michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 32)

there is a line in a ramones song that is so relevant to you right now: "i want you to stay/but i guess it just can't be that way"... i realize that everyone must go- and of course people always go before we want them to. but as you once sang, "even though we're not together, i'll cherish my experience with you." this is why music will always be so relevant: it is the great narrator of universal struggles and joys. and the music you created will always be with us.

still, as i mentioned before, listening to some of your songs is not easy to do right now. and in writing to you every day i don't listen to any music at all. i'd like this moment to be just between us, with no distraction. a meditation in writing, so to speak.

in watching 'the wiz' tonight on a 35mm print on the screen (much better than watching the DVD i have) tears were coming to my eyes, because i knew the outcome of the film: that you would fade out, never to be seen again (until the next time i watch the film). it's like watching james brown's feet when you were a kid... you got mad at the cameraman whenever they lost the focus on his feet. i love looking at your eyes so much, how they'd be filled with so much, care, concern and sadness. like in the scene where you were saying goodbye to diana ross' dorothy and instead of using a quote from a philosopher or famous figure you used your brain to say: "success, fame and fortune. they're all illusions." you used your heart to continue that statement by saying that nothing is more important than a companionship that two people share. you found the courage to say this, despite never having made such a profound statement without quoting others.

you truly encompassed all of the characters.

(tonight, i did dress up with you in mind... inevitably getting the comments and photo requests. there were two older gentlemen who sat in front of us in the cinema, and after the film one of them asked if i usually make appearances... i told him that this is something i do all the time- this is my life).

i wrote an essay on the film at some point last year; i wrote about how i kept pausing at your image, looking into your eyes... how you gave nipsey russell's tinman an empathetic glance when he spoke of his desire for vulnerability in his life. watching the film i could only imagine certain lines or gestures you related to your own life at the time... i wonder if you thought, what WOULD you do, if people actually allowed you to feel, as opposed to being a performance automaton- this is not to say you were forced into performing. you loved performing very much; it was a safety net for you. but for many years you also didn't have the creative autonomy you desired. people did not see the tears behind the smiles as you performed.



and your line about "success, fame and fortune" all being illusions... did you take that to heart as well? because that seems to be the one thing you consistently told yourself, taking cues from a person your scarecrow quoted in the film: p.t. barnum. those things may all be illusions, but you utilized barnum's 'sucker born every minute' insight to the best of your abilities. you recognized and gave credence to the trappings of celebrity/popular culture yet struggled with it simultaneously. you felt that even though you could reach masses around the world with your status, you were at a disadvantage in terms of inter-personal relations with people outside of the world you cultivated your craft in.

i do wish you felt you had a sense of balance in your life, so that you were able to form significant inter-personal relationships with others outside of those who may have lived a similar life as you. i have also mentioned before that i don't think you believed in yourself, as others have believed in you. this was part of your eternal struggle, as the 'king of pop'. was the name barnum-like title constructed and applied in order to contradict any doubts you had about yourself? would you acknowledge or deny that anything you've done in your career correlating with such a grand title may have been slightly dictated by your struggles with self-esteem?

i don't particularly like to emphasize your role as a popular culture figure, because you meant much more to me than that. that is not necessarily how i see you. but inevitably i must acknowledge this, as that is how you spent a majority of your life; your need for a satisfactory companionship appeared to be compromised by your role as this kind of figure.

when i see you in 'the wiz' i recognize your struggle for creative autonomy. i am in awe when i watch you... you have grasped the technique of classic slapstick, and have displayed that 'jazz sensibility'. you channeled the hollers of our elders in the blues. you have mastered the qualities of the 'tragicomic' in this film, in ways not many others have mastered. you can moan the blues and have dancing crows to assist you in your lament, but that doesn't make your statement any less valid or remarkable. it only makes me like you more.

i hang on to every word you say in watching you as the scarecrow, because i know you are going to go away. i wished so much to have a pause button tonight, as i recited the lines right along with you. i wished to just keep looking into your eyes. and when dorothy began to say goodbye to you, the tinman and the lion my eyes began to water. not only because the message of the film finally comes to light; but also because i knew it was time for you to go. and the way you so lovingly looked at dorothy, i saw such a bond of years of experience there between you and diana, for better or for worse. what i saw in your eyes was true sincerity. i can't even describe how much watching that little scene meant to me. as dorothy sang about returning home i sang along with her, never wanting the song to end. because you then faded away in the background as one of the many she came to share her experience with. i wanted to pause these moments and take them home with me as i rode home. i wanted you to stay.

but i know that it can't be that way.

yes, i still struggle with you not being here. but "even though i feel so bad... inside" as you once sang, i can always take what you have taught me and apply it to the world... i can always return to your wisdom and humility as the scarecrow, which was also an extension of yourself (and i have the DVD so i can always pause).

i will pause and have these moments with you, because i am appreciative...

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 31)

it is exactly one month before your 51st day... i am sure there will be plenty of people honoring you on that day- me being one of those people. i know you didn't really celebrate those kinds of days for many years (as your spiritual practise did not allow for such events); i do not celebrate my own day either (as every day you wake up you are born). but i do not mind taking some time out to celebrate a day you were brought to us on this planet. you are my teacher, and i want to honor you accordingly.

i know you will be there with your children on that day, as you are with them every day... i am sure you know it will be a difficult time for them, as they reminisce over the virtues of your parenting skills, or how you made them laugh in front of their friends. and even though this pain, this loss is very real for them right now... when the 29th of august comes around they will remember how you shared your day with them, and they will most likely further grieve your loss. there have been times you shared this day with the world. people have reached out to you, presenting you giant cakes, cards and well wishes. there will be tears on this day. my hope is that there will also be love.

i don't think it's necessary you get a national holiday. anyone already celebrating your day will continue to do so. your name does not have to be publicly officiated by any governments to recognize the global impact you've made. we should have already seen this. the most perfect way we could honor you is to look to ways we can heal from our traumas, and to present this to our communities, and the world. if we could find ways to truly love ourselves and treat others with the same respect we reserve for ourselves- this is the best present we could give you.



i was at work today, and your image kept facing me much of the time. i just kept looking into your eyes; those big, beautiful eyes which just gazed assuredly into the camera as a popular culture powerhouse- but there was so much sadness beneath the makeup, the rhinestones and the beads. as i stared at the image the only thing i kept thinking about was your freedom. i said to myself as i looked into those eyes: 'you are free now, my teacher. you are free.'

i just watched your acceptance speeches from 1980, at the american music awards... there was a freedom you had there too- a sort of vindication. you were finally recognized as independent... as a sovereign adult, in a way. still, there was that sadness, that people did not see your range; people did not see your potential as that sovereign adult. and there must have also been the feelings you carried about yourself... i don't even think YOU realized your potential, despite the years of experience you've had, to get to the place you got to. you had a smile on your face, but in that was the pain. and with that pain came the drive to do bigger things. this is what we were speaking about yesterday: using that pain to fuel your art.

you have such a wonderful smile. it's one of those smiles that should be cherished, because you did not smile all the time. but when you did it lit up many peoples' hearts. when i looked at you from 1980, i saw myself reflected in that, that sort of looking down, not believing you are in the place you're at. no matter how many people say they love you, you never believe it. and you always strive to do better, but it's at the expense of your self-esteem. it's at the expense of that pain.

but now you are free, dear teacher. and you could now sit back and reflect upon how many people really did truly love you. i kept staring at that image at work, and i fell in love with you all over again. because your freedom gave me comfort. i ask you to be with your children right now, and give them comfort as well. i'm sure you are, but i just wanted to ask.

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 30)

i am experiencing a bout of the 'empty nest' syndrome... rather, my heart is dealing with it. as i go through a process of cleaning my room i turn around and you are there, all over the place. your albums are sitting there, facing me. images of you meet me at eye level. my eyes dart across the wall chronologically, to see if i've missed out on anything. i grasp on to anything, to fill my heart with whatever is left of you.

my heart does not feel at home because it is empty. it feels better when i know you speak to it. i keep thinking of the songs you sang, and the one song in my head is so true for my heart right now. because in writing for two years, i searched to find myself in some way (that never-ending journey) but all i saw was you. you were in my thoughts, my dreams. you came up in conversations. i made significant friendships because of you. and now... i don't feel at home in my heart. and i want to go there.

i don't want you, or anyone else to mis-understand me... i am not saying that i cannot go on without you. i am just saying that there is a huge void since you left. and i don't know if it will be easy to fill. so many of your songs take me to places in my own life... "gotta find a way somehow/even though you're gone"... lisa (who is the editor of a paper which continues to honor you, with massive responses) told me today that there are a lot of people feeling this void- people like me who feel they have no others to grieve with.

there has to be a way for all of us to get together... there has to be a way for all of us to merge our grieving hearts together, to find a place where we feel at home in a world which isolates us. it is now a brand new world without your physical presence, and it still doesn't seem real in many ways, but one thing you have left behind is your legacy in seeking the truth of love (i cannot emphasize that more than i have been)- and that IS real. in this unfamiliar world we must look within to find that same truth- especially if we have to do it alone.

and if we look deep enough, we can really get home. it's been difficult thus far, but with our patience and your guidance we can find it together.

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 29)

right now it's just the small things... right now it's associating images with words. it's about remaining silent, and watching it all happen.

can it be that suddenly the world has moved forward, and i am left behind? has the world finally stopped talking about you, or have i just not paid attention...? the truth is, i can't afford to pay attention, as they say... you are worth so much to me that i don't want to spend the time arguing or dissecting opinions.

but back to the small things... i was in the midst of writing to you yesterday, and i can only think it was you telling me to not write, that i need to take care of myself. that you know how i already feel, and there is no need to fall asleep at the keys in the midst of our conversation. that tomorrow will be another day, and we can continue to chat at that time.

and so i listened to you... still wondering what you must think of me, if you even think about me at all; still wondering about the dreams i've been having, which are getting closer to vividness, yet still too far to grasp.

i wonder how easy it was for you to laugh, and how often you cried. how often you kissed your children's wounds when they skinned their knees, or told them they did a good job when they spelled a word correctly.you know, the little things. that is all i can think about right now. i feel like i can only compose things in fragments. so much of my life reflects this right now: a series of fragmented events, where all thoughts return to you. if i am to return too deeply (as in my dreams) it could be a painful place.



there are still songs of yours i can't listen to right now. songs i have always loved, that when they come on now i have to skip them. they can never be listened to in the same way. even in joy, there is pain. both you and i have been conditioned by the system of pain. admittedly it fuels our art in certain ways. but as i am sure you have seen, one cannot survive off of this. which is why you did your best, in your own way, to seek the truth of love.

how often did the love and pain merge for you? did the pain you felt ever outweigh the love you felt for your children? if they asked you to receive some sort of treatment would you have listened to them as opposed to an adult? i ask you these things because in seeing what people have said about you-before and after your transcendence- there appeared to be the perspectives that you were either immortal (and could live through your pain simply because of who you were) or that your pain was relatively insignificant, due to the fact that your pain was of your own doing. none of those theories takes into account your humanity; there are no connections made in the context of your whole life's experiences. that way it's much easier to disassociate ourselves from the experiences, branding you as either an icon/idol, or another washed-up celebrity.

it's those small things that make life a bit more bearable, so we could get through our day without having to think about how our actions affect everything on this planet. it's like we never stop to notice... ourselves.

and it's me going throughout my day, not realizing the pain is still perched at my side. i can sit and smile and laugh with others now (i'm STILL seeking out that hearty laugh) but the grief is all too real still. i see it when i am alone. i stood and noticed today that i am still at stage one.

i still cannot believe you are not physically here. i have acknowledged your transcendence, but that grief is perched at my side, still in disbelief. i'm still having trouble seeing those 'three words'... at the same time preparing for a radio show in tribute to you. i see your name in rotation approximately 33 1/3 times a minute, just studying the label as you vibrato-filled tenor emanates from the speakers; just to make sense of your physical absence being real. the contradiction just nags at my hem. and so i still cry in hearing certain notes, or words which trigger that pain in me.

when people ask me how i am doing i don't really know how to answer... so i tell people i am okay, but still sad. i feel like i am a bit better at articulating my feelings through writing, if i am even good at articulating them then. but to actually explain, vocally, how i am feeling seems a bit too difficult; especially since there is such an encouragement to 'move on' with the grief. is it too much to ask how you dealt with the alone-ness, teacher? did you just wrap yourself in your work in order to deal, or did you simply cry?

i waver back and forth between alone-ness, because i'm not really sure who i should express it to in person... i must function throughout the day, and i am certainly not stuck in my grief; but who can i go to (short of a therapist), in order to find some sort of comfort? is a therapist the only one?

it's the small things that matter. of course, they may seem small on a larger scale, but it's those small things that make up who we are as people. those small things can make or break us on an emotional scale. your transcendence may be a small thing to a number of people (considering we are just small beings in a large world of people who transcend and come into the world every day)... but as my teacher, the pain of your loss is very real to me.

i don't want to appear as selfish; but i want to recognize myself as having these feelings, without having to suppress them for the sake of 'progression'. i want to find pro-active ways of co-existing and moving through the world with this pain, without wallowing in it. it may seem contradictory on the surface, but that isn't the intention...

i just want to be able to freely be myself. just as you sang in childhood so confidently and defiantly in the face of those who dare limit you, "what else can i be but what i am?"

in these times, those words still ring true.

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 28)

it is essentially impossible to trace silence in words; to trace silence in emotions, when you live in a place which does not cherish it. tonight, a friend said it best: in speech there is freedom, but in silence there is not.

this is why i write these things to you teacher... it's not just to you, but to communicate to others how i feel. but how do i communicate silently? if i did so people would tire of me, and think i was being difficult. it was quite evident in the heaviest aspect of the grieving stage for you. i felt impatience coming from various sides, prompting me to accelerate this stage, so i can laugh again. so i can 'be myself' again. i spend so much of my time in the presence of people, this is usually the only time i have to share with just you. and i am choosing for others to see it. i am hoping you don't mind.

i woke up with another one of these dreams... i didn't know who was coming or going; i didn't know where things began or ended. there was no connection as to any occurrence of events. everything seemed inconsequential, therefore unforgettable. i just woke up, looked at the clock and my body jolted because i had to get up to go to work. these dreams have been happening since you left. the dreams with you used to be so vivid; everything you did and said were so distinct. now i'm just trying to figure out if you can hear me at all.

it is officially one month exactly since you... transcended. i still don't know what to think of that. i have been saying this to people all day. some people knew exactly what i was talking about, and some didn't. one person said to me that he's lost track, because so many others in his life are transcending as well. we spoke a bit about the cycle of life; where one physical life begins when the other one ends.

as i said to you, your transcendence created a sort of birth for me. i spent two years with you; i had to have faith and figure out what decisions needed to be made in your physical absence. i'm still trying to figure some of that out, but at least i know the opportunities of options exist.



and music (YOUR music) continues to be either a source of rumination or sadness... and others' music continues to reflect my feelings on your absence, and what you represent to me.

'the wiz' kept popping into my head. inevitably it's because the film is playing in the cinema next week, in honor of you. whoever wrote the description of the event noted the film's "sheer insanity". to allude to a piece of art as insane is to find absurdity in it. i find the film to be an excellent representation of the diversity of black life, and the freedom which comes with that diversity. i wrote an essay on this film not too long ago; i don't need to expound any more on it. i do think you were excellent in your role as the scarecrow though, and i think you portrayed the character with a heart, brains, AND some courage.

the scene where you (as the scarecrow) are introduced to the audience is my favourite scene in the whole film; but it is not the song you sing that i've been thinking about. indeed, it is one of my favourite songs in the film- you have embodied the histories of the blues in your veins. however, 'you can't win' was not on my mind. because even though that may have been how you processed yourself at the time, straight until your transcendence (was it?) there was so much of you that also strived to be the best at what you did. there was that part of you that always strived to seek the truth in love.

and so, in the middle of working i wondered about you and where you are now... did you feel safe? did you feel loved? did you feel at 'home'... did you enter a place with 'flowers and butterflies', and could i look for the rainbow in the sky, to know you were okay? and i began singing to myself, and i began to cry. i had to find a place to be alone and cry.

with all your human weaknesses and flaws, teacher, you were, and are, a lion. if we all acknowledged our weaknesses and vulnerabilities we could also strive to be lions. we could all be present in the face of adversity and personal attacks. the idea is not to be perfect in this journey; the idea is to just try to live as free as possible, in a place which does not encourage freedom... to always ask questions- to remember the child in ourselves. you defiantly found your child-self as a result of not living it in the way you felt you could the first time.

all your assumed outer 'failings' do not negate the strengths you have had. in your own way, you're a lion. maybe since you're not on this plane anymore, you could see that a bit clearer.

how do we measure success? by how we've reached others? by how much we've obtained or physically accomplished? i think by this standard then, you can say you've succeeded tremendously. still, i wonder how you're faring... when you left us you appeared to be in some sort of deep emotional and physical pain. in my open curiosity i spoke with natalie (who has met you when you were physically here) and she says you're doing alright. she says she has made connections with you in the world you are currently in, and that you are in a much better place. she said you have people who care about you, there with you. she told me not to worry about you because you are in a much better place than you were when you were here.

she also said that you knew who i was. she said you were aware of everything i am doing, and i that should continue this. if this is true, that you're alright; this makes me very, VERY happy to know you are safe, and with people who love you. it brings a lot of relief to know this. if this is also true that you are aware of my existence, this would be amazing, to say the least... i am but one small being on this entire planet, and you know about ME? what about all of the fans who love you, do you know about them as well?

still... i would love to be assured you are okay. perhaps i will have a dream sometime, a DEFINED one; where you let me know. or, i could look to a rainbow, see a pretty butterfly. or meet a wide-eyed child. and i will know your spirit is there.

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 27)

smile...

i can actually smile these days, which is nice, but i'd really like to get back to being able to have a nice, hearty laugh again... you know, like the one where you were doing an interview in japan and you couldn't stop laughing because somebody's watch was going off... i would love to be there again.

i can smile, but my heart aches every time someone comes up to me and says, "i'm sorry" or "you're the first person i thought about when..." i am STILL receiving those comments, teacher... i am still getting people giving me the looks of condolence. and so one minute i CAN smile (finally), and then someone gives me that look and asks how i'm holding up, and my heart just breaks inside. i don't know if they see that or not.

i am certainly getting by... there's always albums, videos, clips of interviews where you espouse your wisdom and your search for the truth of love... i can reflect on those things and keep that in mind. but in that i know i will never hear your voice in the same way again; thus, my sorrow continues.

in your transcendence you have actually taught me that life is still, indeed, worthwhile. with all of the absurdity surrounding this whole thing, i have felt a need to go on and continue to seek that truth of love you strived for, and to honor you in the best way i know how. part of that truth is self-acceptance. the closer i think i am to it, the farther away i am. i realize it's a crucially long journey, but i know with the lessons you have taught me i can get there.

"we're almost there, don't give up..."

despite the smiles i am now able to produce, it is virtually impossible to hide all the traces of sadness... the truth is, i never know when i am going to begin crying again. what's the use of that, you ask? well, crying really does humble you, in a way. it's a universal sign of either pain or happiness, without the conundrum of words.



and today, a tear was ever so near... i spent some time thinking about how i was actually okay with being alone; just being free to not be committed to anybody (except i want kids really bad). i was thinking that it seemed like you lived your life that way too... i wonder if it's got to do with those trust issues... but i know i've lived a majority of my life NOT committed to anyone (and knowing that whenever i am it ends in sadness or rejection). today, at work i was thinking that i was really okay with that. in the midst of thinking about this a man walks up to me and asks how i am doing, giving me 'that look' (here we go again...). his two daughters were with him, and he mentioned how the oldest one was really worried about me. she said she saw you on the television when all of this happened, and wondered how i was. he said that she used the word 'friend'. i cannot even tell you how much my heart melted, teacher... this young child's concern for me touched me so much that i didn't know what to say.

i told you about that little girl a number of days ago, teacher... i am actually crying about it right now, as i am writing this.

but earlier, as he was telling me about this, i felt really touched. i just said 'thank you' and i waved at the two girls. they both sweetly waved back. the youngest one just kept waving and smiling at me. it touched me that they even thought of me at this time, or even at all. tears almost came to my eyes when i saw them, but they didn't. i walked it off. i didn't want them to see me cry; i don't know why.

later in the evening i saw my 6, soon to be 7-year old friend cada. you would be so proud of her, teacher... she's the one i developed a friendship with, because she used to call me 'michael' when i dressed up like you. we shared a bond because of you. and now i am watching her grow. the other day she made the decision to get a haircut, so she could donate her hair to make wigs for children with cancer. i remember discussing that with her mother that she was thinking of doing that; but she actually made the decision. i am so proud of her. i was having such a crazy day (sort of), and those two little girls and their smiles touched me so. and cada came in and gave me big hugs, and told me she loved me. and wanted to know when i was going to come and hang out with her next...

children bring such wonderful bits of wisdom to us, constantly. i know you know this, teacher. you spent much of your life trying to share your joy of children with the world. that wisdom is obviously not shared by the adult world...

in this day of relative calmness (with the children, anyway) i saw an article which disturbed me, teacher. this is why i don't read any articles on you pertaining to your transition. the article mentioned that there was a plan of sony releasing film footage of the rehearsals of your 'this is it' tour to cinemas, by the end of october. sony WON A BID, beating FOUR OTHER FILM COMPANIES for the rights to this footage. kenny ortega (yes...) is going to be credited as the director.

i'm sure you already know I AM BOYCOTTING THIS. i haven't even had a curiosity of finding out any news about you. had you still physically been here i would have leaned toward seeing this footage, to further explore my journey with you in terms of the book. but YOU ARE NOT PHYSICALLY HERE TO REPRESENT AND DEFEND YOURSELF. it's not fair.

i am just tired; i want this to stop.

"that's the time... you just keep on trying..."

i will try, teacher. for you, i will try.

your humble student,
jamilah

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 26)

my dear teacher, i wonder if you know exactly how wealthy you truly were, and still are to me... the knowledge you held in your possession held so much more value than any of the money you obtained.

i spent a good portion of the evening in communication mode- that is, doing radio. i still continue to honor you on the air, and i still am open in my grief for you. in light of all this i do the best i can to maintain a positive spirit, and encourage community building through sharing information. at times, the subject matter is so heavy, and leads to passionate dialog. this is why it's imperative to maintain a positive direction for the show, and to consistently remind listeners and callers of this fact.

i find it curious (and altogether humorous) that there is a huge assumption that i am a lot younger than i am. when people hear my voice on the air i get callers asking my age, assuming i'm at least 8 years younger than my actual age. the contradiction in this is the perpetuation of age-ism in these circumstances... is it really rare for someone in their mid-20s to have a knowledge of world affairs, or carry themselves maturely; do older people somehow automatically have more of this knowledge, whether or not they have travelled or studied? are people in their 20s really that unsophisticated?

when people hear my voice they become surprised when i speak of the subjects i do... this leads me to one of the other goals i have for the show i do: to encourage an intergenerational structure of communication and community. i want to make it plausible that age does not discount the abilities to learn and teach. age does not always define levels of knowledge, maturity or experience.

despite being in my 30s i call myself a kid all the time (because i am; i am a baby in the larger scheme of things). but when people seemingly discount my experiences and call me a little girl (at the same time telling me i'm doing a good job), it's more than a little insulting.

i admit to being naive about many things, teacher; i admit the mistakes i've made. in cases like this i refer back to you, teacher. i examine all the judgments people have heaved on you, in regards to your 'immaturity' and 'naivete'. inevitably, much of the comments made about your immaturity were in relation to your assumed sexual inexperience. i do not know the distinct, intricate details of that aspect of your life, and i do not care to know. what i am intrigued about though, is the connection between the perceived 'immaturity' and any sort of childhood trauma you've experienced.



i then return to the passage you have written so eloquently in 1993: "what we need to learn from children isn't childish. being with them connects us to the deep wisdom of life, which is ever present and only asks to be lived. now, when the world is so confused and its problems so complicated, i feel we need our children more than ever. their natural wisdom points the way to solutions that lie, waiting to be recognized, within our own hearts."

i am now looking at your face. i am looking at a portrait of you as a child, your eyes filled with such wisdom in your 11 years. you have witnessed so much by the age of 11, it's impossible to simplify these experience in terms of age. your eyes have a sadness which should not be carried by someone at that age.

i am also looking at this photo of you as an adult (you know the one: i described it to you the other day). and i still see the child. on the surface you have changed so much since 11, but i still see that frightened little boy. the maturity level of that little boy remained with you when you handled your business, but the frightened little boy stood out in interpersonal relationships.

no, my teacher... you may have had trust issues, but you were not naive. you may have been childlike once in a while, but i sense your perceived immaturity as being a derivative from the trust issues you developed, and never dealt with. let's just keep it real, teacher: you DID have trust issues... I have trust issues. i know i need to work on them in order to maintain healthy relationships. but who exactly could YOU turn to for that?

on my way home i rode past a billboard. there was an image of a notebook, close up, with the statement 'recession 101: it's a test, not a final' superimposed over the notebook. further riding led to the discovery of a church billboard announcing this sunday's sermon: 'matters of the heart'.

i instantly thought about you. i thought about the statements made in relation to your 50-date 'this is it' tour selling out within hours. there were claims that you were 'recession proof'. that statement makes me laugh, from the context of where i am coming from. from my perspective, true wealth comes from love, and the desire to take process in some sort of healing. you may not have found ways to heal yourself pro-actively but you used the tools you had in order to create a mechanism for healing around the globe.

you were 'recession proof' because you were a seeker of the truth of love, and despite all your struggles you opened your heart to so many- particularly children and to a lesser extent, fans. the test of this recession is visualizing how to engage with one another in ways we could open our hearts/childlike wonderment without fear. the money bit in terms of the recession is important to look at, but the final (and the test of true wealth) comes in what we do with each other in these times.

so i thank you for another day of realization.

your humble student,
jamilah