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  • Just after reading an outcry about a racially charged encounter I opted to add my commentary. I sympathized with the woman who protested. Although time in my brown skin is not a sentence I have witnessed filthy behavior posing as bigotry. Fans of the sunny state insist it is not there and I envy them each proclamation. What about me made this visible to me. Sure, we're tempted to think, it's not cut and dry and to offer a voice to the aggressor to be fair. There is a death dance; an action and reaction.

    The times I encounter stories that leave me with a minimal emotional charge I am grateful, although it is rare. With the election hanging in stasis mud and shit are flying. On a day I finally felt some balance returning I happened across a comment that hit home; a slur in my court. A stiffened, angry woman commented about our president referencing 'kool aid' in defiance of recent political decisions that affected American soldiers. I felt my heart liquidate. Joy seeped our of my chest. Pretty soon, there will be nothing left to hit.

    I do understand the vicious power in this form of old, culturally branded slander; what stings now is backed by generations of crime, aggression and unanswered injustice. I backed off of the topic and reluctantly headed deeper, likely to where my heart sank into hiding to be safe. A voice from somewhere I couldn't reach guided me to discern the truth from what hurt about the comment. I slowly remembered soft strength and faced my own thoughts about where I thought we all were as a nation. My discovery - this comment wasn't crisis but rather my observance of the woman's acceptance of living in shit; I had unconsciously accepted or perhaps was already there. Finally, the question I asked I have enough courage to take the next step towards joy.
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