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Wrath of God

I read a book recently that expressed a symbolism that stays with me because of its accuracy. Dutty Bookman in his memoir, “Tried and True” , described a dream that he had and an analysis of said dream. It was of baby boys being born with oversized penises, and the analysis further clarified that it was this generation males, being born with a power they weren’t ready to wield. I find it to be very true, in particular, I would define it as a hyper evolved state. We are born into extreme conditions,  it has now reached the point where these conditions begin to manifest in the Jamaican male. It is almost necessary evolution, constantly whipped and abused, it is as if we are born into an armor. A kind of super conscious defense mechanism.

The flaw remains however, the main tool of this facility that is used by young Jamaican males, is wrath. This mechanism, has a supernatural quality to it. The explanations of man continue to fall short of this phenomenon, and although it is temporal and volatile in character, it is not human. Yet it is not divine. Perhaps it is in between, part human, part divine, an outer manifestation of man’s truest state, half divine, half temporal. Perhaps it is the man unconsciously, trying to remind himself of his Kingly, or Godly stature and identity, after all the one thing we all have in common is our stolen identity. It would seem, that in the fight to reclaim our lost identity, it became so relevant for us to find it, that unconsciously it begins to find us, before we are ready. Could the disconnect between the black man and his true self be so vast, that his true self begins to blindly search for him as he himself searches for it?

I have felt it, it is in me, in you, in all of us.  It is a persuasive darkness, an unrelenting anger, a venomous wrath threatening to spill, convincing you all the while that it is righteous and deserved vengeance. It is sweet, because when you give in you feel nothing else. Its a monster, and you know it’s a monster because you have to fight to maintain reason and control, because it is compelling and simple. It is like dry grass, only needing a spark, feeding on itself, becoming a forest fire. It blazes spewing your pain at the world, and when it is done and the embers have finally burnt out, there will be no more pain, just numbness and the consequences of the destruction wrought. Ultimately, it is a limited expression, which leaves casualties too pricy for one to afford. But most of us won’t care, we are pushed, so we push back, because that is all we understand. That is how we know to express ourselves, and that is one of the most sad Jamaican realities.

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