My Mother’s First Child

I am more afraid of running out of time than of dying. I am not confused about the difference between the two.

If my mother knew all that I have done that I should not have done and all that I have not done that I should have done, she would be both proud and ashamed of me — one just a bit more than the other.

I do not love or hate easily; I believe both emotions are important. One should be done with care and caution while the other with deliberation and decisiveness. Which is which depends on the context.

I realize that the kind of parent one is, is often, to some extent, a function of the kind of parent the other parent is. Somehow, however, that fact does not make me feel any better.

I have been a fool many more times than once — and so have the “gods.”

I have many regrets — as many painful ones as mundane ones. But I do not regret regretting; because I regret, I suffer no delusions about my humanness or the humanness of others.

I am a deist. I believe that a First Cause, or an Uncaused Mind/Intelligence, is responsible for the existence of the universe and all its component parts — including life. Immediately thereafter, this Being or Beings, i.e., “God,” abandoned us and left humans to the devices of the maleficent trinity: Whimsical Chance, the Workings or Agenda of Others and alas, Our Own Doings. Everything that has happened, does happen or will happen can be traced to those three alone — not “God” or his “Devil.” “God” does not deserve credit for any “evil” and no blame for any “good,” or vice versa.

I am my own hero, for who could be a better champion for me than I?

I am not a happy person. There are certain things, however, for which I am happy — even delighted. But in the heart of my heart, between each beat, there is sorrow. I am pained at what humans do to other humans. I grieve at the exploitations, the sufferings, the injustices. I see the strong, and all they do to those not. And my heart weeps. I can only savor the few joys and cherish those who and that which bring them.

I am guilty of not saving m mother — of not being able to deliver her from her tormentor. But in that regard, I am as guilty as Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, Jesus, Vishnu Zeus and all the other “gods” because they did not save her either. Nonetheless, their cowardice does not diminish mine.

I hate being wrong; I detest it. In fact, I abhor being wrong so much that I desperately want to know when I am so that I can stop.

I wonder, at night: What did “God” do today?

Published in: on November 10, 2012 at 3:29 AM  Leave a Comment  
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About This Blogger

First, to matters of tertiary importance. I was awarded a full three-year academic scholarship to Cranbrook High School in Bloomfield Hills, MI. Sometime afterward, I earned an academic scholarship to Wayne State University where I procured a Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration [Finance and Business Economics] with “High Distinction.” Later I earned an MBA from Wayne State University.

Now to matters of primary importance. I am indeed my mother’s son. My name is Carlespie Mary Alice McKinney and I am Mary Alice’s first of seven children born into the African-American experience. I was as much my mother’s confidante as I was her oldest child. For 12 years we suffered her husband’s raw brutality — she far more than I — where finally, he made sure I would be an audience to her murder.

Through a series of life-altering events I underwent a critical metamorphosis facilitated by incessant contemplation and introspection. By the time I reached my mid-forties, all the major components of who I am today had been put in place. I emerged as a synergistic human. Nonetheless, my growth as a person trapped inside the mind of a human visiting Prison Earth continues. That being stated, there are two prime directives which I firmly and fervently adhere — the first of which is as follows:

There is no idea or belief I so dearly cherish so as to shield it from rigorous scrutiny or thoughtful challenge. There is no idea or belief i esteem so highly that I will not alter it or abandon it — sacrifice it in favor of standing even closer to the truth.

Part of my self-imposed mission as a human is to honor what is true even if it means rejecting an idea or notion I once cherished. My second directive is to honor the self I am above all others so I am best able to honor others. Stating this second directive another way:

… naturally then, I am my own hero for who could be a better champion for me than I?

Nevertheless, having observed and experienced the conditions of the human drama, I suffer from a type of quiet and simmering state of relentless pain. The unkindnesses and the cruelties humans inflict on each other choke my heart. I want to know the “whys,” especially why humans are allowed to continue to perpetuate their interminable inhumanities. The holy books, prophets, teachers and other religious leaders and philosophers provide answers that are at best specious and vacuous and at worst, utterly parlous.

As a consequence of these realities [and others] I stumbled into becoming a deist. But my heart weeps because I sense my time trapped inside the mind of this person visiting Prison Earth is all too close to its end. So I can only wish that my sons and my “baby girl” along with my grandchildren and all the few others I love can escape the agony that arises from not knowing the “whys,” either because they believe they already know or they do not deem it important that they do not know.

My blog is dedicated to presenting the realities of the human drama in all its glory and non-glory.

Published in: on March 17, 2012 at 12:49 AM  Leave a Comment  
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