Remembering Katrina

A year ago today the levees broke. The levees broke and unleashed a wave of terror that washed away the lives of thousands in one of the most impoverished regions in America. A year later thousands are still displaced and swarms of businessmen are implementing a genocidal gentrification project. Last November I was one of the hundreds of volunteers in the Gulf Coast region dedicating their time to serving the survivors of natural disaster and governmental negligence. In memory of the hundreds of men and women that lost their lives, and in solidarity with the thousands of survivors that were displaced here are a few of the words and prayers I wrote upon my return from this mission…

It hurt to be there when emotions were so high. When the stench was still in the air. When you get there you can’t help but wonder…Why am I here? Why am I here when even they themselves are not here. Thousands have abandoned this Gulf Coast and I am here to give it life again? I am here to resurrect it? Or through my actions do I come here to mourn the dead? I must be here to pour libation for the souls that were dead before they died. Praying with my cautious steps, I tiptoe on battlegrounds of fallen soldiers that died for nothing. Their lives taken only for the reason; that we must cry for them.

We must make them symbols. Their loss must be a symbol of our struggle. But we won’t dare to minimalize the reality of his life in turning him into an archetype. We cannot forget that he is flesh that toiled and suffered in this world with us. His feet stomped and his fists pounded and made contact with things of this world. He pulled and pushed on the matter of this planet. If he wrapped his arms around my body I would feel his hands on my back and feel our heartbeats touch and collide. And let us not forget that she is spirit and not just some story for our history books – not just some character. Remember that she dreamed of people like us. She gave birth to our cousins.

So this shows us what our symbols have to hold. The symbol has to hold within it their REALITY and not just their reflection. It has to hold all that they are – flesh and spirit. The symbol of our struggle IS what they were and IS what they are. In the words that we speak there are millions of deceased women that are speaking them. Who will speak for them? Our words breathe everlasting life into our ancestors. So we must be mindful of our actions. Because our actions are the method by which fallen soldiers now breathe.

change for a dollar (continued)

Dollar bills burn much faster than I thought they would. I guess I overestimated the fight that they would put up to sustain their existence. Watching the flame consume it gave me an amazing high. It was the satisfaction of completing a chapter of my life. There are many beginnings and endings that punctuate our growth. The various transitions are always marked by some memory that most represented it. As I watched the rest of the bill incinerating in the wooden bowl I knew that I would never forget burning my first dollar.

I had some kind of subconscious assumption that burning dollars is illegal. For some reason I have recollection of hearing this fact at some point. After the dollar bill had been reduced to a bowl full of dust on my bedroom floor, I checked on the internet for any U.S. laws that criminalized my actions. In fact, there is absolutely no law prohibiting destroying your own money as long as you don’t try to spend it again. I guess creating a law in itself would suggest that burning one’s own money is behavior that is conceivable. In a world where money is God and God is misoverstood the desire to chase paper is a given. I guess a fear of a lifetime in monetary hell (poverty) keeps us from defying the norm more than any law could do.

One of the most important items on the dollar bill are the words “In God we trust.” If money is your God, then trust is certainly the bottom line. The dollar can only have power if we trust and believe in it. I sat on my bedroom floor stirring the residue of the disintegrated bill with my fingers. I tried to visualize a world where a few of us could fully escape this reliance on materialism. How will we live outside of the system when it has invaded every cubic centimeter of the air that we breathe? This unknown places a layer of fear on the surface of my heart. If the greedy are in heaven and the needy are in hell then what will happen to the nonbelievers?

change for a dollar

I burnt my first dollar today. I set it on fire and watched the green crumble and turn to black. I guess it’s hard to anticipate how it feels to do such a radical thing until you just man up and put the flame to it.

I woke up this morning with the idea on my mind. I lied there excited by the image of blazing green. This vision had been one of my dreams last night. My dreams have been more vivid lately and I have interpreted that clarity as reason to pay more attention to them. So I rose from bed this morning on a mission to burn just one dollar.

The flame from the gas stove would have done the job but I wanted to use something more hands on. I wasn’t about to search among the unpacked boxes that are still scattered around my new house for a lighter. So I decided to ride to the gas station to apprehend the tool.

I asked the man behind the counter for a lighter and gave him a dollar. He stared at me annoyed and told me that it cost $1.45. I gave him another one and took my change.

I sat crouched on the floor of my bedroom with the lighter and a bowl for the ashes. The dollar I chose was the most crisp one left in my wallet. As I sat there contemplating the act of insurgency, an instinct of urgency started throbbing in my chest. I began to wonder why I wanted it so bad. I questioned “Is burning this dollar bill in the privacy of my own home a legitimate form of protest?”

I turned over the bill to see the Great Seal of the United States; a pyramid topped with an all seeing eye, encircled by a caption inscribed in Latin. The depravity in those words is why I wanted to see the bill torched. “Annuit Coeptis. Novus Ordo Seclorum.” This morally corrupt declaration of power can be loosely translated to “He (God) has favored our Undertakings. A new order of the ages.” Upset by the audacity of the declaration I concluded that my dreams to watch these symbols burn were sensible. I began to look at it like a ceremony instead of a protest. It was a personal reminder that for those of us that are escaping from this New World Order a dollar bill is still just a piece of paper.