My Divine Reflection

Is infinite patience for Black men an irrational postulation? I have asked myself this question innumerable times whenever the epiphany of being in a degenerating relationship became impossible to neglect and/or justify. Recently, I had had an opportunity to thoroughly reflect on this question with keen depth and truthful introspection when I had almost diverged into the grips of victimization, despondency, and anger. Before my sudden and final realization that my relationship with my former love would never work, the power of these extraordinary emotions had invaded my being like a viral plague. The aggravation, despair, hurt, doubt and betrayal so many Women of African Descent (Black Women) experience, besieged my heart because this was not the first time that I have been mistreated and lied to by someone I’ve loved. The consistent and persistent battle for harmony, reciprocity and truth Black women seek, is voided, exploited, misinterpreted and manipulated by societies and mindsets cajoling us to forget that we were and still are the source, fortitude, intuitive third eye, the backbone of every civilization—and the intelligent civilizations, like that of Ancient Kemet (Egypt), honored and respected the Divine essence of Wombmen; men within these societies were so knowledgeable of the divine reflection and compliment of a Black Wombman, their powerful and magnificent colossi—Queen Tiye and Amenhotep III—was constructed to impart one of Ancient Kemet’s most profound teachings—Isosephile: Eye to Eye, Soul to Soul. Men chosen to serve as the Nsubit (King/Pharaoh), through a Matrilineal order, in Ancient Kemet, knew that aligning with the soul of the source from which all of life emanates is the key to his enlightenment and the substance of their infinite, holistic union.

Unfortunately, though I’d parted the Red Sea, unclothed my vulnerabilities, inhibitions, and fears, compromised clairvoyance for reigning self-doubt, and accepted callous words, accusations, and behaviors by my Black Man, the soul-shattering depletion and frazzled state of which I’d become was a clear sign that I had to let go. I felt that, in spite of all of the head-way my former love and I had apparently made, he still did not get it; he did not get me and the level of his immaturity, egotism, underdevelopment, and pride was too immense for me to withstand; I could not bare to sacrifice the Ma'at I unrelentingly cultivated in my life simply because, I thought, this brother showed promise. The voice of my Divine Ancestors, Neter, Neteru aided my realization that although I should always love and remember the phenomenal and magical moments I’d shared with this person, compromising who I am, my values is equivalent to the death of my soul.

Many of us are familiar with the science of Dr. Joy DeGruy's Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, The Willie Lynch Letter, Brainwashed, to name a few, but when does recognition of the heart-wrenching reality of the Black woman’s plight, our ability to surmount vast catastrophes, and our victory over stupendous tribulations acknowledged? When can the mechanisms of our resilience serve as the blueprint for Black Men? When will exclamations of the unparalleled affronts imposed on Black Men no longer function as a viable excuse for the behaviors they justify and are justified for them? Recently, a very wise elder who is a studious traveler, martial arts practitioner, initiate of Ancient Mysteries Systems, historian and researcher, proposed a thought. He brilliantly contended that everyone, within the cosmic scheme of things, has their turn. We African people attained self-actualization thousands if not millions of years ago, yet here we are. How we got here is significant. What we are doing to resurrect self is paramount?

Fortunately, my cognitive awareness of the pertinence of holistic metamorphosis enables me to recognize that we exist to be challenged. These existential experiences, whether we perceive them as catastrophic or exhilarating, construct the very fiber of our physical and esoteric beings and consequent manifestations.

Although African peoples are bombarded with an onslaught of negativity from nearly every societal compartment—personal, familial, political, social, and so forth—it is up to us, right here, right now, to choose to instigate or to eradicate the crises we have been subjected to and tend to perpetuate. Instead of harboring anger and resentment towards the men who have been grave disappointments, I am refining myself; I am cultivating the sacred and inherent prowess of my entire being; I am recognizing the reasons why I attract negativity and challenging myself to courageously move away from counterintuitive thoughts and actions; I am radiating love because I am constantly affirming my passion to learn, grow, develop, transcend and ascend as an enlightened being.

To conclude, I have no intention to denounce Black Men in spite of current and dire circumstances. To me, the connection and procreation between a Black Man and a Black Woman is the epitome of perfection. The vibration of a Black Man’s tone, the power of his touch and the gravitational magnetism of his soulful eyes, thoughts and mind, supersede common understanding. Black Women knows of his intrinsic capacity to be whole, so it is not that we are emotional whenever we see and experience discontinuity, as if we are merely having a carnal response; we, the progenitors of life manifestations, feel incomplete because the spirit our divine compliment is dim and lost in darkness.