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    Thread: Two Thousand Seasons

    1. #11
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      This is Ayi Kwei Armah's Prologue
      To his book "2000 Seasons"
      I have broken his poetic prose into stanzas
      That each stanza, each line, be studied thoroughly
      It is the call of a visionary
      To a people death-bound
      Having embraced Yurugu's path
      To return to The Way
      It is a call to those 'doing the work'
      To be aware of the disease
      This is pure wisdom
      From one who has realized the problem
      And is seeking to share his awareness
      Permit me to make a few comments
      On these eternal words
      _________________________________________

      COMMENTS ON PROLOGUE TO 'TWO THOUSAND SEASONS'



      [Springwater...our Ancestral Knowledge/link]

      Springwater flowing to the desert
      Where you flow there is no regeneration
      The desert takes
      The desert knows no giving
      To the giving water of your flowing
      It is not the nature of the desert
      To return anything but destruction
      Springwater flowing to the desert
      Your future is extinction



      [On "Yurugu's Path"...the path of death]

      Hau, people headed after the setting sun
      In that direction
      Even the possibility of regeneration is dead
      There the devotees of death take life
      Consume it
      Exhaust every living thing
      Then they move on
      Forever seeking newer boundaries
      Wherever there are living remnants undestroyed
      There lies more work for them
      Whatever would direct itself
      After the setting sun
      An ashen death lies in wait for it
      Whichever people make the falling fire their aim
      A pale extinction awaits them among destroyers



      [Warning: Safeguard the Ancestral]

      Woe the headwater needing to give
      Giving only to floodwater
      Flowing desertward
      Woe the link from spring to stream
      Woe the link receiving springwater
      Only to pass it on in a stream
      Flowing to waste, seeking extinction



      [A call to "Us": You, Me & our Conscious Brethern]

      You Hearers, Seekers, Imaginers, Thinkers, Rememberers
      You prophets called to communicate
      Truths of The Living Way
      To a people fascinated unto death
      You called to link memory with forelistening
      To join the uncountable seasons
      Of our flowing to unknown tomorrows even more numerous
      Communicators doomed to pass on truths of our origins
      To a people rushing deathward
      Grown contemptuous
      In our ignorance of Our Source
      Prejudiced against our own survival
      How shall your vocation's utterance be heard?



      [Lamenting the task]

      This is life's race
      But how shall we remind
      A people hypnotized by death?
      We have been so long following the falling sun
      Flowing to the desert
      Moving to our own burial



      [The challenge "We" face]

      In the living night comes voices from The Source
      We go to find our audience
      Open our mouths
      To pass on what we have heard

      But we are fallen among a fantastic tumult
      The noise the hypnotized make
      Multiplied by every echoing cave
      Of our labyrinthine trap
      Is heavier
      A million times louder
      Than the sounds we carry
      Hoarsened, we whisper our news of The Way
      In derisive answer
      The hurtling crowds shriek
      Their praise songs to death

      All around us the world is
      Drugged white in a deathly happiness
      While from under the falling sun
      Powerful engines of noise and havoc
      Emerge to swell the cacophony
      Against their crushing riot
      Nothing whispered can be heard
      Nothing said
      Indeed the tumult welcomes
      Who will shout
      And burst the veins on his own neck
      His message murdered before death
      The shouter only helps confusion



      [The ultimate fate of the one-sided 'giver']

      Giver of life
      Spring whose water now pours down destruction's road
      A rushing cataract
      Your future is destruction
      Your present a giving
      Giving into a void with no return
      Your flow knows no regeneration



      [The "Spring" as a metaphor for the "Ancestral conduit"]

      Say it is the nature of the spring to give
      It is the nature of the desert's sand to take
      Say it is the nature of your given water to flow
      It is the nature of the desert to absorb

      It is your nature, also, Spring, to receive
      Giving, receiving, receiving, giving, continuing, living

      It is not the nature of the desert to give
      Taking, taking, taking, taking
      The desert blasts with destruction whatever touches it
      Whatever gives of itself to the desert
      Parts from regeneration

      It is for the Spring to give
      It is for springwater to flow
      But if the Spring would continue to give
      And the springwater continue flowing
      The desert is no direction
      Along the desert road
      Springwater is the sap
      Of young wood prematurely blazing
      Meant to carry life quietly
      Darkly from roots to farthest veins
      But abruptly betrayed into devouring light
      Converted to scalding pus
      Hissing its own vessel's destruction
      Along the desert road
      Springwater is blood of a murdered woman
      When the sun leaves no shadow

      No springwater changes the desert
      The desert remains
      The Spring runs dry
      Not one spring, not thirty
      Not a thousand springs will change the desert
      For that change floods
      The waters of the universe in unison
      Flowing not to coax the desert
      But to overwhelm it
      Ending its regime of death
      That, not a single perishable spring
      Is the necessity


      [On Reciprocity, the 'spiral dance' of Life]

      Receiving, giving, giving, receiving
      All that lives is twin
      Who would cast the spell of death
      Let him separate the two
      Whatever cannot give
      Whatever is ignorant even of receiving
      Knowing only taking (i.e. receiving is NEVER equal to taking)
      That thing is past its own mere death
      It is a carrier of death
      Woe the giver on the road of such a taker
      For then the victim has found victorious death



      [A Gravest of warnings: to the true Afrikan]

      Woe the Race
      Too generous in the giving of itself
      That finds a road not of regeneration
      But a highway to its own extinction
      Woe the Race
      Woe the Spring
      Woe the Headwaters
      Woe the Seers
      The Hearers
      Woe the Utterers
      Woe the flowing water
      People hustling to our deaths




      [The result of abandoning Reciprocity/Reciprocation]
      (It leads to adopting "Yurugu's Path"...death)

      What remains?
      To sing regret, curse ancestors
      And throughout stagnant lives
      Pass down the malediction on those to come?
      Easy that lazy existence
      Sweetly drugged the life spent waiting upon death
      Easy the falling side
      Even for Rememberers



      [The True Afrikan must remain steadfast]

      We who hear the call
      Not to forget what is in our nature
      Have we not betrayed it
      In this blazing noonday of the killers?
      Around us they have placed a plethora
      Of things screaming denial of our nature
      Things welcoming us against ourselves
      Things luring us into the whiteness of destruction
      We too have drunk oblivion (i.e. speaking of members of the Afrikan race)
      And overflowing with it
      Have joined the exhilarated chase after death




      [Choose The Way, and remain steadfast]

      We cannot continue so
      For a refusal to change direction
      For the abandonment of The Way
      For such perverse persistence
      There are no reasons
      Only hollow, unconvincing lies



      [On Conscious Afrikans (you & I) and those beyond Redemption]

      And the Seers, the Hearers, the Utterers?
      What sufficiency is there
      In our Hearing only this season's noise
      Seeing only the confusion around us here
      Uttering, like cavernous mirrors
      A wild echo only for the
      Howling cacophony engulfing us?
      That is not the nature of our Seeing
      That is not our Hearing
      Not our Uttering
      Only our drugged weariness
      Unjustified
      Unjustifiable
      Keeps us bound to the present

      Have we come to be
      Mere mirrors to annihilation?
      For whom do we aspire
      To reflect our people's death?
      For whose entertainment
      Shall we sing our agony?
      In what hopes?

      That the destroyers
      Aspiring to extinguish us
      Will suffer conciliatory remorse
      At the sight of own fantastic success?

      The last imbecile to dream such dreams is dead
      Killed by the saviours of his dreams
      Such idiot hopes
      Come from a territory far beyond rebirth
      Those utterly dead
      Never again to wake
      Such is their muttering
      Leave them in their graves
      Whatever waking form they wear
      The stench of death
      Pours ceaselessly from their mouths
      From every opening of their possessed carcases
      Comes death's excremental pus
      Their soul itself is dead
      And long since putrefied

      Would you have your intercourse
      With creatures from the graveyard?
      Go to them then
      And speak your message to long rotted ash



      [Use your talents to aid the Re-Afrikanization Process]

      This Sight
      This Hearing
      This our Uttering
      These are not
      For dumb recording of the senseless present
      Unless the vocation we too have fallen into wanting
      Is merely to be part of the cadaverous stampede
      Hurrying on the rush to destruction

      The linking of those gone
      Ourselves here
      Those coming
      Our continuation
      Our flowing not along any meretricious channel
      But along our Living Way
      THE WAY
      It is that Remembrance
      That calls us
      The eyes of Seers
      Should range far into purposes
      The ears of Hearers
      Should listen far toward origins
      The Utterers' voices
      Should make knowledge of The Way
      Of heard sounds and visions seen
      The voice of the Utterers
      Should make this knowledge inevitable
      Impossible to lose

      A people losing sight of origins are dead
      A people deaf to purposes are lost
      Under fertile rain, in scorching sunshine
      There is no difference
      Their bodies are mere corpses, awaiting final burial



      [Afrikans falling to "whiteness"..."Yurugu's Path"...Death]
      (True Afrikan, remain steadfast!)

      What when the tumult and rush
      Are yet too strong for the voice to prevail
      Uttering heard sounds of origin
      Transmitting seen visions of purposes?
      What when all our eyes are raped
      By destruction's furious whiteness?

      Easy then the falling side
      Soft the temptation
      To let despair absorb even the remnant voice
      Easy for unheeded Seers
      Unheard Listeners
      Easy for interrupted Utterers
      To clasp the immediate destiny
      Yield and be pressed to serve victorious barrenness
      Easy the call to whiteness
      Easy the welcome unto death

      Have we not seen the devotees of death?
      They are beyond The Source's beckoning
      Purpose has no power
      To draw them forward from dead todays
      Make way for them along the easy road
      Those with their guts cracked out of them
      Those with minds so minced
      All their remembrance would turn to pain
      Leave them along the easy road
      Do not condemn, do not pity them
      Let them go

      Or would you try reminding them of their murdered slaves
      As well graft back blighted leaves
      Some restful night after the first thousand
      And the second thousand seasons the loss of such
      Devoted to whiteness in their souls
      Will appear justly: a gain

      But among the rushing multitude
      Remember well the many rushing
      Just because that is the present road
      Rushing not out of devotion
      But because they are of a nature
      To take their internal order
      From the present season's surroundings

      It is a waste of the Seer's thought
      Of the Hearer's breath
      A waste of the Utterer's Spirit
      To pour blame on such natures
      Were the surrounding order the order of The Way
      There also would again be people of The Way
      It is their nature to flow along channels
      Already deepened by recent flow

      It is not their nature to wonder
      Threatening their easy peace
      With thinking if channels already found run true
      Finders they are, not makers
      Would you too, in pride
      Miming the white, deathly people
      Would you also heap contempt on them?
      Do it directly then
      And for your own satisfaction undisguised
      Only plead no disappointment
      That the ones you so condemn
      They too have NOT turned out to be makers
      Finders they are
      Never did they deceive you
      With any promises to be creators



      [Reiterating the need to embrace The Way]

      And if the mind-channels of The Way are all destroyed
      And the only channels left lie along the white road?
      Drawing from remembrance
      From knowledge of future purpose
      It is for the Hearers to listen
      For the Hearers to glean what through accident
      Death's messengers have not found to silence

      And if all around has indeed been touched by them?
      The destroyed who retain
      The desire to remake themselves
      And act upon that desire
      Remake themselves
      The Remade
      Are pointers to The Way
      The Way of Remembrance
      The Way knowing purpose




      [Challenges faced by Afrikans in Contemporary times]

      In this present season
      The flow is so powerful
      In the direction of death
      It has been so long
      Ever since Anoa
      Spoke her prophecy of a thousand seasons
      And another thousand seasons
      A two thousand seasons wasted wandering
      Amazed along alien roads
      Another thousand spent
      Finding paths to The Living Way



      The reign of the destroyers has been long
      It will be longer
      But what is our present despair
      Against the sharp abandonment
      Of those first snatched away to waste?
      What puniness is this our anxiety
      Against the howling agony of their murdered soul?


      Remember this:
      Against all that destruction
      Some yet remained among us
      Unforgetful of origins
      Dreaming secret dreams
      Seeing secret visions
      Hearing secret voices of our purpose
      Further:
      Those yet to appear
      To see, hear, to utter and to make
      Little do we know what changes they will come among
      Idle then for us to presume despair on their behalf
      Foolish when we have no knowledge
      How much closer to The Way their birth will come
      How much closer than our closest hopes



      [Afrikan casualties on "Yurugu's Path"]
      (those aspiring to 'Yuruguness' and those abandoning it)

      Not all our souls are of a nature
      To answer to the call of death
      However sweetened
      Easy these seasons to forget this too
      Seasons, seasons and seasons ago
      The first thousand seasons passed
      Before the passing of the second thousand
      Even before then
      The time will come
      When those multitudes starting out on the road of death
      Must meet predecessors returning scalded
      From the white taste of death

      These first returners
      Their wounds are so raw
      Their minds so butchered
      With the enormity of a fate so recently
      So closely glazed
      That the very sound of their voices
      The very sight they present is unacceptable
      Unreal
      Impossible to the hastening
      Careless, prancing, advancing multitudes
      To these first returners
      Amid the general oblivious happiness
      They appear mere capricious nightmares
      Specific, unfortunate accidents
      Particular mishaps
      To be sidestepped on the jubilant white road
      Single apparitions easy to ignore
      Most pleasantly easy to forget

      But farther along the road more returning apparitions arise
      They are intermittent still, but frequenter
      Minds still unwounded
      In a dizzy, happy deathward rush
      Chancing upon this frequency of warning casualties
      Begin to wonder if the advancing dance
      Will really be the promised revelry

      More apparitions
      The thoughtful are given greater pause
      There are many now
      Some half concealed
      In the other wreckage along the happy highway
      Completely ruined
      Bled of life's juices
      They have staggered
      Groping for The Source
      Their purpose now the contemned past
      Unable to stagger further
      They lie unburied by the common road
      Their corpses multiplying
      Their feet pointing to their destruction

      Returning casualties
      Many now and desperate
      Challenge the progressing revellers for right of way
      When the numbers
      Of the hopeful going
      And the desperate fleeing back
      Are almost even
      Then the interrupted revelry
      Becomes pure carnage

      For those with no understanding of The Source
      Those blest in their ignorance of doom's whiteness
      The blind revellers
      Are anxious to cascade away
      To obey the highway's call
      Those who have seen the white destination
      And yet escaped death
      Stampeding back
      Crash in unbuffered collision against the revellers
      In their spirits
      Contempt for those escaping death
      Contempt against the others for seeking
      What so recently they themselves sought
      Clashes with pure incomprehension
      From the hopeful revellers



      [On lost Afrikans considering Re-Afrikanization]

      How indeed would a living understanding
      Come to those who have fled knowledge of The Source?
      And those running back to The Source in their new desperation
      Have they not more fear of death's horror than love of life?
      whiteness indeed, they have known
      Of our own Blackness they have yet to learn

      You who yearn to be Hearers
      You who would see
      You the Utterers of the future
      This is not the season of contempt
      Look upon those
      In whose nature it is to wait upon death
      To create in them a need to know life
      Look upon them
      But in this season do not look too steeply

      Say then the multitude is noisier
      After the shaking, scattering knowledge of the pale road of death
      Are your ears also dead?
      This noise is not the recent uniform cacophony of death victorious
      Death alone ruling
      Now the customary noises of triumphant death
      Have the tone of lies to some of our ears
      In such a season
      The voice informed with knowledge of The Way
      That voice whose utterance is inseparable from Life
      That voice will be heard
      For there are ears straining against
      The loud nonsense of the destroyers
      Ears that have heard
      All the sweet and easy sounds of death
      And found them false



      Would you lock your gift away in pallid silence?
      Know then that in the absence of the Utterers' work
      The carnage will be long and pure
      And not the wisest mind can
      In the absence of the Utterers' work
      Trace in all our flowing blood even one broken ring of meaning

      For those returning
      Salvaging blistering selves from death
      And those advancing still hypnotized by death
      In the absence of the Utterers' work
      What will they be
      But beasts devouring beasts
      Zombies fighting zombies
      A continuation along the road of death
      ...in place of regeneration
      The rediscovery of Our Way
      The Way? (i.e. which Way, in the absence of the Utterers' work?)



      [On the need for Afrikans to speak for Themselves]

      Leave the killers' spokesmen
      The predators' spokesmen
      Leave the destroyers' spokesmen
      To cast contemptuous despair abroad
      That is not our vocation
      That will not be our Utterance
      Last edited by KwameD; 12-12-2010 at 11:59 AM.

    2. #12
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      yEnna ase.

      I too have been inspired by Armah's Two Thousand Seasons. I re-read it in April (1st reading was about 3 years ago) and I was amazed at how much more I was able to see and understand this time around. This is a profound piece of work that ALL Afrikans should study.

      Your term "necro-science" is a perfect description of european science and can be extended to everything else created by them (medicine, agriculture, technology, kwk). True to their yurugu nature they are incapable to creating/developing/producing anything that doesn't destroy life. Look at their "wise" solution/treatment for cancer - radiation... they think the way to cure the dis-ease of cancer is by slowly killing the person in the hope that the cancer cells will die faster than the person does. Necro-medicine. Look at their approach to agriculture with their test tube seeds that will destroy Asase Yaa's ability to produce anything independent of them once they're planted. Necro-agriculture. As for technology, two words - Gulf Coast.

      As I'm typing this I'm remembering Ena Marimba Ani's words: "who is yurugu? how would you describe yurugu?...incomplete being. the agent of destruction in the world could only be destructive."

      What Armah does in this book is not only draw attention to yurugu's nature but shows us that this all consuming destruction awaits those of us who choose to follow their path and that the ONLY solution, the only protection we have to insulate ourselves against that destruction is a complete return to our way, THE way.




      Quote Originally Posted by KwameD View Post
      Aisha, I'm really grateful that you started this thread and also that you've been highlighting Ayi Kwei Armah's Two Thousand Seasons. I'm reading it and finding it to be full of great wisdom. Yurugu's path, which very much glorifies the paradigm of "scientific materialism" will lead to the downfall of all who become totally brainwashed by this path. I have previously written about it (here and here), calling it "necro-science" (death science) for it's anti-nature approach. Now that I'm reading Armah, his ideas and insight are truly enriching. Medase!
      "Do not misuse your time while following your heart, for it is offensive to the soul to waste one's time." ~ Ptahhotep

      "A man's mind is elevated to the status of the women he associates with." ~ Alexandre Dumas

      "If another people rest on your ignorance--and they do--they will educate you into ignorance."- Dr. Amos Wilson

    3. #13
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      yurugu came here to be healed, instead yurugu is only indulging in being incomplete. yurugu has destroyed much. yurugu must be held accountable for the destruction caused by irresponsible behaviour.

      I have my own people (my own team) to worry about. yurugu belongs to 'the other team'. The Way is natural to us. We are lucky to have The Way...to return to wholeness, having learnt painful lessons from association with yurugu. Yet only some Afrikans realize this. yurugu is lost, conscious Afrikans must resist yurugu's seductive way of life. It is like a narcotic drug, that only leads to despair, destruction and death.
      Last edited by KwameD; 05-29-2010 at 09:18 AM.

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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      (Taught to Marimba Ani by Armah and Kambon and found at the beginning of the book 'Yurugu')


      INCANTATION

      Two thousand seasons of restless sleep
      Beneath the destroyers' fragmented image
      We used their definitions of ourselves
      To disconnect our consciousness
      Lines drawn in denial of deeply textured souls
      Life/Force/Energy
      Nyama

      They knew even as we slept
      That our spirit was more powerful
      Than their white death

      In our will-less sleep
      We have allowed the Earth to be defiled
      The wake of two thousand seasons
      Of Spiritless matter...
      Destroyers' work

      Confusion in Maafa aftermath
      Within our lost knowledge
      Enemies have blurred the line
      Between us and them
      Are we destroyers ourselves?

      No - we are the Springwater
      Compelled by Ancestral Consciousness
      Egun/Nsamanfo
      Issuing from Ani's womb
      We divine a victorious destiny
      Ifa/Odu

      We are awakening
      Announcing ourselves, Self-determining
      With Nubian Will
      Crystal vision
      Shaping a new reality
      Ancient genius rediscovered
      So Dayi - The clear word

      Balancing the scales
      Restoring spirit to matter [I like this stanza!]
      The whole completed
      Made cosmic again

      Rhythm is the key to the Way
      Alternating Death with Life
      Joining us to each other
      We are the Healers
      The victory is ours!

      We call upon Onyame, Oludumare and Amma
      Involving the Nommo-power of Blackness
      Carred in the genes of Race memory
      Hesse!

      Ancestors and children to be born
      Keys to the circles of connectedness and clarity
      Africa redemed
      The universe in harmony
      Return and move forward
      To the Way
      Of a natural order
      African World Order
      Respendent reflection of Ma'at
      Ase!

    5. #15
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      ThAnkhs for sharing Sis Akua

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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      With Oct. 28th being Ayi Kwei Armah's Earthday, I thought it would be a good time to remember these quotes posted here. @AgyaKwaku, remember us reading Armah's work together here as a group?


      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      "the capture of the mind and the body both is a slavery far longer lasting, far more secure than the conquest of bodies alone."

      "The predators consistently reduced these men first to beasts, then to things - beasts they could command, things they could manipulate, all in the increase in their power over us.

      To reduce them to beasts the predators starved their minds... To reduce them to things the predators fed their bodies, indulgin their crassest physical wants promptly, overflowingly."

      "A mind attacked and concquered is guided easily away from the paths of its own soul."

      ~ Ayi Kwei Armah, Two Thousand Seasons ~

      This book is packed tight and overflowing with the clarity and wisdom of our great destruction that could only have come from our Nananom Nsamanfo (Ancestors). Anyone who devotes the time and energy into reading, digesting, studying, this book will be better off at the end for making that investment.
      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      "His own name and the name of his family he had forgotten. He called himself after the predators' fashion, Abdallah, a name he said signified he was a slave - slave of a slave-owing god."


      "Let the crazed have their devouring new religion. Let the weary consent to slavery. We, remainder of the slaughter of our people, our minds made up not to weary even after losing it, we would move again, move after so many thousand seasons of forgetfulness of danger, after so many thousands seasons in which our distances breathed peace, thousands of seasons when movement was about the desire for something to be found at the destination, not fear of destruction at the point of departure. We would move again."


      "Our way begins from coherent understanding. It is a way that aims at preserving knowledge of who we are, knowledge of the best way we have found to relate to each, each to all, ourselves to other peoples, all to our surroundings. If our individual lives have a worthwhile aim, that aim should be a purpose inseparable from the way."


      "Our way is reciprocity. The way is wholeness. Our way knows no oppression. The way destroys oppression. Our way is hospitable to guests. The way repels destroyers. Our way produces before it consumes. The way produces far more than it consumes. Our way creates. The way destroys only destruction."

      ~ Ayi Kwei Armah - Two Thousand Seasons
      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      "There is nothing white men will not do to satisfy their greed."


      "Only from our disease could the white destroyers hope to get the things they had come looking for."


      " We told him we knew soft minds needed such illusions, but that when any mind grew among us to adulthood it grew beyond these fables and came to understand that there is indeed a great force in the world, a force spiritual and able to shape the physical universe, but that that force is not something cut off, not something separate from ourselves. It is an energy in us, strongest in our working, breathing, thinking together as one people; weakest when we are scattered, confused, broken into individual, unconnected fragments."


      "Where the priest fails to make his victims willing slaves, and the soldier is impotent to make living slaves, his violence only producing dead bodies, the trader enslaves the will itself, and men are led to want their own enslavement, thinking it is only the pleasure of owning things they want."


      "But it was not the abundance of the place that pulled us. It was something in our people we would not allow to get destroyed. We would rather move from scenes of our ancestors, from places and from things animated with their memory, than let the spirit of those same ancestors, the spirit of those yet to come, the spirit of all our people, be destroyed. We moved."
      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      On the mulatto...

      "The other two, they stood just a little longer staring at the slavedriver John's fallen body. They did not help him. They left him there, and after they had gone up the huge destroyer returned with another almost as large and taller. Together they took the slavedriver and pushed him into the space the soft-voiced one had left, and shackled his body and his neck into traps like the rest of us.

      The slavedriver John died that night. Not from disease, though the soft-voiced one had given death to him as surely as a white man lives to destroy. It was this that killed him: the shock of waking to find himself finally trapped with us his condemned half brothers, not among his friends the whites."
      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      On connectedness.....

      "Against the death brought by whiteness only the greatest connecting force will prevail: the working together of minds connected, souls connected, traveling along that one way, our way, the way. Connected thought, connected action: that is the beginning of our journey back to our self, to living again the connected life, traveling again along our way, the way."


      "The single agent's action is waste motion; the single agent's freedom useless liberty. Such individual action can find no sense until there is again that higher connectedness that links each agent to the group. Then the single person is no cut off thing but an extension of the living group, the single will but an extension of the group's active will, each mind a part of a larger common mind. Then each eye inspires itself with visions springing from group need, the ear is open to sounds beneficial to the listening group, the limbs move and the hands act in unbroken connection with the group."

      .
      Quote Originally Posted by Akua Ma'at View Post
      Remembering....


      "Remembering the thousands upon thousands of seasons of our people's existence, remembering the thousands upon thousands of days spent journeying to find new resting places, remembering ancient and present assaults against the soul of our people and remembering the harsh division - division yet to find resolution - between suicidal contention and desperate flight, we saw this vision plainly, heard this sound clearly: we have been a people fleeing our true destiny."

    7. #17
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      Meda wo ase


      Sent from my iPhone using Abibitumi Kasa
      Power is the ability to define reality and to have other people respond to your definition as if it were their own. - Dr. Wade Nobles

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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      “She spoke of those needing the white destroyers' shiny things to bring a feeling of worth into their lives, uttered their deep-rooted inferiority of soul, and called them lacking in the essence of humanity: womanhood in women, manhood in men. For which deficiency they must crave things to eke out their beings, things to fill holes in their spirits.”
      Ayi Kwei Armah, Two Thousand Seasons

    9. #19
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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      Yes I remember. Profound insights on what has been done, what is being done and what needs to be done. I am going to re read this book. Thanks for the posts

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      Default Re: Two Thousand Seasons

      Quote Originally Posted by Agya Kwaku View Post
      Yes I remember. Profound insights on what has been done, what is being done and what needs to be done. I am going to re read this book. Thanks for the posts
      We should do it again (I'll look into it)...although, I think last time we read through it every night for over a week. I don't know if we can do it like that again.

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