“I enjoy feedback,” says Wilson. “Intelligence is function of feedback. The more feedback you get, the more intelligent you become. The less feedback you get, the stupider you become.”
Me and Tiffany took a new yoga class last week.
It was taught by this guy…
No joke, that’s really him. His name is Harjiwan, and aside from the fact that he doesn’t move much, he’s a good instructor.
It’s a Kundalini yoga class, designed to stimulate the divine will by lighting up the appropriate chakra, specifically the navel point.
The class began loosely, he told a funny story about a previous class attendee who came in with a bag full of Krispy Kreme donuts, then had a volunteer go around and collect the laminated cards that each of us had to prove that we had paid.
Then it was time to begin.
All of a sudden he inhaled so hard that his nostrils collapsed into his face, showing the outline of his nose bones through his skin.
Upon exhale he began chanting some Sanskrit syllables that I recognized from a previous Kundalini class, Tiffany, having only taken Hatha, was forced to improvise.
The goal of this class, he said after completing the chanting, was to remove ourselves from whatever obstacles were impeding our success toward our goals. To use his analogy:
“Sometimes if we’re too close to a wall, we lean against it since it is all we know. The goal is to move ourselves to a different place.”
The exciting part came next, he had us visualize something that we wished to accomplish.
My vision?
To make a living being a rapper.
To see it written right there makes it look like a small boy’s dream. It reminds me of young black boys that I mentor who dream of playing in the NBA.
You want to tell them to set a more realistic goal, but then you remember that you too have dreams, and to deny his (knowing that he still may have the time to accomplish them), is nothing more than an attempt to steal his hope and awaken him to the frustration that you feel.
The frustration that comes from the difference between expectations and reality.
I expect, for example, that in the near future I will have a deal with an independent label that will market and promote my music to “the next level”.
I expect that one day I’ll google-search my stage name and find reviews for projects that I’ve done or fans arguing over whether I’m dope or I suck on hip-hop message boards.
I expect that I’ll go on tour with some headlining act (probably a Project Blowed vet like Aceyalone or Abstract Rude) and pay my dues by performing in city after city for free drinks and sandwiches.
I expect that some small population of the record consuming public will appreciate the way that I hear music.
These are the visions that came to my mind when the Yogi told us to visualize our accomplishments.
They differ slightly from my reality.
At this point, I’ve put out an EP to a lukewarm response. A few people loved it, most say its ok. The last review that I got gave it a 6.5 out of ten. Encouraging, it was not.
At this point, I’m still fine-tuning my sound. Tiffany and I sacrificed for a few months to build a studio in our home so that I can become comfortable enough with recording to create the songs that I hear in my mind. The masterpieces are a little ways away.
At this point, I’m struggling to gain the attention of a market that already has more performers than fans. Though I’ve been blessed enough to be welcomed by the Project Blowed family, their rigid (though understandable) hierarchy can be draining at times.
And speaking of draining, the hardest part of my reality is my day job.
I’m a shift leader at a facility for boys that have violated probation. A job that falls somewhere between being a hall monitor in a college dorm and a guard in a penitentiary. As much as I love working with the youth, providing the kind of firm boundaries and reinforcement needed in their lives can be extremely stressful for the free-spirited type.
These boys live in a pseudo-sterilized environment. They’re not allowed to curse, sag their pants, wear jewelry, talk about drugs, talk about gangs, watch “R” rated movies, or sleep during the day. It is my job to reinforce this candy-coated reality. Then I go home and make rap songs about eating mushrooms and denouncing organized religion.
At work, I’m the moral police. I’m a revolutionary on the weekend.
If I had a cape and an arch-enemy it would make good TV. In reality, though, its stressful. Sometimes I wonder if the higher-ups at work ever heard my music, my true self, if I’d be able to keep my job. One day soon that will be a possibility, for now I’ll wear “the mask that grins and lies…”
I’m also going to keep recording and writing and making beats and break-dancing and teaching youth hip-hop classes and hoping and praying and crying and yelling and screaming until you hear me.
Yes, you.
Even if you’ve heard me already, you still haven’t heard me.
Because I’m going to keep working on myself until you can smell the beautiful shit in my head.
Kundalini is the yoga of fire. Fire is the element of the will. All reality begins in the realm of fire. It is visualized in the realm of air (spirit), communicated in the realm of water (emotion), and manifested in the realm of earth (action).
Last week, I focused my fire towards my goal and already I feel it forming. When it reached earth, I want everyone to have some. Especially the people who have encouraged me thus far.
If you don’t know me personally you can may want to stop right here.
Thank You to the people I love:
Tiffany, Dad, Mom(s), Aquil, Rift2, Psychosiz, Khael, Wes, Mialyssia, Marvin, God-Dad, Rashad(s), George, King, Supreme, Dre, Jon, Kourtney, Joe, Tre, Tyree, Greg, Brian, Rudy, Rob, Chuck, Hannibal, Jason, Grant, Kenan, Jason, Lathia, Volcue, Dwayne, Tone, JB, Shonte, Alex, Dubb, Kahari, BG, Jawaad, Sean(s), Reyes Gerard, Trevor Sherrod, Mario, India, Faunta, Ninja, Malaika(s), Georgia, Crystal, Illusion, Maria, Jenae, Shauna, Blair, 4RealHHop, LALOC, Sarah, Tamika-Nicole, Rudy, Kuahmel, DumbFoundDead, NA, EMS, Intuition, June, Missing Page, Handprints, Joo Young, Hint, Customer Service, Ben Caldwell, B-Skippy, Chrissy, Melvin, Uncle Marvin Aunt Perine, Dave Maxime, Detris, Dr. Cokely, J Fresh, Rod, Haiku, Kay, Lavon, Billie, Drunk Monkee, Paulette.
If I missed anyone, don’t trip. It’s not like I’m winning a grammy. There’s always next column.
Links
Gloom-nandez brings you The Saturday Switcheroo Sheet
Aaron is having lots of fun leaving us…with pictures of himself. Godspeed, Mr. Cameron.
Mathan attempts to reconcile a band of evil men. One wears pink, and the other has a football head.
Now go hear me.
