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paul_viaf 's review for:
Song of Solomon
by Toni Morrison
Few messages have come to me in such a manner. It seems this country has come to a crossroads which it refuses to divorce itself from. There is a path, a moral one, which refuses to ignored. And I find it is because one cannot simply rip itself away from the anatomy of the whole. It is an undertaking which must be completed as one organism.
I began this book unaware of its content. I began this book not knowing that Ferguson & America would once again have to arrive at the crossroad through which humanity can collectively arrive at home in peace. Eerily enough, I finished it the day before Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It is through this odd backdrop that this book has presented itself beyond relevant to the self which seeks peace among the masses. Never has a book delved so deeply into my personal search for reconciliation amongst races. With race, in itself, being a figment of human construct.
Hearing the thunder in Dr. King’s voice, hearing the wild winds aching within this book, seeing the fury build within the American & Black community has culminated a passion which seems to always be recharged when I realize that same path home, towards peace, for all, has yet to be chosen.
It is for this reason I chose to share my thoughts on this book & the task at hand. Things constantly change while remaining devastatingly the same. I see now there are topical empathetic inferences that come along with trying to apply one’s self to another’s shoes. I see now that this may only occur on the surface no matter how hard we try to placate or identify. Though we may try to shove the pain of others inside so as to fuse their process with ours, so that we may endure, so that we may seek justice on each other’s behalf so that we may call each other brethren. This may be an act in futility. For if one is constantly under siege as the characters in this book, we may never know the incessant level of strife or stress. It is as the constant arched back of the sole feline in the midst of a rabid pack. For even if safe conditions existed it is not easy to become laxed when one has been conditioned to constantly adorn a defensive attire. Though I may seek with the utmost to understand, I know it is merely the surface. Does that make my empathy less powerful. To me, no. To the sufferers, yes. I can summon the anguish from my bones to those who suffer but what do I know of the potency of a mother’s tear who reared a child I never knew. Our concerns, not bore in equity, in the slightest. Yet, the sincerity is & perhaps this is the best of what we may hope for. That the concern, anguish, will to surpass a nagging beast which will continue to peel at the same wound, will somehow bridge the gap & propel us into a new era. Perhaps in these binds the healing process may find grounds for germination. The environment will become fertile. The descendants from which the seed has spawned will not forget from where they derived but will continue on in this verdant path towards the light, no less. It is a lofty hope. A hope I cannot afford to abandon. No character, as in life, is without sin, without flaw, these flaws, attributes interweave as the circulatory system for the beating of the story’s vital organ. The conflict which humans cannot seem to escape & even crave to an extent.
I leave off with a small segment from the book I found to stir me deeply.
Everybody wants a black man’s life. Not his dead life; I mean living life. It’s the condition our condition is in. What good is a man’s life if he can’t even choose what to die for? Everybody wants the life of a black man. Fair is one more thing I’ve given up. I hope I never have to ask myself that question. It is about love. What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?
I began this book unaware of its content. I began this book not knowing that Ferguson & America would once again have to arrive at the crossroad through which humanity can collectively arrive at home in peace. Eerily enough, I finished it the day before Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It is through this odd backdrop that this book has presented itself beyond relevant to the self which seeks peace among the masses. Never has a book delved so deeply into my personal search for reconciliation amongst races. With race, in itself, being a figment of human construct.
Hearing the thunder in Dr. King’s voice, hearing the wild winds aching within this book, seeing the fury build within the American & Black community has culminated a passion which seems to always be recharged when I realize that same path home, towards peace, for all, has yet to be chosen.
It is for this reason I chose to share my thoughts on this book & the task at hand. Things constantly change while remaining devastatingly the same. I see now there are topical empathetic inferences that come along with trying to apply one’s self to another’s shoes. I see now that this may only occur on the surface no matter how hard we try to placate or identify. Though we may try to shove the pain of others inside so as to fuse their process with ours, so that we may endure, so that we may seek justice on each other’s behalf so that we may call each other brethren. This may be an act in futility. For if one is constantly under siege as the characters in this book, we may never know the incessant level of strife or stress. It is as the constant arched back of the sole feline in the midst of a rabid pack. For even if safe conditions existed it is not easy to become laxed when one has been conditioned to constantly adorn a defensive attire. Though I may seek with the utmost to understand, I know it is merely the surface. Does that make my empathy less powerful. To me, no. To the sufferers, yes. I can summon the anguish from my bones to those who suffer but what do I know of the potency of a mother’s tear who reared a child I never knew. Our concerns, not bore in equity, in the slightest. Yet, the sincerity is & perhaps this is the best of what we may hope for. That the concern, anguish, will to surpass a nagging beast which will continue to peel at the same wound, will somehow bridge the gap & propel us into a new era. Perhaps in these binds the healing process may find grounds for germination. The environment will become fertile. The descendants from which the seed has spawned will not forget from where they derived but will continue on in this verdant path towards the light, no less. It is a lofty hope. A hope I cannot afford to abandon. No character, as in life, is without sin, without flaw, these flaws, attributes interweave as the circulatory system for the beating of the story’s vital organ. The conflict which humans cannot seem to escape & even crave to an extent.
I leave off with a small segment from the book I found to stir me deeply.
Everybody wants a black man’s life. Not his dead life; I mean living life. It’s the condition our condition is in. What good is a man’s life if he can’t even choose what to die for? Everybody wants the life of a black man. Fair is one more thing I’ve given up. I hope I never have to ask myself that question. It is about love. What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?