Tree CloudYes, for even grudgingly the western world, even with its science and capitalism, must succumb to the biodiversity inevitable in cross-pollination of dilated perceptions. Minds are opening, even as quickly as commerce can flatten out spiritual planes. Yoga might be lucrative stretching for the masses, but for a few brightened minds it is a way to a deepening of life. The sounds of African djembes and talking drums mixed with electric guitars and drum kits might be old fusion tricks for the latest pop hit, but they also speak to the thirst for tradition to reinforce our future.
Fusion, mixing–the beauty that unfolds in the aftermath and sidestreets of war–the unforeseen sharing that occurs from struggles beyond the everyday, boundaries forcibly removed or erected, lines shifting what was once known into greyness, into in-between, into hyphenations of two seemingly disparate universes. Asian-American. Afro-cuban. Until differences are seen for what they are. Until separation is seen for what it is. Illusions of temporality. Circumstantial placement.
Like why do we get so attached to a baseball team, or to the name of a city we happened to be birthed in? Or to a country? To a college? To a football team of that college? Why do we choose to define ourselves so limitedly? We can mix and match ourselves dependent on what speaks to us. Who cares about if you are white or latino or if you are middle-class or ghetto, except those who would control us? You can be anything. You can be anything that is most true to yourself. The only limitations that exist are your own fears. Who can tell you what you are when no one knows themselves?


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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