From Black Man to Superman
The spiritual recovery of the North American African requires he dawn the persona of the warrior. Anything less than the warrior persona will avail him nothing in terms of personal and communal liberation. As an individual he is dead in the water, for how can he rise up without the essential societal connections. Was he alone on the slave ship, the Good Ship Jesus? Or was he packed like sardines with his brothers and sisters? Thus, no individual solution will suffice—no, he must reconnect with his ancestors in the swamps of Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and the Carolinas, then make a spiritual connection with Africa, then bow down and reach out to the brothers in the hood—hug a thug, making eye contact and then laying hands on them in the spirit of love, in the spirit of the seed from a seed from a seed of the first seed, as was taught by our African healers at the recent Association of Black Psychologists conference at the Oakland Marriott.
Of he must be brave enough to go into the jungle inside of himself and purge the monsters from his soul. He must go into the woods and cry out to the Great Spirit for mercy and protection from the fears that have nearly consumed his soul and that of his people. In fact, they can go to the woods with him and share the healing balm of purification from his disconnection from the seed of a seed from a seed.
His transformation from man to superman cannot escape a recognition and acceptance of the mythology of his people, especially those here in West Hell, as Professor Lionel Mandy described our location. Who can tell us about West Hell if they have not lived in West Hell? Who can tell us about the belly of the beast if they have not descended into the dungeons of this bottomless pit call the Wilderness of North America?
It is in the dungeon where the beauty of the black man is revealed. For it is there that he understands the necessity of brotherhood, of sharing, of learning and transcending his animal self. It is there that he finally has the time to ponder the reasons for his existence, the reason to love his woman and children, maybe for the first time he sees their value since we only understand love when we are deprived of it. The essence of love is only appreciated when we are deprived of the lover; otherwise we take things for granted.
But when the reed is cut from the reed bed, it mourns to return home, as in the mourning sound of the reed flute as Rumi described so poetically for all times.
Yes, superman must rise or self destruct in the muck and mire of hell, drowning in the rejection of his Spirit self in favor of the animal consciousness that propels him forever to the bottom of the mountain as in the Sisyphus myth. But once he accepts his mission as Superman and his woman as Superwoman, the battle can begin in earnest, and the walls of Jericho shall fall, for hand in hand they will march through the streets announcing the resurrection of the dead. And the dead shall rise in a ritual of healing and love, forever renouncing the whiteness of their lives since they passed through the door of no return.