It's a long journey home...

It's one of those days when I feel rage. Rage against injustice. It's not for a particular incident but a culmination of many. The discrimination I watch when a white bus driver speaks horribly to an elderly Native woman. Watching Police Officers assume the worst about someone I know whose darkness becomes their only sin. Knowing that being brown is not a privilege in America. Observing the things my brown friends will do to survive. The pain I see in People of Colors faces. The tentative support that is given to me if I act right and act “white”. The innateness of knowing that my surviving is on the backs of people who know the truth that covering up who I am is necessary. Some of us survive because of white guilt and white privilege. The urging brown people give me. My heart breaks knowing they are right. I have to leave them. I imagine a moment when I can sneak back with some food, some idea, something of value so that they can use it to make the journey also. When I do get back sometimes I discover that they are gone. Gone into that place in our minds we escape to. Surviving. Then I beat myself up – If only, If only! Knowing deep down that isn't true. I learn everyday to keep the rage at bay. Smile. Be Good. Don't speak out of turn. Don't tell the truth. It's a long journey home to heaven. I know now why we sing those songs for salvation, understanding, and strength. It's a long journey home. My hope is my children's journey will be different. It is a hope that sustains me through the darkness. I prepare them the best I can for what is to come. I let them know the truth. I wash those dreams of sugar plumes and fairies out of their heads. Prepare them for the long journey. I show them how to act right and act “white”. Hoping they may never see those you love: broken, gone, surviving. It's one of those days of prayer. A prayer of salvation. A prayer of strength. It's a long journey home.