza, according to Palestinian health officials. In Israel, about 1,400 people have died.

At least 229 people were taken hostage during the Oct. 7 terrorist attack — including infants and young children.

NBC News’ Richard Engel, Raf Sanchez, Kelly Cobiella, Josh Lederman, Matt Bradley, Ellison Barber, Meagan Fitzgerald, Jay Gray, Hala Gorani, Chantal Da Silva and Alexander Smith are reporting from the region.

When we assess the numbers, what more does Israel want? How much more can the US benefit from the atrocities occurring? Because be very aware, the head officials are benefiting from this.

When I read the following from CBS News:

Hundreds of demonstrators from a Jewish activist group made their way into Grand Central Terminal’s main concourse and staged a sit-in during rush hour.

The group, Jewish Voice for Peace, demanded a ceasefire in Gaza on a day Israeli military forces increased incursions.

It also led me to the Instagram page of the Jewish Voice for Peace to watch a clip of their demonstration while they were all either being handcuffed or handcuffed. The chant, “What do we want?” “Ceasefire!” “When do we want it?” “NOW!” will stay with me for many weeks to come, perhaps months — maybe years.

Police officers arrested 200 protestors for this cause. 200!!! For what? Freedom of Speech? This doesn’t exist anymore and really, maybe it never did.

As all numbers relating to this event continue to spike, I blink my eyes, and the Democratic Republic of Congo is dealing with its plight. Death seems to be what’s on the menu of late. And it’s only going to get worse before an inkling of betterment arrives.

Balance during these times is crucial to my health.

To tune out the world around me, I am reading. I am writing. I have begun a new shift at work, which allows me more time in the morning to meditate, cook a hearty breakfast, and go for longer walks by myself or with Jernee. I am finding things to keep my mind busy and preoccupied with peace.

There has to be balance.

Currently, I am reading, Afeni Shakur: Evolution of a Revolutionary by Jasmine Guy. When I am done with it, I will begin, In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict by K. E. Garland. After those two, I will begin POISE: Facing Cancer with Grace and Resilience by Gail Boenning.

Earlier today, I watched Sister Death on Netflix, and the similarities between this movie shook me versus the constant turmoil in the world today.

Sister Narcisa felt the torture and pain that layered the halls of the convent from buried secrets from the other sisters years before her arrival. Raping, pillaging, and the deaths of women and children occurred during a war that befell their country’s doorstep rise to the surface in her presence.

After a miraculous childhood, Narcisa becomes a novice and starts teaching girls in a former convent haunted by a disturbing presence. — Netflix

The ending left me with my mouth agape and my heart aching for what Sister Narcisa had to experience to uncover the truth. What will we have to do to uncover the truths of this shaken-up world?

There is a time for reflection and a time for truth-seeking. There is a time for peace and a time for meditation. There is a time for love and a time for allyship and solidarity. Could it be we’re all see-sawing through every event of such times cyclically without our knowledge?

It certainly feels like it.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

She Walks and Thunder Takes a Bow

trE
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Remember my neighbor who has thunder in her heels?

I introduced myself one night as she was storming down the hall. Her smile appeared before I could part my lips, “Hey! Good evening! I’m Tre, by the way.” She nodded and acknowledged me as I fumbled with my keys, attempting to lock my door. “Hey, Tre. Nice to meet you. I’m Marcella.” I instantly think, And now, I know her name. I can greet her accordingly from this moment forward.

She strikes me as someone who commands the air around her to be still and it probably will. She’s not rude–no, not by a long shot. At least, not from what I can tell. She is, however, stern and confident in her approach to things. I get this–I can sense this. And why shouldn’t she be?

Marcella bolts around the corner just past my door and smiles in my direction once again, “Good night, Tre.” I am taken aback by this as I had already started to head down the hall in the opposite direction, but I don’t let the opportunity pass me by to wish her a good night also . . . “Oh! Good night to you as well, Marcella!”

We’ve made each other’s acquaintance, and I can breathe easier knowing someone’s name who lives just a couple doors down. We are surrounded by people we do not know–may not care to know, however, I must become familiar with people and places in my surroundings. I have always been this way. I doubt I will ever change.

On the eve of a night when bombs land on hospitals and children’s lifeless bodies are removed from debris spread about their homeland, I toss the idea of communing with others just for shits and giggles in my rattled brain. Why aren’t we a more loving people?! What is happening to humanity? Gone are the days when we could see a child slain in broad daylight and our heart splits in two, withers, and slides down to our feet until we’re walking on our pain.

W H Y A R E N ‘T W E E N R A G E D?!

I try to remind myself not to sink too far down the rabbit hole of videos and articles about the goings-on and genocide occurring in a country/land that feels half a world away. But as time ticks on, I watch another reel, read another blurb, and find my eyes fixated on yet another image, and I can’t pull away.

But I think back to Marcella–the woman with thunder in her heels who appears to be forceful yet gentle, too. And I wonder, is she thinking about world issues and how we need to attempt to save humanity also? Or, is she wrapped up in her own little world simply trying to survive while the rest of us who are too sensitive crumble?

And just as I am preparing to read for the night and tuck myself into cottoned delight, I hear her storm down the hall once more.

And I notice thunder take a bow.

The Stripping Away of Bare Bones

trE

Musical Selection: The Isley Brothers|Voyage to Atlantis

A Collaborative Effort with BJ Dawson

Photo by Gioele Fazzeri on Unsplash

We, the oppressed are still chained — still
bound to the walls of the majority.
If we breathe the wrong way, a shot to
the lungs while we’re blinking could be
our demise.
Yet . . . they tell us we are free.
If we were free, we’d be able to roam
the streets in our skin — black as night,
beautiful as a half-moon, without fear.

They plummet in our direction — bullets with
no names, claiming our souls one at 
a time. And if that’s not enough, we are being
stripped of our bones while we’re already 
bare — naked as a newborn, cooing in 
the dark, crying to be held — yearning to be loved.
The Powers That Be see no wrong in their ways.
They’re going about business as usual 
while we pull at the air disappearing 
from our sight.

One by one, rights are being struck down — laws
put in place to keep us in place, and pockets
are being laced with almighty dollars to keep
the loud ones quiet. 
Soon we will be wombless, wounded, wound up,
and worked into the plan they have
to be rid of us . . . 
And then, what?

And then, nothing.
Split from the bone,
the many, now the one
lone splinter flees this madness
seeking silence, solace, solitude;
a peace, apart from malicious eyes;
the swarming hornets of untended,
weaponized trauma,
wielding perverse justice as
both heirloom and cudgel,
endlessly frustrated by
never striking flush with it.

They lash out in all directions — targeting
the Other with retribution — both of the
self-proclaimed divine and the
self-indulgent, profane type — never pausing
long enough to reflect, to witness that
there is no They, nor is there an Other;
there is, has been, and will only ever be Us.
Many claim to follow someone named Jesus,
who tried telling us exactly this
before being killed for it.

We, the oppressed are still chained — still
bound by rusted yoke of crumbling society
failing to see how the tie that binds also limits
their own roaming; existentially tragic
how we diminish our horizons
by diminishing fractions of life
over the whole,
all while labeling this farce Justice.

But someone says, “Have faith.
Have hope. Remain open to 
the possibilities of change,” and
we all stand on tired feet, shuffling
to distant places, wondering when
that “Change” will ever come.

©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt and Barry Dawson Jr., IV

This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ve been collaborating with one another since the early 2000s. Here are a couple of our other pieces. Thank you for reading.

The Isley Brothers, Voyage to Atlantis via YouTube

©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt and Barry Dawson, Jr., IV originally published in A Cornered Gurl

Two more of our collaborations:

Dead Roses & Understanding the Power of “No”

Human: Or Do LGBTQ People Still Count as Such?

trE
Photo by Mark Brecic via Unsplash

A revised free-verse poem turned lamentation

All you see are flaws — 
Too many to count
Too difficult to name.

They greet me in the morning;
Say, “Hey, how are you managing?
How can you become US?”
US always has it together. 
They’re related to They.
They know everything.
And if you’re not with
US, you’re against Them.

Human used to be the creature
Who remembered there
Existed love amongst everything.
Love and touch and holding 
One’s hand was more important.
Not some digital image
Concocted on a canvas made
Of lies.

It yearns for sustenance
Buried deep in
Soiled forests but
Will not take the time
To harvest.

Woe to the
Breathing being who is looking
For approval in
Sweaty bed linen
And overpriced vehicles,
They will wither and turn
Into figments of their imagination.

Gifted tongues ululate
At crescent moons, surely
Their voices will
go unheard.

Human is the creature
Who smiles in your face
And sharpens a knife
Behind your back.

It is unprepared for
Danger and never has a plan.

It turns against its brothers 
And sisters and people who
Just want to be loved instead
Of othered.

I bow, this species so thick
On my skin, 
Washing it off would
Be suicide, however, isn’t
That what US wants?

The previous version can be found here. Thank you for reading. Published in Prism & Pen via Medium.