"Again, the Kingdom of Heaven,
Is like a Merchant,
Seeking beautiful Pearls;
Who, when he had found One Pearl,
Of Great Price;
Went and sold all that He had,
And Bought It."
( Matthew 13: 45, 46 )
ETERNAL LIFE is based on a Scriptural Reading, but a paraphrase; that the world is without an end, and thus, there'll always be a Tomorrow. Therefore, a Man's Life will always be a daily reality; but importantly too, a Dream Coming True.
The day by itself is awake and, striking; but, not below the belt. The Sun is another thing smiling; but it is less than a day old and, hung up there in a blue sky that is ageless —
If a figure of speech is still in the tongue of Man, then I can safely say, that the Sun is a seeming half-smile exposed to the hairy aperture of my slightly-closed eyelids. It is closing in on February, and a man's shape could be as gangling as youth, from too many aspects of daily Living.
But still, he can hold on to a more robust frame of mind, as the shining rays pass through his eyes; yes, I may be quite close to the seatide, yet I am not at sea. For Wisdom is in full swing, in the breeze, and is permitted by the Creator of all things to be ageless —
[ Dream ]
Always, Spirit keeps its watch without stop; but often, "heaven" it chooses, and that is well-above, and away, from the waistline of the human body. Sometimes, Silence migrates without grief; but with a "sixth sense", and closer to the All-Seeing Eye of God, in order for a Man to harvest a bountiful yield throughout the vast World.
Today, I'm lounging at the beachside, without a bikini; my eyeballs may be the small geometrical forms of the moon, nevertheless, I'm receiving the full light of the Sun coming through the slit between my eyelids —
The City of Angels is a pleasure to behold; but not only in the heavenly places, it is also here on the earthly plane. There's a place in the northern hemisphere, entering my space, and it is so-called; Los Angeles.
Today, the Finger of God is well-located, in fact ordained so close to my tropical skin, and mine is a shining ebony complexion. The Fore-finger of the Creator is a digital pointer, and it is the minute-hand that has just walked past the twelfth hour on the Mundial. It is not unsafe to acknowledge the World, as it is, although time is impatiently ticking away, close to the distal end of my forearm, measured partly by the chronometer from Realtime. But also, it is of utmost necessity, to re-imagine, the state of all Mankind.
If another figure of speech is in this tongue of mine, then I can safely say that the noon, or the twelfth-hour is a certain complexion of day. It is the Sun beaming its parallel rays, and effecting a coordinate transformation of the x-y-z axes of the typical world, after the rise of sleeping men at dawn. But it is less than a full day of human surprises yet, and at any rate, everyman is in need of something; A RE-AWAKENING.
Therefore the Sun at midday, has yet to complete its mission statement; the breeze though, is almost cool-headed, with a mannerism that is unabrasive. First but not quite foremost, the atmosphere is working on the creases and bristles over my black skin. There's another smoothing taking place, but rightfully so, and it is Wisdom unmasking the artificial plains and wrinkles over my whitish brain.
If there's another figure of speech left in my tongue, then I can safely say, that there's a real metaphor between black and white shades of colour, especially in regard to the human skin complexion. However, the racist man whose tongue seems to have been constrained to be political correct, and curtailed from calling the name "nigger" or "boy", when in actuality he's supposed to be addressing a full-blown man like himself in the public gallery, sometimes turns nice gab into another kind of oral gabbage, or even resorts to outright violence, turning fists into fisticuffs.
But to be candid, without appealing to sentimental flamboyance, the measure of human complexion may not reside in the skin
pigmentation of a Latino rebel, or the yellowish hide of the Semitic rabbi. It is in everyway more tenable, that in mentioning the complexity of the world and the multifarious races, under the Sun, to start from the day of King Solomon until this day, by making a wiser reference to the substance of the human Mind.
[ Grey Matter ]
There're so many booksellers in the stalls, but there're also a peculiar set of people working in the streets of Los Angeles who can turn the human experience into bestsellers, perhaps on the shelf of Netflix.
[ Digital Archive ]
This is the age of binary math, and computers, and millennials are forever indebted to the universality of the English Language, whilst at the same time screaming for a global equation, or transformative paradigm of self-expression: faces need an Artistic make-over, facilitators opt for the latest Scientific camera, and the Sun never intends to set on human Craftsmanship — that is, from cast to crew, there's some form of movement, and Light will only thrive on true Talent.
There's a lexical gap in Pop Culture, and part of it is quaintly located on the topmost aspect of an immovable hill. Nevertheless, when the spelling of the word finally meets the Eye, only Americans lay a claim to the prestigious letters; HOLLYWOOD.
"I don't dream at night,
I dream at day,
I dream all day,
I'm still dreaming for a Living."
( Steven Spielberg )
The English people, are the ones whose ancestors claimed a sprawling empire a long time ago, even by means of a lexicon in one hand. But still, they thrive on selecting their words, more than arms, and they're not offended by the Americans' claim on Hollywood. Instead, they choose to travel on jet-planes, or steam-ships, some even go on a scholastic ticket, just to read the wide-world in one place; AMERICA.
"Our one goal is to give the world,
A taste of peace, friendship, and understanding,
Through an understanding of the visual arts,
The Art of Celebration of Life.
( Steven Spielberg )
Therefore pages of books can be converted, more so in the present digital age, into spools of Film. Between Hollywood Hills and Sunset Boulevard; there has appeared at one end, a governor by the name of Arnold Schwarzenneger, and at the other end, a president by the name of Ronald Reagan. But it's not just about a constellation of Stars, it's also about a consternation of different Characters.
In Tinseltown, there's so much tinkering going on in the movie director's mind; it is as much about the actor's garb, as it is about the the actress's gab. It is not fundamentally a question of six-pack training, nor is the answer always to be found in a sex-scandal tape. It is unmistakably about the craft; STORYTELLING ART.
[ Black Enterprise ]
The Storyteller creates the memory,
that survivors must have,
Otherwise, surviving would have no meaning.
"It is the Storyteller,
in fact,
Who makes us what we are,
who created History."
( Chinua Achebe )
THE JOURNEY of a thousand kilometres may be refined, by taking strides in Life, but step-by-step, we have a Story. Sometimes, a Man's walk away from the wilderness, into self-expression, may be an elongated Prose; at other times, the distance is rendered shorter by several wavelengths, metre-by-metre though, using the means of Poetry. Whatever form art may assume, the artist tries to to shape the internal motives as well as the external goals of the people into a compelling human Drama. Most of the narratives, boil to a crescendo in the end, by acts of an expert; CREATIVE MIGRATIONS.
In any particular age, the sojourn of the human species, whether by Scientific, or by Artistic, extrapolations of time and space, is a continuing process made more eloquent; that is, more prosaic, or more poetic, or even more dramatic, by sometimes playing the experiences on Film —
For instance, Wesley Mogadishu is an African, longing for the new waves of the Atlantic; he wishes to cross the wavering of the tides, as well as the mockery of the times. There's no restraint on his male ambitions, and the desires that sway him rise from a masculine loft, extending above the chauvinism of his waistline towards the civilized crown of his head.
From where he stands, he could see the Oceanic waves, sumptuous as of unfolding Life, but tossing the long female hair weaves which belong to an even-bodied American; and she's of a White-skin extraction, and she's playing smart-head without a bandana on the same beachfront. The shape of the remaining sea, looks just like feminine buttocks, but the tumble of the water is a tense shade of sea-blue, and it is no longer the milk tint of her real skin.
Let's say, that he's one man looking in the mirror, and she's one wo-man looking in the same mirror, but from the other side, perhaps with a different point of view, and her name is not Halle Berry.
Both of them are actors; first, there's the African called by the name of Wesley Mogadishu; and lest I forget, the American wo-man bears the name of Lolita Gwyn.
But there're too many vagaries in this world, including so many faces and names, and to be utterly candid too, "White" is a scientific mixture of "Colours", irrespective of the fact that it often manifestly takes the naturally-occurring form of the human skin complexion.
But the raging, though if subtle question is this: why is Mr Whiteman still uncomfortable with Mr Colouredman, when he by the very nature of his composition, is a blend of other natural colours? Besides, who's the ultimate blender, or artist, but the Creator?
Life's a journey made upon a stage called the world, and everybody is an actor; so thinks Shakespeare, without end. However, in the foregoing, I have made reference to particulars, but not mutually exclusive of the Diaspora. By its simplest definition, the diaspora expresses a change of location, perhaps in response to certain threats or opportunities, giving us some metrics, in this case the change of human statistics, by migration from one destination of despair to another of betterment.
And the best of humanity's stories cannot be framed by a biased selection of skin colours; perhaps it is a crafting of words, a deft contraption of sounds, and a clearer Picture.
Thus, the world can be read; but it depends on who's wearing the lenses, or who's interpreting the lines. It is a page-turner, but it may be variably styled into books, a list of bestsellers. Nontheless, the world has also been capitalized into numerous hits, at the BOX OFFICE.
The world is a narrative, the best of it comprises the human characters whose acts are sometimes told, h-i-s-t-o-r-i-c-a-l-l-y. Just as in the example of the African-American History Month, 2019. Noteworthy still, another undeniable fact of history, is that the best of migrations have taken place through the mechanics of the human mind, including the Mind of the African. A good example is, Dr Carter G. Woodson.
Today, Hollywood has a Walk of Fame. But suffice it to mention too, that the vast human race, including the name of Spike Lee, has been through a long journey, and the African skin on him is ageless —
Roll Call :
Sidney Poitier,
Denzel Washington,
Halle Berry,
Angela Bassett,
Forrest Whitaker,
Lawrence Fishburne,
Taraji P. Henson,
Paula Patton,
Cuba Gooding,
Eddie Murphy,
Sanaa Lathan,
Nia Long,
Will Smith,
Morgan Freeman,
Regina Hall,
Melissa De Sousa,
Terrence Howard,
Taye Diggs,
Gabrielle Union,
Meagan Good,
Morris Chestnut,
Harold Perineau,
Whoopi Goldberg,
Vivica Fox,
Idris Elba,
Malik Yoba,
Aunjanue Ellis,
Angela Davis,
Danny Glover,
Wesley Snipes,
M'onique,
Jill Scott,
Samuel L. Jackson,
Jamie Foxx,
Vanessa Bell Calloway,
Kimberly Ellis,
Derek Luke,
Don Cheadle
Jennifer Hudson,
Vanessa William,
L L Cool J,
Dwayne Johnson,
Loretta Devine,
Kerry Washington,
Omari Hardwick,
Rick Fox,
Thandie Newton,
LaLa Anthony,
Louis Gossett Jr,
Omar Epps,
Teri Vaughan,
Keke Palmer,
Common,
Tyrese Gibson,
Jennifer Lewis,
Nicole Beharie,
Darrin Dewitt Henson,
Nate Parker,
Joy Bryant,
Janet Jackson,
Mekhi Phifer,
Nick Cannon,
( This list is not categorized, and it is by no means exhaustive )
By the wayside, but not on the least side, is the beautiful Paula Patton with a sunny smile, but who is almost "White" by skin complexion, and that's how close interracial mingling has come, which makes her seem a far cry from being "Black".
However, I dare to say, and unequivocally too, that she's proud of her heritage. Whether she's seated in an armchair opulence, or treading on the greenery of the field, she may as well have some lines to take, and of course they're in letters done by a Screen Writer.
But Hollywood is expected to be understood, particularly in this globalized knowledge-based economy, for what it really represents; a migration of the human mind, A Walk of Life. And African-Americans have evolved, too, as recognizable Artists.
It may not be the crux of the matter except for added glitz, at the forth-coming Academy of Motion Picture Arts And Sciences Awards, ( "The Oscars" ), if the paparazzi uses a digital camera lens to catch one fellow or the other inside a White Rolls Royce, or Black Cadillac.
[ The Intellectual Hu$tle ]
"We don't just sit and hope,
that things will work out;
We have a role to play,
to make that come about.
That seems to me,
to be the reason of the Writer."
( Chinua Achebe )
© The point of view, as well as the pictorial expression, are the choices of the blogger.
