God and the 3 train

One thing that has changed dramatically for me is transportation. I miss my car. But at the same time, with gas costing more than milk and eggs, I have managed to live without it. In the subway the other night though, my mind was brought to a popular adage. I was in a rush for a meeting on the other side of town, something that has happened a number of times, and found myself at the familiar place around the edge of the subway platform. You can always tell the people that are rushing in the subway by the way they peer over the edge of the platform, trying desperately to catch a glance of the oncoming train they yearn for.

I am usually one of those people.

On this particular day though, I was thinking in my head, "Please, just let me see a light! All I need is a light!" Because when you see the light, you know the train is right behind it. Then it dawned on me, that this is what is meant by "light at the end of the tunnel".

You see, all my life I figured that "light at the end of the tunnel" was a metaphor for those going through a tunnel. I thought it was exclusively for those that were trying to get out. Light, in that scenario, was indicative of the way out, it was a symbol of freedom from the tunnel, or the end of a very daunting journey underground. Hope. In my recent experience in the subway, light is indicative of rescue, it is a symbol of deliverance and aid through the tunnel, a sign that aid is around the corner. Hope.

This thought was further enforced when I passed by Isaiah 40:31, "But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint." Surely, I could not rampage through the tunnels of New York demanding the 3 train to Brooklyn, just as one cannot expect to burrow through the tunnels of life and demand God. Our tunnels of life, our dark times, our confusing times, are sometimes met best when one has patience. When one waits on the light.

In my instance, the 3 train picked me up, and took me to Brooklyn for my meeting. And throughout my time here in New York, in work, school and life, I have learned to be more patient and to take things one day at a time.

God will pick us up and take us where we need to be, but we have to go to the station ourselves.

heavy shoulders

being by one’s self can be a scary thing sometimes. and yes, in a sense i do mean physically. i suppose no one wants to be left alone in a creepy setting or frightening place. however, i primarily refer to a mental or spiritual aloneness. for one to feel strongly about something or have a plan or idea, and be alone in quest, alone in pursuit, alone in a dream – is a terrifying thing.

how does one cope with the independence of a unique idea?

crying, though an innate response, is never really an option. sure, others are sympathetic about crying, but no one truly respects tears of passion. tears of sorrow – yes. tears of happiness – yes. but tears of passion, of perseverance, of determination to achieve a goal or dream – no. tears discredit the confidence of a dreamer – of hey have any affect a all. besides, in the case that ones dream is not shared by others, who’s shoulder is there to cry on anyway?

tunnel vision is also not an option, but equally an innate response. tunnel vision is the method by which one focuses all of their energy, time, and attention to one goal, excluding all others from line of sight. ideally, this method would be great for independently reaching a goal no one else can see. however, it is flawed. for we do not live in a tunnel. to metaphorically isolate oneself in a “tunnel” implies hat such is possible in reality – that one can actually avoid distraction and criticism. but the truth is, we can’t. we can’t not hear the criticism of others. we can’t not see the distractions of society, of culure, of life! because the truth is, as much as we want to be in a “tunnel”, even metaphorically, there is no such thing. at the very least – we serve as our own distraction and we are our biggest critics.

how does one cope with the independence of a unique idea? are there any options? is the fact that no one supports it an indicator that it shouldn’t be so?

i say no! the vision is real! the vision, for those who see it, is as real as reality itself. it has a sound, a taste, a feeling. and although it is indescribable, it…it still IS. And for the dreamer – for the one that has a vision, plan, idea, goal – they will risk almost anything to attain it. and that is what no one else understands.

it’s frustrating, and scary, to know that one is alone in thought. the most frightening part though, is the realization there is no way to cope with it. there is no option. in hindsight, Moses was slandered all he way to the Promised Land, and never even made in himself. Dr. King was criticized all the way up to the balcony on which he last stood. Malcolm X was discouraged even from within his own organization. Jesus the Christ was beaten all the way to he cross. societies ostracized the likes of Socrates, Edgar Allen Poe, Albert Einstein, Marcus Garvey, and William Shakespeare.

there is no solace. there is no comfort. there is no consolation for the dreamer, only the dream.

and in pursuit of that dream, that goal – that THOUGHT, the lack of support, the consciousness of solitude and the notion that it may never come to fruition, are all things that one must be willing to bear, willing to risk. Just to try.

sometimes we have to lose to win.

new york decisions

if there is nothing else this move has done for me, it has allowed me to make decision after decision after decision. for some decisions, i must decide what’s best for those i care for, those that are directly affected by my choices. for other decisions, I must decide what’s best for myself. in every decision, i must decide who i’m deciding for.

decisions tell us and others what type of person we are. i learned this first when i was in a creative writing class in undergrad (i had a flat character because i didn’t have him making any decisions). outside of that class, i’ve learned that that is true – character is defined by and built off of the decisions we make. it exposes our priorites and motives behind our actions. they shed light on the type of person we are underneath and help us understand who we are to become later. something as simple as whether or not to help a certain person or go a specific place. something as simple as turning left or right, determining whether to stay or go, or whether to be happy or sad. our decisions reflect who we are. our decisions define us.

but where it really gets confusing is when you approach the notion that the decisions one makes now impacts another's decision later. Therefore, on a grand scale – defining yourself changes the definition of someone else – every, single, day.

just something to think about.

random jabble

i sat down here with an attempt to be deep. with some sort of purpose or goal to enrich someones mind or spirit. but i don't have anything right now. i'm empty, and, in hindsight, i've been empty for a while. after thinking about my lack of things to write, i have come to evaluate that which i have learned to treasure, that which i believe makes people, that which i believe shapes our lives.

throughout my lifetime, i have learned to treasure two things. time, and experience.

time, as we understand it, is the one thing that embodies all eternity, and simultaneously, the one thing we never truly have enough of. we are all victims of time. we live by it and dictate our actions accordingly. we measure it and survey it for the likes of our culture and society. we create it and waste it for our own personal use. a cartoon character once said, "Time is an abstract concept created by carbon-based life-forms to monitor their ongoing decay" - Thunderclese. i am one to treasure time, because like all others, i graciously live within it's infinite domain.

experiece is what i believe defines us. we are a summation of our experiences. our memories, our actions, and our tendencies are all shaped by the experiences that we accumulate throughout life. my dad doesn't like cats because he was scratched by one as a child. we've had dogs for years. now i'm a dog person. my kids will have dogs. one will bite my youngest one on the leg. he will then fear dogs for the rest of his life. he will be a bird person. and probably a homosexual. "not that there's anything wrong with that." so long-story short, because my dad got scratched by a cat when he was a kid, he'll never have grandchildren. hypothetically speaking.

saying all that to say, lately, time and experience have been on hold for me. i haven't been doing much in the recent days really. i've been going to new teacher orientation, which has been redundant of the whole summer, eating, and sleeping. i have things i need to do, which i will start doing today, but i really haven't had any experiences that have spawned thought deep enough to spawn the deep thought i want to write right now.

hell, i feel like being deep. right now.

maybe i'll just settle for random jabble for this blog though.

what i hear now

since i've been in ny, i've been listening to more rap. new rap, sure, but especially old rap. for instance, earlier today, i thought to myself, "hell yeah i bust my guns, and hell yeah i make em cum...". other quotes that have been in circulation are:

"man, I make a buck, why scram?I'm trying to show y'all who the fuck I am" -clipse
"we all gon die, we bleed through similar veins" -2pac
"ain't no hope when every nigga wants to be the nine-milla, on the trigger, the black nigga killa." -eazy-e
"used to be the don juan, now your name is just...twan" -ice-cube

and although rap has increased, it has not taken the too many of the "most played" slots on the iTunes. it's still good ol R&B, oldies and alternative. here are summer hits that have been making the end of my summer...

old school babyface. "nobody knows", "how come, how long", etc.
old school brian mcknight. "6,8,12", "back to one", "still in love", etc.
X&Y - the new coldplay album. specifically track 4, that song moves me everytime.
album II - kem. namely "i can't stop loving you", "heaven", and "find your way".
some body & soul album i bought on the corner.

the favorites though, are still leading the way. i was really hoping that the new album would come across and catch me off gaurd. but it has yet to happen. these albums have been getting the same rotation since purchase date.

john mayer - room for squares
maroon 5 - songs about jane
n.e.r.d. - in search of...
coldplay - rush of blood to the head
prince - musicology

truth be told, i haven't been searching for new albums to add on to the favorties pile. but the reality is, i wasn't looking for the ones that are on there now. metaphorically speaking, they found me. but to be fair, i haven't been listening to the radio. i haven't been able to hear songs online. i haven't been able to download. and i don't have tv. so if there is a new hype, i don't know it. if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to let me know.

pornography on the brain

when you really think about it - what is a monopoly, but corporate masturbation, cumming on the faces of average consumers.

my library

so my school, st. johns, has 4 campuses. or so they say. upon further observation, they have one main campus in queens, two smaller campuses in long island and staten island, and one building in manhattan. the one in queesn in the one in which i attend, about an our from harlem, which i live. but i have found the secret. the building in manhattan is off in the cut. and they have a library on the third, the top, floor. and no one is ever there...

I LOVE IT!

it's 20 minutes from my place in harlem, and according to the staff here, it's always ghost town. quiet, safe, free until 9pm each night. go ahead and study. use one of the empty classrooms on the 2nd floor. take advantage of the high-speed internet. food you say? take your pic from the cafe downstairs or the dozens down the block, this is downtown nyc you know, help yourself mr. wilborn.

and for any of you that read this, damn you if you take this idea and try to claim my new spot. you need an college id anyways. have a nice day.

what love calls for

in recent conversations, between my cousins and i, we have strongly discussed the topic of love. these conversations have caused each of us to critically look at our own relationships in new light. to evaluate them. to judge them.

in one such conversation, i was drawn to a certain idea. sacrifice.

in essence, what is love but sacrifice? a pure, concentrated, purpose-driven giving from one being to another. most parents give their all for the children they blindly love, not knowing what type of person they are or will become. culturally speaking, it is the mother that often sacrifices her goals and lifestyle to care and love for her children. and quite so, having carried and nurse an infant for months on end, mothers instinctly feel a greater bond with a child, a deeper love even.

biblically speaking, "for God so loved the earth that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whosoever believeth in him, shall not perish but have everlasting life". His son, on the other hand, gave his life. Willingly, he asks of his father to "forgive them, for they know not what they do". God gave his son. Jesus gave his life. Both for the love of humanity, and for reasons no living mind may ever comprehend.

all for love.

there are women who sit next to their husbands in the depths of comas, waiting for them to return. there are men, still with their wives with the knowledge that they cannot bear children. there are boyfriends who talk on the phone with their girlfriends every friday night because their daddy thinks they're too young to go out. there are women waiting for their men to get out of prison.

sacrifice.

soldiers die everyday for their country. athletes almost kill themselves for glory. poilcemen lay lives on the line every single day. sacrifice.

love.

time, energy, life, death, money, religion, and more. everyday, every hour, every minute, someone is sacrificing something for someone, or something they "love". so i ask the question, "is love defined by what one is willing to sacrifice?" will you really do anything for the one you're with? what will you stand? what will you go through? what will you endure for the love of your significant other? and where is the threshold? where is the line drawn between "love" and "goodbye"? when is love not enough for you to stay? what will make you walk? what will you sacrifice for the ones you truly love?

for every true love sacrifices something.

home

i've come to find that i've been homesick. didn't even know it until i went back to atlanta for a few days. i found myself standing in my living room and breathing in the atmosphere, actually taking in the essence of home that i have yet to feel in the city. i laid in my bed and stayed under the coves for hours. i sat on the toilet and didn't even have to shit. just sat there and read for a while. i took a shower, that was more like me just resting in water than actual bathing. it was great. i was home.

it started on tuesday. richard picked me up and i surprised everyone in the house. i walked in on my brother getting out the shower buck-naked. i called my little sister on her phone and then tackled her as soon as she let her gaurd down. i crawled into my grandma's room like a little puppy. and took a bubble bath in my parents tub. my mom walked in on me chest high in bubbles, smiling. my dad, whom was told that the toilet was overflowing, was walking up the steps cursing our everyone. "ya'll always floodin the damn toilet. ya'll did that mess last week!!..." then he walked in on "bubble bath reggie". and started cussing me out for having me have him walk up the stairs. i told him, "no, i'm the surprise, but the toilet is still over-flowing!" mad again, he walked over to the "toilet closet" (i don't quite know how to explain the toilet closet - its the size of a small closet, with a toilet in it, since it's a his/her bathroom). so he walks over to the toilet closet and opens the door. there, he is surprised once again, by recieving a full, uncensored view of my 18-year-old brothers naked ass. my brother even waved it at him a little.

it was a great weeked. now, back in the city, i still miss it some. but i'm glad i went. i don't think i'll be back for a while, but it reminded me of how important home could be.

love and such

the worst thing you can do to a woman is love her.

there is no book thick enough. no blog long enough. there is no website that extensive. no joural that efficient. there is no base solid enough to effectively explore and accurately depict the concept of love. however, it has been my experience, and mine alone from which i can positively speak.

in hindsight, every woman that has ever loved me, still does. and of those women, every one of them has hated me, and still do. and its not because i'm rich, or suave, or handsome, or smart, or funny, or tall, or moral, or religious, or cool, or stable, or earthy, or sacrastic, or sexy, or handy, or adventurous, or well-hung. no, these are all aspects of a person that may attract another person. these have little to do with love. no, in my experience, any woman that has ever loved me has done so because i have loved them. and my love for them dictated my actions, my thoughts and my words in such a way that my love for them was undeniable and inexplicably apparent throughout the course of the relationship. so much so, that they could also easliy identify when it was gone. yes, love does leave.

find a book. i dare you.

yesterday, i posted a blog called "baby hands". and in that blog, i talked about how i lifted my 15-month-old nephew to touch the ceiling fan. and he enjoyed it. but when i took him down, he cried his heart out. in my experience, love has been a ceiling fan. i take my baby, hold her in my arms, and lift her to the ceiling fan to touch the blades to experience happiness. and then, when my arms get tired, i put her down. and she hates me. yes, she will remember the happiness of the ceiling fan, remember that she loved me. and every time she remembers that she loved me, it will remind her to hate me again.

long-story short. love is hate. emotional insanity. it has been my experience that love and hate are ends of the same shoestring. edges on a round table. two blades on a ceiling fan. hopefully, soon, i'll be able to hold my baby up to the ceiling fan for a long time. and theoretically speaking, i long for the day we can hold each other up to the blades.

baby hands

we all want to reach something.

i had my 15-month old nephew on my back as he was reaching for the ceiling fan. it wasn't on. he was stretching his arm out and making a little grunting noise. i had noticed him do this earlier and didn't think much of it then. but at this moment, when he was on my back, i felt i should help him with his goal. so i lifted him up and he touched the blade. he played with it in his fingers for a minute, pushing it back and forth, to and fro. then, satisfied with my assistance, i took him down. i set him on the floor.

then he cried.

he screamed at me and yelled to the top of his tiny little voice. i tried to pick him up to where he was before, he still cried. i set him back down, he still cried. cried. cried. cried. the truth is, he wanted the fan. he wanted to touch it again. i know though, that no matter how many times i helped him, he would always want it again. at that moment, looking at him as he stared up at me screaming, i was sorry i ever did it.

sometimes we don't get what we're reaching for because we can't handle touching it yet.

dear doc

i wrote an email to a former professor of mine just now. thought i'd put it on here...

greetings Dr. [former professor of r. wilborn],

this is reggie. i just wanted to email you to let you know what is going on my world.

i moved to ny city
i've started grad school at st. johns university in queens
i'll be teaching 7th grade math in brooklyn come september (math, ha, go figure)

that's about it right now. i plan to add more to that list once i get situated my non-existent apartment. in the coming months, i plan to...

join a boxing class (much to my girlfriends dis-approval)
learn to play the guitar
coach a youth sports team
start grant-writing (a step
toward a much bigger goal later)

over the past months of post-graduation, i've learned one major thing: no one ever really graduates. this is something i should have picked up on after graduating middle school. standing in the auditorium, 13 years old, grinning ear to ear, i was filled with a sense of accomplishment. then someone said to me, now all you have to do is get through high school. after high school, standing in the auditorium, filled with a sense of accomplishment, someone said, now all you have to do is get through college. now, after college, no one has to say it. it should be understood. i have to get through life. i'll never stop learning, whether it be in or out the classroom. there is no such thing as "summer break". there is no such thing as stopping a while". there's no such thing as "out of school". this is school. and over the last few months, i have realized and accepted that i'll be in school for the rest of my life.

thank you for your help in that realization.
i'll stop by to visit when i return.

sincerely,

reggie wilborn

authors note

The trick to good writing is illusion of allusion. Readers have to believe that there is truth among a framework of lies. Reality among deception. Natural ingredients in processed food. Real silicon in fake breasts. And so on.

In Jacksonville, where I grew up, we had a neighbor named Jenna Washington. She lived alone with her mother, which is grammatically incorrect, but culturally accepted as a statement nonetheless. Every Tuesday, Ms. Jenna would fry the best damn catfish known to man. She hated being called Ms. Jenna, or Ms. Washington, or Miss, or Mrs., or Ma'am; she always wanted us (my little brother and I) to call her Just Jenna. Momma told us to call her Ms. Jenna regardless. We listened to Momma always.

In Houston, where I would go to visit my grandma some summers, I found some catfish that came close to Ms. Jenna. My grandma, Mimi, had started dating this old joker that looked like a skinny Clint Eastwood and smelled like the river on a hot day. I wasn't too fond of him. I would rather Mimi sit in her rocking chair, staring at a picture of Papa until she fell asleep. But that would just be selfish of me. This old joker though, he cooked a hell of a catfish. Luke Reed. So he got a few measly points in my book. He didn't get a "Mr." though, he got Just Luke. Momma understands.

An illusion is a manipulation of reality. An allusion is an simple mention, a mere detail. Truth be told, I wasn't raised in Jacksonville, nor have I ever been to Houston. There is no Ms. Jenna, nor a Luke Reed that I know of. But the minor fact that Ms. Jenna doesn't like the "Ms.", or that Luke Reed smells like the river, makes them all the more real. Makes them authentic.

Yet, those are just allusions. Details that every good writer must have.

The illusioning allusion here is that I have even the slightest idea to know what good writing is or should be.

who am i to know that?

coming back

3 or two years ago, I had a relatively successful blogsite. it was simply called "Reggie" (journals.aol.com/rwilb208/Reggie) - help yourself. the problem, which i may or may not avoid here, was that it got boring. i started writing and after a while gathered a little audience. due to that audience, i had to watch what i said. i had to be considerate. on the contrary, when i started the first few blogs, it was raw and uncomprimising about who or what i put on display. i hung out ex-girlfriends, classmates, personal desires and frustrations. the moment it leaked into my everyday life, it became an issue.

female classmates walked up and asked if i was alright after i published that my girlfriend and i broke up. offered a shoulder, a teleohone call. all but one spent her time talking about the love they lost two years ago. that one was a over-sexual lesbian.

strangers walked up to tell me "thank you" for pulling a giant peice of metal out of a busy highway.

a friend of mine found out i was interested in his girlfriend.

teachers were prescribing ways to help constipation. of those, i found that pinching your nose, rocking on a toilet seat, drinking lighter fluid, eating month-old peach pie, goggling spoiled milk, bathing in honey, and counting backwards are all forms of psyching yourself into shitting. two of those worked.

i became ify about the things i put into the public, but i didn't stop. even reading over some of them over the last few years, i never wanted to really stop. but the truth is, i did stop. so now, 3 or two years later, i have decided to stop stopping. i have started a new life, in a new city. i have finished undergrad and have begun grad school work. and now there's a job. income. my own place complete with neighbors and friends. there will be much to right about. but mostly, from then to now, the most important change is my frame of mind. life is a summation of experiences within a given time frame. the fraction or ratio of time and what you do with it. the experiences that have shaped my life over the last several years have undoubtedly molded my mind to what it is now. my experiences from hence forth will mold it into what it will be.

we are forever changing into the person we will never fully become.

and thus, i will start...