Showing posts with label heritage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heritage. Show all posts

Monday, September 9

power

Language is power, and language is sex and seduction.
It's sensual and mysterious, and crystal clear.
Language is intelligence, and keys to locked doors.
And language is the road, and the heritage and the trail back.

Language is age and era, language is decadence.
Language is full, it's dry, and true and false.
Language is rich and poor, it's blood, sweat and magic.

Master language and you'll master magic.

Yours truly.
M.


From a poem by Jeffrey McDaniel.

Monday, July 8

Iggy

I absolutely love this video, and the beat.
And Iggy in general.

I know some people have had an issue with her wearing a Sari and whatever, but I think she uses the Indian atmosphere really respectfully, letting it shine.
This joyous, party atmosphere.
Of just dance, dance.
It really is like a Bollywood party scene, the ones that come at the end of a movie, where the boy and the girl make up, or something is solved, or you know, along these lines.

And trust me - I come at this having watched a fair share of Bollywood in my life.

BOUNCE.
M.

Saturday, April 27

sing your song


There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come.
And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it.
And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life.
In marriage, the songs are sung, together.
And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not.
When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well.
You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.