Misplaced Book

Sort of like a library book placed in the wrong section by a stumbling, careless child. So easily taking their chubby fingers to the spine of a book and placing it on a random shelf. I have felt so thrown into life. Sort of like a wild animal forced upon it's land with no choice but to seek salvation on it's on. Only it becomes instinct for them, a way of life if you will. Much more difficult as a conscious human being. Especially someone who finds overthinking to be a hobby and not a fun one at that. I remember even having the strangest birth, what's so strange is that I remember the feeling in the atmosphere at the time of my birth. Another funny thing is that I nearly typed death instead of birth. I guess entering this world had felt like a death of some sort. Due to the dramatics I've been blessed with, I've gone through many cycles of death spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. And to live life, is to live life whilst grabbing the cold hard grip of death and walking with it as you live. It isn't a sad, morbid or melancholic life, but it is a life of truth. Some do say truth brings unhappiness, but unhappiness is usually caused by an unshifted perspective. I was the kid who asked THE questions. I remember asking my mom about something she told me as a toddler when I was merely under ten years old. All I remember is the elevation, frustration and anger in her voice, It was then, when I began to question my effortless inquiries about life and religion, It was then when I felt I had to keep my mouth shut. But that was only the beginning of my inquiries about life, I had always found myself questioning the stories in bible study or the ones told at school. Maybe I was a young skeptic in the making.

Have you ever been to a real black church? A real church? One filled with glory, rejoicing and the lord's name. I can still feel the piercing of the drums as they drummer pounded to the rhythm of the gospel song that they had been singing. Mothers, kids, my sister, my mom, my bother, my cousins and my grandma smiling in joy and glory as they recall their moment of salvation with God. Brown pew after brown pew of my fellow people stomping, clapping and singing in joy. I sat there unwavering and confused. So out of place, like a deer in headlights. I, the deer, religion the headlights. As a child, religion was slapped onto me just like life and just like the notion of education, which America use as an excuse to exploit us as children so that we grow up and benefit them monetarily and developmentally. I didn't like either of those things. I seeked freedom as a child as I do now, but much more strongly. I remember watching as my grandma stood up from the end of the pew we all were seated on and hollered out in joy. She could feel the spirit of God at that moment. I truly had not a clue what she was feeling because I would carry my small, tired child eyes around looking at everyone hoping maybe to catch a glimpse of what they felt. But I simply couldn't. I did not see or feel this holy ghost that had taken over my grandma who had been directly in the middle of the pews screaming and singing her heart out as tears streamed down her face. Maybe she had wanted to repent for her life of sins. Maybe my grandma had experience a true holy ghost and it was something special to her and those around me. But it wouldn't penetrate me as it did the others and as it did my grandma so strongly that she collapse in the middle of the aisle.

I was left speechless and concerned as my mom walked us out of the church. I remember hesitantly asking questions about what happened to grandma and why she was collapsed onto the church floor. She simply brushed it off not quite telling me what any of it meant. I was still concerned, scared even. But my mom seemed to be used to the antics so she wasn't surprised or scared at all. She seemed almost annoyed if not embarrassed, But I followed after her behind as we left the church and thought nothing else of it. Like she taught us to do.

We went to church quite often as kids, every weekend but as time passed and as we got older we stopped going. As I grew older I became more aware of certain things. Especially during bible study, they didn't like when someone questioned their God and his stories. Because it left them confused and unsure sometimes. This wasn't true for everyone, only those standing in the shallow waters of religion became affected by these questions. There was a thought of mine though, seeing my grandma sprawled across the floor. I could just pretend to feel what they feel. Is that what they all do? Is that what my grandma did?

But I didn't find honor in that either. I read many books as a child, it's what made me so aware at such a young age. Even that made me an odd one in my family. We didn't have book worms, aspiring pop stars, and nerds in my family. Until I was born. I would prance around my grandma's living room popping my hips and clutching my waist with my hand and walked with as much attitude as possible. Just to give you a thought of my imagination, I, as a child, told my grandma I would be a model. During a time when extra dark skin was sort of frown upon and laughed at. Actually got teased through my entire school life for being dark skinned. I was still shining and dripping with imagination and aspiration. Oh how I wished I could cease that energy into an elixir for me to keep my hope for achievement alive. Achieving the impossible I guess.