Sunday, February 28, 2010

Sunday Sermon [Terminal Uniqueness]

¡Hola! Everybody...
I had something completely different in mind today, but I couldn’t finish writing. Actually, writing what I really want to post led me to something else completely. Anyway, here’s an oldie but goodie...

* * *

-=[ Terminal Uniqueness ]=-

“Oh, that? Girl, I stopped suffering from terminal uniqueness a long time – thank GAWD!”

-- Overheard on subway, IRT 6 train, NYC


Part of the enjoyment of living in New York city is that you’re always catching snatches of conversations, like the one quoted above. Two young, professional women discussing men and heartbreak. I loved that phrase “terminal uniqueness.” The way I see it, terminal uniqueness is the feeling that many of us get when we’re going through rough times: nobody knows how I feel. No one has ever felt what I felt. My pain is unique and therefore no one can understand what I’m going through, and I’m gonna die a wretch.

I’m exaggerating a little bit here, but I think we all go through this thought process to some degree. We feel our problems are unique to ourselves and in that way, we develop an attachment to our pain: my pain is unique! We seem to be saying. And so it is: we have our own little unique crosses to bear and bear them we do: proudly, like scars earned in battle.

Fact is, however much you’re hurting, someone has you trumped, sweetie. There’s that old cliché about having mourned going without shoes until seeing someone with no feet. Sure, it sounds a lot like what our parents would say about eating all the food on our plate (“Do you know there are kids starving in Africa… ”), but the thing about clichés is that they become clichés because they are often true. We want to hold on to our pain, as crazy as that sounds, because for many people our pain defines us, makes us unique.

Much of what we do is process -- much of letting go involve grief and grief has its stages. Don’t get me wrong: processing is important, but there comes a time that “processing” becomes another excuse to stay stuck. After a while, it’s merely disguised indulging. Or, worse, we don’t allow ourselves to feel completely what we’re feeling. We try to make too much sense of it, we analyze it to death. Ask someone what they’re feeling, and more often than not, they’ll come back with what they’re thinking about what they’re feeling. The majority of the time most of us cannot name what we’re feeling.

I’ll tell you this much: there’s a big difference between feelings and emotions. Emotions are the “Drama Queens” of our inner life. Feelings are the reality. Yes, we have pain, it’s part of life, but then we also have what we bring to that pain. If you’re “processing” the drama, you will continue processing until the cows come home. All the crying, gnashing of teeth, ripping of clothes, loss of hair, will not get you through life with any measure of sanity.

Neurosis is a poor substitute for real feeling. In order to feel genuinely, we have to drop the drama and get to the feeling -- the core. And we have to feel completely, without fear, without contraction. Crying? If you think crying is an indicator that you’re moving through the “stages” of grief, you’ve merely taken a concept and distorted it. You have to feel -- really feel, completely and totally, opening up to whatever it is so that you become more and more transparent, allowing the love within you to shine through.

I recently had a client come to me and tell me, before we even started our session, “Please! Stop telling me to open up my heart, because I’ve been opening and opening and the shit is still hitting the fuckin’ fan, Eddie!” LOL

I had to laugh, because I totally understood. It’s part of life. There are no guarantees and just because we’ve decided to effect a shift, it doesn’t necessarily follow that the world will now dutifully conform to our perception and roll out the Red Carpet. Now, that’s the process! Co-workers, lovers, relatives will all “conspire” to fuck up our little strategic plan for better living. It’s their job, actually. Our job is to drop the terminal uniqueness and realize that taking it all so deeply personal is the true source of our suffering.

Love,

Eddie

Saturday, February 27, 2010

You are not...

¡Hola! Everybody...
Yes, Virginia, there is a lot of snow here, but I’m headed to meet with some good friends to eat, laugh, and just act out. LOL! Have a great weekend people...

* * *

Nows [no. 13]


You are not
more perfect than anyone.


But you have a fine
line of style.
A sharpened sense

of your outer edge:

the changing purposes
and possibilities for

your eyes...

and your ass.

A master of the passive assault,

you caress me

with your passing glances,

and lure me to adventure

with a smile

I can never be sure I saw.


-- Edward-Yemil Rosario ©

Friday, February 26, 2010

The TGIF Sex Blog [Touch Me]

¡Hola! Everybody...
The cliché of March’s early roar has reared its head, leaving us with quite a bit of snow. Schools are closed, as are my offices, but I’m working anyway (I live within walking distance). Still, I console myself in the knowledge that it's great snuggling weather and that spring is just around the corner...

It’s Friday and that means it’s all about... S-E-X!

* * *

-=[ Sensual Touch ]=-


Affectionate, sensual, and playful touching is a crucial part of body awareness and brain development. Everyone starts out in close, affectionate contact with their mothers and siblings. We are animals that nurse, that lick, and nuzzle one another as a way to reinforce intimate ties and that engage in controlled rough-and-tumble play as a way to hone our body maps, preparing us to deal with whatever life throws at us.

Frequent and early exposure to sensual touch is essential to normal, healthy brain development in humans. In fact, societies with anti-sex, anti-sensual attitudes are the most violent. The same was certainly true of our ancestors millions of years ago, when we were first beginning to develop our close-knit style of survival.

Sensual touch goes way back in our line and that’s why it remains part of our older sensory tract, no the newer one. Sensual touch flows into the brain through the more ancient spinal tract along with pain, itch, tickle, and temperature.

Infants that do not receive frequent sensual touch from their mothers grow up to be more anxious and neurotic than those that do, creating a reinforcing cycle. When emotionally deprived children grow up to be parents they tend to affectionately touch their children less than normal, passing down the emotional baggage down through the generations.

Sensual touch is especially critical for human development. It’s not merely that children deprived of physical affection often suffer from emotional problems later in life -0- though that is indeed extremely important. It goes even deeper, to the level of physical growth, health, and homeostasis. Our neurology evolved as a feedback loop, which is why touch is so important to our health and development. Consider that an infant deprived of physical touch will literally whither (and very likely get sick or even perish). I remember the sad stories of infants born with AIDS during the early history of that pandemic. Due to ignorance, many nurses refused to touch these infants, who would die early and horribly. One woman, horrified, opened a hospice for such infants and the main form of therapy was affectionate, gentle touching. Also consider, for example, the studies of what touch does for premature infants: Frequent, gentle massage causes them to gain weight up to 50 percent faster than if they receive minimal handling. It also makes their breathing and heartbeats healthier, and makes them more alert, less fussy, and better art sleeping. These benefits continue to follow them all through infancy and toddlerhood.

Though you may poke fun at the notion, affectionate touch is as important as nutrition. Ultimately, we are creatures of connection, and we seek touch and affection as we do nurturance, for that is what it is.

Love,

Eddie

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

On Education

¡Hola! Everybody...
Almost all my thinking on education owes a huge debt to Paulo Freire’s critical pedagogy . If you ever read anything on education, read him. Most of the following is shamelessly glommed from Freire.

* * *

-=[ Critical Thinking ]=-

Freedom is not an ideal located outside of man... It is rather the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.

-- Paulo Freire


Thinking is an action. Critical thinking is a subversive action.

For all aspiring intellectuals, thoughts are the laboratory where one poses questions in the search for answers; it is the intersection where visionary thinking and theory and external action meet. For me education is about freedom, it is the practice of freedom. At the very core of critical thinking lies the longing to know -- to understand how life works. Children are naturally predisposed to be critical thinkers. Children arrive into the world of wonder and language literally consumed with the thirst for knowledge. As any parent can attest, sometimes they are so eager for knowledge that they become relentless -- demanding to know the who, what, when, where, and why of life. In their search for answers, they learn almost instinctively how to think.

It’s unfortunate that this passion for thinking is often stifled by a world that often confuses education for conformity and obedience only. Too often, children are conditioned early on to perceive thinking as dangerous. Tragically, these children cease enjoying the process of thinking and learn instead to fear and loathe the thinking mind. Whether in homes that teach by way of punishment that to obey is more valuable than self-awareness, or in schools where independent thinking is not acceptable behavior, most of our children are forced to suppress the memory of thinking as a passionate and pleasurable activity.

By the time children pass into adolescence and adulthood, they have come to dread thinking. Those who have escaped the dread of thinking will instead fall prey to the assumption that thinking will not be necessary; that all is needed is to retain information and to regurgitate it at the appropriate moments. Those that enter higher education similarly find themselves confronted by a world where independent thinking isn’t encouraged. Fortunately, there are some classrooms in which individual professors work to educate as a practice of freedom. In these settings, thinking, and more importantly critical thinking, is what matters.

While thinking is natural (organic), critical thinking isn’t and students do not become critical thinkers through osmosis. First, they must embrace and experience the joy and power of thinking itself. Critical pedagogy (pedagogy being the science of education) is a teaching strategy whose aims are to restore or empower students’ will to think and to become fully self-actualized. The main focus of critical pedagogy is to enable students to think critically. For me, critical thinking is the ability to see both sides of an issue, of being open to new evidence that challenges previously held notions, of being able to reason and to demand that claims be backed by evidence, and being able to deduce and to infer conclusions from available facts, solving problems, etc.

Simply put, critical thinking involves first discovering the who, what, where, when, and how of things and then using that knowledge in a way that empowers you to make the determination of what matters most. This ability to establish what is important is essential to the practice of critical thinking. Critical thinking is the art of analyzing and evaluating thinking with the aim to improve it.

Most of all, critical thinking is an interactive process demanding participation from all involved. Critical thinking is a way of approaching ideas that aims to understand essential, sometimes hidden truths and not simply the obvious and superficial. Most participants will resist critical thinking. After all, they’ve been taught to be more comfortable with passive learning. But it is this demand for initiative that critical thinking calls for that’s most exciting. It invites students to think passionately and to share ideas in a passionate and open manner. When everyone involved realize that they are responsible for creating a learning community together, learning is at its most meaningful and useful. In such a setting, everyone leaves knowing that critical thinking empowers all of us.

Love,

Eddie

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Sunday Sermon [Conflict]

¡Hola! Everybody...
In the beginning, when I first began to awaken, I had a teacher who called himself Mr. Colorado, but his real name (he once confided) was Big Bear. He was well named because he was a huge bear of a man. But even bigger, was his heart. I owe my life to him. During his last incarnation, he passed on this teaching to me...

* * *

-=[ The Battle ]=-


It had reached the point where they were so angry, they decided to do battle. So terrible was their anger that they would not wait, but declared that the fight be fought now, right this moment, on the very spot of the disagreement.

Fox blamed Badger, Badger, in turn, was all for placing the blame on Cougar.

Jackrabbit hopped in anticipation, calling for Mole and for Mouse, and for Deer and Bear to fetch their arrows and their heaviest war clubs.

By the time Coyote arrived, the sides had already been chosen, the lines drawn, and the smell of hate and impending bloodshed hung heavy in the air.

Coyote listened to all the threats and the promised bloodshed. He walked out and stood between the enemies, solemnly declaring in a very soft voice:

“No, I cannot allow this great fight to happen just yet. There has been no battle preparation dance. There has been no pipe of cleansing. No, the Creation does not wish this battle to take place.”

Later, some said it was Bear, but oddly, no one remembers just who it was; and of course, Bear denied the accusation, but someone ran from one of the lines and struck Coyote dead.

And Coyote fell and lay there, very dead. And the cry for battle resumed, the menacing cries for blood again filling the air,

when, from the opposite end of the battle lines, Coyote again stepped out, dancing and wielding a huge club.

He ran to his dead self and struck a tremendous blow upon the body, then turned to face the creatures, shouting: “Who killed this person? Who struck him down before I did?!! Was that person purified? Did he sweat himself and think of the children? Did he dance to assure that the life cycle continue?”

Then someone from the back of one of the lines shouted “Enough with talking!” and ran to Coyote and struck him dead.

And again, later, no one remembered who or what struck the blow hat killed Coyote for the second time.

Then from the left side of center, Coyote ran out swinging a great club, struck at his fallen selves until all that remained were two bloody masses of fur and blood and broken bones, and twisted sinew.

Then Coyote danced the dance of victory over his own fallen selves, pledging their death to his own great anger. And Oh! How he danced!

“Now then,” said Porcupine, “how is it that this fool dances the victory dance, when it was not himself who killed himselves? Is it within reason for him to claim this dubious victory?”

Then Coyote demanded of all, “If I did not kill these two, then who killed them? Let him who killed them step forward and claim these deaths, so that I may kill him too in revenge!”

When no one stepped forward, Coyote declared, pointing to his dead selves, “Then obviously, these kills are mine!”

“It seems to me,” began Elk, who was immediately interrupted by Skunk, who similarly began, “It’s quite obvious to me that... ” “Now hold on a minute,” interjected Badger. And Coyote turned on Badger, shouting, “Ha! Don’t you realize you can’t hold on to a moment, let alone a minute?!!”

And in that way, they all argued, all the animal creatures, about the finer points of who might or might not claim a kill.

And the women-folk of these great warriors, at the urging of Coyote, prepared a great feast, so that these mighty warrior-scholars might continue their debate on full stomachs.

And soon, the anger gradually subsided and was set aside for the more important battle of words leading to reason.

And by this time, everyone now having forgotten about Coyote,

he,

Coyote, took his fallen selves by their tails and dragged them away uphill.

Then he took a good hot sweat bath and then sang a song of renewal known only to himself, and soon his other selves revived. “Now,” said one of them, “that’s what I call making your point the hard way. You know, it really hurt when you killed me.”

“Yes,” said the other self, standing up to stretch out the kinks in his muscles, “the next time this happens, don’t forget it will be your turn to be killed.”

“Hey, maybe this won’t ever happen again, huh?”

“Oh, it will happen again,” Coyote said, “Yes, it always seems to happen again.”

Then he merged into himselves and walked away, far away...

* * *

Love,

Eddie

Friday, February 19, 2010

You Ask...

¡Hola! Everybody...
Saturdays are for all things aesthetic.

Not that you asked, but if ever you do...

* * *

-=[ You Ask... ]=-


You ask me what I want
and my answer to you is...
I want it all --

I want the Sun and the Sky
and that elusive and playful sprite
that lives beneath your lips.

I want the sigh of the wind
as it wends it way through your hair
and the soft caress of your hand
against my hot skin.

I want the fires and fragrance of your memory...
turned like fine wine.

Grace is you, flowing with the night,
like a gentle ripple of water...

unknown to me and unseen.

Edward-Yemil Rosario, 2007 ©

The TGIF Sex Blog [Ex Sex]

¡Hola! Everybody...
I just got a phone call from an ex last night (hence the post)... LOL I will be gone all today.

* * *

-=[ Sex with Your Ex ]=-


Ahhhh… you know how it is: the last kiss, fling, one more night, “closure,” whatever the case, we sometimes find ourselves legs entwined and under the sheets with an ex-lover more often than not feeling confused.

Anyway, taking into consideration how people can oftentimes mistake “playing house” for real love, and feelings can get hurt -- especially if you don’t have the kind mindset that can engage in casual sex (and there’s nothing wrong with that), perhaps having sex with your ex isn’t that good of an idea.

Besides, having a fling with an ex is different from having sex with someone else, since there’s usually some emotional baggage. After all, he’s an ex for a reason, right?

Right?

Still, the fact remains that a chance encounter or an idea germinating in that head of yours can make sex with your ex an alluring possibility -- irresistible even. Even if s/he wasn’t the best lover, whatever spark you may have felt for your ex may seem compelling; especially if you’ve decided to withhold sex until you meet “The One” or are on the rebound from another affair. How many of you have found yourselves after a couple of cocktails, in the heat of the moment actually considering the psycho ex-boyfriend/ girlfriend as a possibility?

Come on, now, don’t get all new on me, ladies and gents...

And if s/he was the best lover you ever had and one you still daydream about, the one you fantasize about when you’re attending to your sorely neglected needs? Then you really should forget about it. The hard fact is that having sex with your ex can be playing with fire on too many levels for it to be the right thing to do. Strong feelings will surface. You might find that you long for him/ her in ways that will throw you for a loop. You might find yourself struggling with an overpowering compulsion, especially if you don’t have sex as often. (And ladies? Having sex every leap year doesn’t count as often. LOL!)

Powerful, sex-triggered hormones in your body can trick you into thinking you’re falling in love again and you will suddenly develop amnesia about the reasons why you left the relationship in the first place. The fantasy of “happily ever after” always lurks in the background. You will be thinking only of the good times, and of course, many of us are notoriously nostalgic, thinking about what could’ve, should’ve, would’ve been, and what might still be…

::SMACK::

Stop that! Wake the fuck up!

There is a reason, possibly several, that this trifling ma’fucca is your ex, even if it was s/he that broke up with you. In addition, having sex, especially if you’re already sex-starved, will make you forget about those reasons. Physical intimacy will bring back feelings you think you have buried, which can confuse you and cause you to make decisions you will later regret. Even if you think you’re strong enough (you’re not) and removed enough from the past to have some nice sex and leave it at that, the hurts, the longings -- all the baggage -- will replay in your mind long after the burst of passion has gone.

The important question is if will you be able to get on with your life if this little tussle in the sack turns out to be no more than a relationship’s final curtain. Can you truly close the door after opening up the Pandora’s Box (pun intended)?

If you have the slightest notion that going back to bed with your ex is going to rekindle your relationship, heal all the wounds, right all the wrongs, etc., do yourself a favor and run (!), don’t walk.

Sex with your ex, sweetie, won’t do that. Unless they have been doing some major inner work, he or she will likely the same seriously fragmented individual they were when you broke up.

Love,

Eddie

Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Art of the Kiss

¡Hola! Everybody...
I’ll be away (as I am every Thursday) all day and most of the evening. Today, I’m reposting something I wrote regarding one of my fave pastimes... LOL!

* * *

-=[ Kissing 101 ]=-

Or: Swapping Spit


I love to kiss. Period.

I kiss for kissing’s sake and I can continue there and kiss you till the cows come home, till day reaches night. Just lying there, clinched together, my hardness pressed against your softness, tasting the fruit of your lips.

I love the totality of the kiss. I revel in the anticipation, the prelude, when your eyes invite me in (or you hit me with a brick, cuz I can be dense sometimes LOL!). I love the lingering just before before the first time I taste your lips and breathe in your essence -- the smell of your hair, your perfume. I drink in the catch of your breath and love to tease you until you angle your head and then I slowly, tenderly, graze my lips against yours before taking that final deep, slow plunge into your very heart.

I want you to remember the first time I kiss you because I will -- always.

Whether you love me or not, whether we ever even see each other again, it doesn’t matter because a kiss is an eternity, forever etched into our hearts, so I want you to remember where and when… and how.

Did I mention I love to kiss?

I love all of it and I can stay kissing you in all the myriad ways and locations imaginable; selfishly enjoying the way you open to me, accommodating my desire, taking in the expression of my want. I like short nips and long engaging kisses, kisses that say I’m sorry, and kisses that tell wordless histories of pain and love. I especially relish taking in your bottom lip and tenderly sucking on it, savoring the sticky-sweet dew as I would the wedge of a syrupy, ripe mango.

I can remember the first girl I kissed. Her name was Emily, she lived next door to my cousins, and we were 12 years-old that dark and cold Chicago night so many years ago. From a radio the song, “Yellow Mellow,” was playing, and my cousins threatened to tell on us because they had wanted to kiss her, but she only allowed me.

That was my first.

I love to nuzzle you where your neck meets your collarbone and I delight in the way your legs reflexively part when you answer my kisses, congratulations of well-deserved, unorthodox applause. I linger for what seems like an eternity inhabiting the preamble of our kiss because I want to take all of you in -- all of it, every secret, every hurt you ever felt, every joy you ever experienced -- I want to kiss all of that… softly… tenderly... repeatedly.

You incite me when you push against my teasing and explore my mouth with your insistent tongue -- as if you can’t wait for me to be inside of you. I wait like a child at Christmas for that moment when you open your eyes and we stare into each other's void. The prospect of tasting your saliva makes my own mouth water. I want to clutch your hair, push myself against you, and dominate you with my kiss, taking in all of you: caressing the curve of your ass, the way I can almost feel the lips of your vagina yield to my hardness through our clothes, that fresh, flirtatious look enticing me onward.

I love to kiss and I could stay kissing you for a very long time -- just kissing you for the sake of kissing because now I can kiss you when I feel like, how I want to…

I guess I love kissing so much because I don’t see it as a step in a series of steps to make love to a woman. Kissing is the very connection to my heart of hearts and it’s as food for the soul. I firmly believe that if people kissed more often there would be less hate in the world. No matter what form the kiss, it’s sure to get your juices flowing.

Research shows that the pleasure you feel when kissing -- the weakening in your knees, that faint feeling -- is part of the mental stimulation that fires up our neural networks. A signal transmits from the nerve endings in our mouths, lips, and nose to the brain in a nanosecond. That little box in your head (not the other little box) is the ultimate sexual organ. Our hearts beat double time. Our lungs pump oxygen. Our salivary glands mist and our jawbones unhinge as our tongues twirl and swizzle.

That signal zips along our spine and messages from the pancreas and adrenal glands tap into our pelvic nerves. With all that blood rushing like wildfire, we get flushed and we tingle in certain places. Getting scientific, good passionate kissing causes a rush composed of norepinephrine, dopamine and phenylethylamine -- neurotransmitters colliding with the brain’s pleasure zones and creating feelings of delirium. Did you know our brains have a function that helps us locate each other’s lips in the dark?

The reason why people take up dangerous sports is because those activities create a similar adrenaline surge. It’s a pity: all you have to do is kiss me and you’ll get the same rush you would as sky diving.

If you ask me, that’s a lot of work (not to speak of expense) for a high we could get in your living room.

Yup, give me kissing any time!

Love,

Eddie

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Why I'm Single...

¡Hola! Everybody...
So! My recent output (centering mostly on romantic relationships) has spurred some questions. Mostly, the question boils down to: Why are you single? LOL There isn’t a simple answer to that, though complications never stopped me from attempting anything. So! Here goes...

* * *

-=[ The Single Life ]=-

Or: The Man Your Mother Warned You About


Let me clarify right off the bat that I’m not attempting to justify or defend my “singledom.” I am single mostly because it is how I choose to live -- it’s a conscious lifestyle choice that I have grown accustomed to. There are many, many advantages to being single, believe me.

A little history... I’ve been single for most of my adult life primarily because I never viewed being in a committed relationship as a priority. I didn’t grow up idealizing the conventional “wife, 2.5 kids, house, picket fence” thingee. And yes, I liked to have fun and during my earlier years attempted to have as many sexual and relational experiences as possible . I am only making an observation when I state that I have experienced a lot. More than the norm. Some here would swear I’ve been reading too many Penthouse letters.

So strike off at least 20 years to simply being a whore -- mostly. Not a “player.” I was never a “player.” I am too introspective or conscientious for that. I am not cruel in the sense that I would intentionally look to hurt others in my quest for gratification. More accurately, I was a hedonist with philosophical tendencies. LOL!

(I’m having fun here, but I suspect there will be a price to pay.)

So! That’s how or why I was single for most of my adult life. But why am I single now, you ask?

Well, the reasons are many. For one there’s a large segment of women who will have nothing to do with me because of my past. I have a “past” and “bohemian” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’ve been many things at different times in my life, many of them not attractive to the more conventional types (or any normal person, for that matter!). As a consequence, my past serves to stigmatize me. I’ve been everything from addict to (make-believe) pimp to criminal to scam artist to... well, you get the idea. In a superficial way, I am the man your mother warned you about! And no, whatever rumors you may have heard, I have never thought it was cool to fuck my girlfriend in the ass and leave her (though to be honest, I've entertained the notion more than a few times).

I’m kidding! LOL

I’ve met many women who have balked because of my past. And that’s OK, really. I am open and honest about who and what I was and if you can’t accept that, it really doesn’t pain me. Good luck and before you close the door (gently please), take as your parting gift that ultimate prize -- the last word. Summed up, there are women who won’t have much to do with me because I’m the Gangster of Love or some bullshit like that.

I am 54 years-old but my outlook is young in nature. I love to laugh, to flirt, to have fun. I have seen more ugliness than even my tired eyes could ever tell you, but I’m still utterly fascinated and awed by life. I am curious to the point of distraction and I enjoy exploring new ideas and questioning beliefs (yours and mine). I think this is both an attraction and a turn-off. For some , my “look” and attitude spell, “PLAYER!” or at the very least immaturity. I’m still the one who will point out the Emperor (or hostess) has no clothes when everybody else knows discretion is the better part of valor. I sometimes get that “look” from women (at least from those quick to judgment). You know that look that says, “You’re trifling... ” or something like that. Women lacking an evolved sense of humor won’t get me. So! There’s that.

But here’s the primary reason why I’m single. I am single because when I commit, I commit completely and fully, I don’t play around. When I open my heart, there are no conditions.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

I take relationships seriously when I do commit and that means work and getting out of my comfort zone. And I guess if you’re with me the one promise I can make it that there’ll never be a dull moment. *grin*

I’ve met too many women who claim to want intimacy, but whose idea of intimacy is really me doing what they want me to do, or (worse), an intimacy that’s only about holding hands and doing the touchy-feeling thing. To me, that’s not intimacy, it’s a childish idea of intimacy. Intimacy is about opening up and becoming fuckin' vulnerable in a way that’s oftentimes very scary. Intimacy demands complete, utter surrender. No holding back, giving it all even when you’re too afraid. It’s really about taking a huge chance in the face of the overwhelming evidence of past hurt and betrayals. And let me tell you: there aren’t too many people willing to be like that and I’m too fuckin' old to play house.

So there, that’s my story and I am sticking to it! LOL

Love,

Eddie

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

That Loving Feeling

¡Hola! Everybody...
People sometimes wonder why I’m single. Tomorrow, I will attempt to answer that query. LOL! Today I’m going to connect you to “The One,” your “Soulmate,” your real love...

* * *

-=[ Love Action ]=-

Love is a verb


Everybody wants some love action!

Many of us seek love and reassurance from others for feelings we seldom experience. Even the well-adjusted ones amongst us lesser mortals. If we don’t think we are capable, sexy, or lovable, we will look for others to give us those things. What I am about to do is show how to feel loved in the same way you feel loved when you perceive that another loves you. I will show you how to develop this inner loving quality so that you’re not out there looking to get it from someone else. And even if you’re perfectly well-adjusted, entertain me and act as if...

Ask most people about love and their answer will usually point outward. Love is something out there waiting to happen. It sometimes falls on us like a piano out of the sky, “Look, up in the sky!... ” LOL! Or, “I fell for him/ her.” Or it’s a chance we take, or some other nonsense. Most of all, people tend to describe love as a feeling they get from someone else. Love is something you get from other people.

It follows then that being love or being lovable is not part of a lot of people’s self-concept. It’s funny how we talk about love. We talk about love as if we were passive victims of an elusive emotion: we fall in love. We go crazy with love. Pop songs are full of such imagery. However, isn’t how we describe other emotions ironic? We say, we are angry, we are sad, but how many times do you hear people say they are love?

Yeah... thought so.

But that is the point: We are love. Anything you ever needed or wanted -- that feeling of love and being loved -- exists within you right this very moment. In fact, I doubt it very much that you will ever find someone to fill that void for you. You will look and look until your sex organs expire from atrophy and still you will not find that love, because you’re looking in all the wrong places.

No date tonight? Let’s find one for you, ok? Stay with me, don’t catch a feeling. I promise that you can go back to your myths and pain after reading this if you so desire.

Right now, I want you to think about something about yourself that is true -- regardless of what others think. Some people will say that they are kind, persistent, or intelligent, for example. The only important thing is that it’s something you hold to be true about yourself.

How do you know this? What is the internal experience that makes you know that you possess this quality? I’m not asking you for what you think, or the feelings you associate with this quality. I’m asking you how do you know. When you look back to the times when you experience this quality (i.e., kindness, sensuality, compassion, perseverance -- whatever you believe to be true about yourself) what happens inside? Do you talk to yourself, see mental pictures; do you feel the movements you make when you express this quality? Perhaps when being kind you see mental pictures of when you were being kind to someone.

Are you doing this? Good! Save this data you use to know you possess this quality. Now, what happens to this sense of yourself when you’re not expressing this quality? For example, if you chose kindness, what happens to your sense of self when you’re being unkind? Do you try to make things right? Good! That shows you really do possess this quality. *grin*

How would you feel about thinking of yourself as being love, or as being a lovable person (as in the example of the quality of kindness)? Wouldn’t that be a good idea? You wouldn’t have to go about getting validation from outside of yourself.

Close your eyes and recall of one example of a time you experienced creating love or being love or loving. Now put that mental picture into the same place as one of the pictures of being kind (or whatever quality you chose): the same size, the same distance from you, etc. Now think of another time you experienced love or being lovable, perhaps with another person, or a different situation, and put that mental picture there with the previous one. Continue doing this until you have a bunch of mental images like the ones you have of being kind (or the quality you chose at the beginning). Keep assembling those pictures and storing them.

It may feel a little strange at first, but if you’re actually doing the exercise, each time you develop and store a picture, your feeling of being love or being lovable becomes more real.

Welcome to your real self, people.

Who loves you?

Eddie

Monday, February 15, 2010

The Desert

¡Hola! Everybody...
Hope everybody had a great weekend! This is part of a short story I never finished (LOL).

* * *

-=[ Untitled ]=-


I find myself struggling: it’s a phase...

We’re driving through the desert of our early journey, and it is in the sands of my restless heart to which you make love. It’s the colors and tones within these barren passages that you court me, the reflection of the daylight between shadows, the dried parched terrain of this forbidden land -- dried mud and clay, your body now like a shimmering mirage of a long lost sacred garden.

I’m struggling between frustration and despair, and I want to fight, or run, or at the very least to resist. Slowly, painfully, I let the colors bleed. Mile after seemingly endless desert mile, with no horizon, I inch closer to the core of you -- the very mud and clay of the Earth. You took me down into the clay, through your own bared soul, and I saw you for the very first time in the desert of our early journey and fell in love with you -- again and again.

All Rights Reserved ©

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Sunday Sermon [Soldiers of Love]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Today, I feel good in the skin I’m in. For quite some time now, I have been truly, genuinely happy.

* * *

-=[ Soldiers of Love ]=-

I've lost of the use of my heart/ But I'm still alive...
-- Sade, Soldier of Love


We’re all refugees of love.

I’m not going to try to write something “deep” about Valentine’s Day. I’m not going to write about romance or attempt to explain that romance won’t fill nagging sense of emptiness. I’m tired, and while most might understand the truth of what I say intellectually, I think too many don’t understand it where it counts most: in their hearts.

The world is full of heartbreak, of people traumatized to the point of psychic fragmentation. I knew a woman whose husband just walked out one day.

Never came back.

She didn’t have a clue why. He just left. And the deep sadness she feels is almost too much for me to touch. Maybe you know such women.

I know of a man who has never recovered from a betrayal that happened decades ago. To this day, he still seeks out women for the express purpose of punishing them for his hurt. His is a sadness and pain almost too great to witness. Perhaps you know of such men.

All around me, I see the walking wounded. Like refugees of love, they walk the barren landscape, their hearts broken and even amputated, their psyches fractured almost beyond recognition and it breaks my own heart. I sometimes feel like the kid in the movie who famously said, “I see dead people.”

Some of these fractured souls walk by me using others as crutches to prop them up. They walk hand-in-hand with the unsuspecting and sometimes they might stay together for decades. Today you might see one or two as our infotainment industry struggles to come to grips of the impermanence of everything.

Please believe me when I tell you that that story of the couple, who have been together for, like, one hundred years, is a lot more nuanced than they let on. Besides, since when has longevity been the only indicator of success? I have yet to meet a long-term couple that hasn’t endured major -- major -- acts of betrayal and cruelty.The reality is that much cruelty is enacted in the name of love and we all have the scars to show for it. And yet we continue to love. We love in spite of the evidence and the hurt and the scars and pain. We love even when our hearts have become numb -- a sure sign of a heart amputation.

And that’s what I write about today. I love that you can still find it in that broken heart of yours to love again. Yes, I know… you’re scared and sometimes you don’t love fully, or you don’t love at all. I know this. Many of you may not even know what it is to love one’s self, but you go on, walking the landscape asking yourself if this next stranger is The One.

Occasionally, crowds of you gather when it’s claimed that The One has been found and you all make a big noise, get drunk and in your hearts, you wonder…

But I see you. I know you hurt and that sometimes you despair. Sometimes I hear your cries of anguish in the middle of the night when you think no one hears.

I know…

I guess this V-Day posting is for all the refugees of love. For those that may eat alone tonight and despair. For the broken and fragmented. For those so hurt that they would hurt others. For those too afraid to love and so they settle for less, safe in their adventureless adventure. I love you because you love, as best as you can, in spite of it all.

You love because it is the only adventure... Happy V-Day

May you all find happiness.

Love,

Eddie

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Your eyes move like the tide...

¡Hola! Everybody...
Hope you’re enjoying the weekend. I have some work to do (as always).
Today, a lovely new friend graces my page, the beautiful Paula... my poem (I lost the poem I wanted to post) pales in comparison...

* * *

Nows [no. 23]


Your eyes move like the tide,
looking first outward
before sweeping it all in.

We sat on a splashed rock
that took a millennia
patiently sculpting itself
to become our throne...

and waited...

silent, naked, and serene,
drinking in the wisdoms
of the sea.

And since that moment
I first brushed against you
I promised myself
I would never live
on an island that was
too small to fit you in...

somehow.

All rights reserved ©

Friday, February 12, 2010

The TGIF Sex Blog [The Way to a Man's Heart]

¡Hola! Everybody...
So it seems that someone did a study and revealed that most New Yorkers can hear their neighbors do the nasty. DUH! It’s part and parcel of living in New York. I mean, everybody knows I like to talk dirty, and whether you’re in denial or not, you heard your parents fucking if you grew up in a NYC apartment building. Stop. You’re full of shit, be truthful with yourself. I know, I know, you thought they were fighting, but no, it’s just that your mother was a loud fucker and everybody else in the building knew it! LOL

Since I posted something about women’s hearts last week, here’s my take on the way to a man’s heart (hint: it sure ain’t through the stomach you silly goose!).

* * *

-=[ The Way to a Man’s Heart ]=-

This one’s a freebie for you, ladies. Read carefully because I will not repeat myself... *grin*


Contrary to the cliché, the way to a man’s heart is through a place a little lower than his stomach. The way to a man’s heart is through his penis, his bodily root. The flower of my heart opens widest when my root is planted firmly, deeply in your body. I challenge any man to say otherwise.

I’m not talking about any immature lover here: the mediocre lover whose penis is merely an extension of his pleasure (no matter how long); a sensitive tongue or finger that responds to your juicy wet friction. I am referring here to the man who has made the commitment to the growth of his sexual capacity. That kind of man’s penis can help ground his consciousness in his body and yours.

Most men tend to live in their heads, separate from their bodies. Men, more often than not, think, plan, and run things through their heads all day. Then, for a few moments with you, his life force goes to his genitals (the “little head”), and then -- BAM! -- it spews. You might enjoy this little bit of time with your man. For a few moments he’s not glued to the TV or immersed in his work. Your sexing draws him out of his head and into his body, however briefly, where he feels more present with you than he is when he is inside his head.

When a man begins to mature sexually (and I am not talking in chronological terms here), he cannot help but stay stuck in his head. He tries, through mental efforts, to become technically proficient, and you feel this and ultimately experience this mechanically oriented attempt at sexual intimacy as unsatisfactory.

Want to know the to the antidote to this mediocre sex? The antidote to this is your dance on his penis! Nothing brings a man into his body faster than a firm yank on his root (and I’m not talking about just your hands here). Yes, there moments when motionless sex is called for: loving, sensitive touching, etc. But there are times for a healthy grasp with your vagina, mouth, ass, or hand. Most women touch a man’s penis too lightly, too hesitantly. Grab him firmly and really fuckin’ pump him. And, when he’s just about to ejaculate, slow down, or stop so he doesn’t. Let him relax for a few moments before continuing.

Why? Well, here’s the gist, the key to a man’s heart: you have to help him create an energetic connection between his head and his cock so that his heart is aroused! Remember, that for men it takes practice to open our hearts while having sex. Women want to be fulfilled in the sex, while men seek to be emptied. Your stimulation should be intense enough to keep him in his body rather than in his head, where he’s usually thinking about what’s he’s supposed to be doing in order to be a “great” lover.

To prevent a *ahem* premature ending to the sex, remain present enough to slow or stop stimulation before he ejaculates, and then start that motherfucker up again as he softens. You will only be able to open his heart as wide as yours, ladies. If you are pumping mechanically, he will simply gasp and spend himself. But if your body is flayed open and your heart is fully exposed, then as you draw him away from his head into his body, your love will resonate with his love. And faking it, contrary to what so many women think, will not get it. You get what you pay for ladies. If you are fuckin’ some immature motherfucker who probably doesn’t give a fuck anyway, you might get away with faking it. But a mature man will only be able to give you what you give out.

The art of deep, fulfilling sex lies in your capacity to relax into your body and receive your lover so profoundly that he is drawn beyond himself and into your love. Open yourself so wide that he falls into you -- again and again. He will try to pull back, to regain control, to practice some stupid-assed technique or another. All this time, just work his root, drawing him back into his body, opening your heart and body as wide as you are willing to trust, nurturing his love with the power of yours.

Of course, you want your man to love you during sex. First, he must learn to undo the years of the conditioning of masturbation and habits of sexual fantasies. Want him to stay present with you during sex? Then remember that most men find a woman’s pleasure more attractive than their own.

Why do you think men go to stripper’s clubs? When men watch a stripper dance on stage or an actress have sex in an erotic movie, what they are most turned by is her display of pleasure. I realize that to you the exaggerated moans and self-pleasuring seem ridiculous, but while women are most turned on by presence, men are most turned on by a woman’s glow and energy. We are entranced by how you move, moan, smile, and open to love.

What we find utterly attractive in a stripper show is the display of feminine essence opening to pleasure. Believe me, watching a woman touch herself with the enthusiasm of a dead fish is not interesting. But when a woman is truly enjoying her feminine sexual essence, we are smitten. Our attention becomes absorbed in the radiance of your happiness and pleasure.

The reason why a good actress or dancer can give a man this feminine energy is because true acting is a real art; the emotions expressed are authentic. To offer a man the gift of your authentic openness and pleasure, allow your body to be moved by the deep flow of ecstasy. In this way, your feminine energy and your man’s masculine presence can grow together. Eventually, his need for mere sexual gratification or stress release will morph into a fuller expression of love. He will be drawn into you in a way that opens his heart in vulnerability.

So remember ladies, keep his penis hard and your heart open so that he has the opportunity to yield into your soft convulsions of pleasure like a tongue tasting the meat of a juicy mango. Who you are when you are reveling in sex, relaxed in bliss, radiant with sexual pleasure attracts him more than anything else on Earth.

Love,

Eddie

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Interesting Times...

¡Hola! Everybody...
Many things have happened in the last few weeks, few of them good. We lost a national treasure and fierce champion, Howard Zinn. Air America, the only response to the overwhelming noise of right-wing hate radio went under, and an airhead troglodyte republican won Edward Kennedy’s senate seat.

But the worst thing that happened is something you may not have paid attention, the controversial SCOTUS Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission decision granting corporations the same rights a people...

* * *

-=[ Slavery ]=-

Slavery is the legal fiction that a person is property. Corporate personhood is the legal fiction that property is a person.

-- David Cobb

We now conclude that independent expenditures, including those made by corporations, do not give rise to corruption or the appearance of corruption.

The Supreme Court, Citizens United Decision

I believe that as Americans, we expect to be treated equally. You know, the “one person, one vote” thingee... the “We the people... ” meme. There’s no executive coach in the NYC Mass Transit system. The well-to-do are jostled with the working poor, upper management rides in the same car as the peons. It’s very democratic.

But the SCOTUS’ Citizens United decision may do away with such egalitarian notions...

We live under the Chinese curse of “interesting times” it seems. Look at it this way: my organization could fire me if they don’t like my blogs. In fact, corporations often limit what their employees may wear, what their T-shirts say, or what political messages they may post on the walls of their cubicles/ offices. With the Citizens United decision, the corporation itself will now enjoy the full range of First Amendment benefits limited only by the size of its bankroll in setting up whatever technology can best drown out everyone else’s voice.

One of my fave legal writers (over at The Nation), Patricia J. Williams, has a great piece on the Citizens United debacle. She asks an important question:

“... the questions on many minds are why ‘freedom’ (as in speech) has become the functional equivalent of ‘expenditure’ (as in money) and why on earth corporations are considered ‘persons’ to begin with.”

Ms. Williams goes on to give a brief history of legal “persons” showing how the concept grew out of the necessity for businesses to negotiate as well as to be accountable. For example, when a company sells a defective product, you sue the company -- not the individual executives or employees. In other words, the company is a kind of legal “substitute” for a person, with that status embedded in the interests of contract and property law.

From this basis the Roberts court dismantled over a 100 years of precedent and cynically ruled that corporations are entitled to the same range of civil rights as actual, fully endowed people (You know people, as in, “We, the people... ?”). Ms. Williams brings up the core of the issue when she asks:

“... for whom is our Bill of Rights? Is a corporation really a ‘who’ or a ‘whom’? If a public ‘person’ is capacious enough to encompass a privatized ‘corporate’ plurality, then are ‘We, the people’ not thereby reduced by propertied fiefdoms huddled behind a facade of ‘free’ republicanism?

In other words, Ms. Williams is saying that granting huge multinationals with economic powers that overshadow entire nations, then the rest of us are relegated to second-class citizenry. She makes the important historical point that enfranchisement was once calculated according to such measures as the “three-fifths of a person” rule. Does not this ruling bestow corporations a magnified role of personhood? Doesn’t this ruling diminish the rest of us to three fifths?

No one seems to be asking some important questions here. For example, “Where is the corporation?” “Has anyone ever seen a corporation?” We might see transactions happening, or economic movement, just as some of us swear we’ve seen angels or witnessed miracles. But does that give us the right to confer personhood on such notions? In the past, the type of legal thinking that led to the Citizens United decision was called “magical” or “supernatural” thinking. Today it’s passed around as the best legal thinking of the land.

What’s next? Giving the Geico gecko personhood or Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck? You laugh, but it’s not a joke. It’s a recipe for indentured servitude for the rest of us.

Love,

Eddie

Addendum: A comment by my friend Will, and several discussions with friends in the legal profession (all who gritted their teeth about this decision but accepted it), prompted me to add the following. It seems to me that many are defending this decision on the grounds that the First Amendment is absolute, but this is pure fiction:

Free speech has never been an absolute. If I yell too loudly, I can be charged with disturbing the peace. If I swear on the radio or TV, I can be fined or taken off the air. If I say I’m going to commit some terrorist act or assassinate a government official, I’ll be arrested right away. There are slander and libel laws, copyright laws, I could go on and on. Treating free speech as an absolute is completely wrong:

A corporation is an artificial entity, created by people, governed by laws and rules. This is simply the Supreme Court changing the rules to give corporations more political power. It has nothing at all to do with the First Amendment. That is just an excuse for the transfer of power from people and to the biggest corporations.

Finally (and most importantly at least for me), the reality is that spending money is not the same thing as speech, and when you treat them the same, it gives those with more money a huge advantage. They already have a huge advantage over those with less, and this decision is another way to give more power to those with more money.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

In the Heart of the Heart of Winter

¡Hola! Everybody...
We’re caught in the grip of a winter storm, here in El Norte, The Land of the Snow...

* * *

-=[ Winter ]=-

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

-- Albert Camus


If you pressed me, I would tell you outright that I absolutely despise winter. I detest the cold, the short days, the layers of clothing, and the claustrophobia of confined spaces. But if I look deeper, I also know that there’s much to appreciate about winter: I love the changing of the seasons and how they mark the passage of time; the coziness of a cold Christmas morning (a barbeque in Christmas?!?! No way!!!); the excuse of not going anywhere because -- “Dayum! -- it's cold outside!” I like the fact that winter allows you to get dressed to the nines when you go out to socialize.

I find that people who live in temperate zones -- where there is a winter, think faster and speak more clearly than their southern peers. *grin* Heck, you have to think fast -- it’s a matter of life and death! Okay, okay, this is a bit of northeastern snobbery, I admit, but I am just having fun and I think you get my drift. Yeah, there is much to appreciate in winter.

Winter also allows one to become more introspective, to reserve energy and look within. Sometimes the seasons mirror the emotions we grapple with: we suddenly see or sense conflicting emotions within ourselves. The cold of winter presses in on us and we may feel tested by it’s sharp bite.

Yet, when we think we cannot bear a moment longer, we find a force within, an inner reassurance that comes like a summer breeze and says we do what we must. Perhaps it comes in a moment of despair, and we realize we have made it this far -- that we are strong. In our deepest sadness about the loss of a love, we may find a more meaningful relationship with something more powerful -- a “Higher Power.”

The winters of our lives may tempt us to curse the cold and darkness. Similarly, the conflicts in our lives may tempt us to struggle with them. One side may be very clear and obvious while the other is nebulous and hidden. When we are open, these extremes become equal teachers for us. As we think about the seasons and our feelings today, what opposites do we find? Whatever the answers, perhaps today we can remember that we have an invincible summer at the deepest part of the winter in our lives.

Love,

Eddie

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Honoring my Teachers...

¡Hola! Everybody...
I’m rambling a bit here, but bear with me...

* * *

-=[ Heroes ]=-

... but to labor in season and out of season, under every discouragement, by the power of truth... that requires a heroism which is transcendent.

-- Henry Ward Beecher (1813–1887)


As many of you know, I love to read. Yes, I am a “squint,” an elitist. LOL! Over the years, I have come to look upon some authors as mentors, as teachers, even friends. In the past year, I have lost three such mentors/ friends -- all warriors in the battle for truth, creative and fearless voices, all three historians: John Hope Franklin, Ivan Van Sertima, and Howard Zinn.

Each taught me through the power of their example, their challenges the bigoted status quo that has passed for history in our schools and universities, in academia, and the media. Each created works that in turn made history by introducing millions to a new multitude of heroic men and women whose fearless contributions had been shamefully ignored.

Franklin, Van Sertima, and Zinn exemplified how research could be used to confront a Eurocentric, male-dominated establishment comfortable with racism, economic injustice, and imperialism, and willing to frame such practices as a form of progress. The works of these innovative scholar/ warriors amounted to what can only be termed as a vast underground railroad of subversive knowledge.

Ivan Van Sertima, a linguist, anthropologist, historian, and a poet with a powerful sense of irony, wrote during a time when the world’s leading scholars, led by Arnold Toynbee, claimed Africans made no contribution to civilization, its science or art, none, nada, zilch. Van Sertima cited sources beginning with Columbus to prove an African presence in America before 1492 -- exploding a core Eurocentric myth. Then he went on to detail African contributions to global science. Sertima’s work was revolutionary and at the time regarded as academic heresy, compelling a leading British critic to call Sertima's They Came before Columbus “ignorant rubbish.” Sertima’s impeccable scholarship struck at the Achilles Heel of racist scholarship -- who discovered the Americas? Who contributed to science? Who created civilization? Unwilling to address his documented challenges, many of his critics scampered. Others still lurk.

John Hope Franklin wrote during a time when noted historians described slavery hideously apathetic terms: “As for Sambo... he suffered less than any other class in the South from its ‘peculiar institution’.” This was how Pulitzer Prize winning historians Henry Steele Commager and Samuel Eliot Morison described slavery in their extensively used college text, The Growth of the American Republic.

Franklin confronted a nation schooled on the thinking that people of African descent really benefited from slavery and had no history worth recounting. His response was to detail painstakingly how people of African descent contributed substantially to each stage of America's economic and democratic growth. He too was excoriated by his peers.

And Howard Zinn... Zinn forced the discipline of history to look at itself when he claimed conventional U.S. texts and school courses failed us by celebrating wars, Presidents, generals and captains of industry. He stood on its head when he recounted how masses of American women and men, people of color and poor whites, built the country first as slaves and indentured servants, and then as mill hands, assembly-line workers and maids. Zinn further antagonized traditional scholars by celebrating the disobedience of slave rebels, union organizers, and radical civil rights and anti-war agitators. He framed dissidents as America’s real patriots and democrats -- not the George Washingtons, Thomas Jeffersons, and Andrew Jacksons who talked of liberty while they traded in slaves, and sent posses after those who escaped.

Historian Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. once said of Zinn: “I know he regards me as a dangerous reactionary. And I don’t take him very seriously. He’s a polemicist, not a historian.” This last item was repeated in the mainstream media across the globe -- in the New York Times, Washington Post, and the leading American wire services in the obituaries that followed Zinn’s death. It is worth noting that Mr. Schlesinger, as a top advisor to President John F. Kennedy, played a key role in the overthrow of Cheddi Jagan, the democratically-elected progressive prime minister of British Guiana (now Guyana). Like virtually all the American historians granted validity and respect by the mainstream media, Schlesinger was a cold war hawk. Those like Zinn who questioned the basic assumptions of the Cold War on the global stage, and capitalism at home, were regarded as polemicists.

Attacking from diverse angles, Franklin, Van Sertima, and Zinn helped establish the notion that much history is a bogus tale, a false patriotism designed to whitewash past crimes, prop up traditional heroes, and promote conformity. Each joined demonstrations for causes dear to their historical understanding.

The research contributed by Franklin, Van Sertima, and Zinn brought a light to the world, moved mountains, and lifted people who had been told their ancestors never amounted to much.

I will miss my teachers, and I despair that their likes will not appear anytime soon. The one consolation is in knowing their deep love of humanity and astonishing works will live as long as people seek to examine the past as a way to chart the future.

I submit here, however, that their absence makes us all poorer...

-- Eddie

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