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Introduction to I
Hear A Symphony |
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We
talk about it, cry about it, write songs about it, "mph,
mph, mph" about it in church or at the hairdresser's,
but what do we do about the love in our lives? How do we
begin to understand, to grasp and hold on to the love we
feel for ourselves, our families and friends, our communities?
Love does not spring up, fully formed, out of a vacuum.
It does not exist in isolation. We cannot love other human
beings without first loving and accepting ourselves. And
until we remember, cherish, and celebrate the miracles we
truly are in this universe, in our Blackness and our position
as children of God, no other love is possible.
So says Bebe Moore Campbell as she reminds us of the beauty
we must tap in our own Black selves, the truths we must
tell to regain the meaning behind the rhetoric of self-love
and well-being. So say James A. Emanuel and Mari Evans,
important voices who tell truths as relevant today as they
were over twenty years ago. So say Howard Thurman and Brenda
Tapia, who remind us of the spiritual foundations of love
and our connection to Spirit so essential to our ability
to love and achieve in life. And so say Haki Madhubuti,
W E. B. Du Bois, Naomi Long Madgett, and Ruth Forman, who
remind us of the majesty we bring to the table of loving
as African-American men and women.
One of the fallacies in our quest for the knowledge of who
and whose we are is to believe that another person, place,
or thing can substitute for the work we must do with ourselves,
the inner realization of our role in the world. Both Terry
McMillan and Langston Hughes give us stirring examples of
how we make, and can unmake, that mistake.
And, finally, when we look into the cosmos, through Charles
Chesnutt's words, we see the dark and shining light of our
being. In this first movement toward a renewal of African-American
love let us recognize, celebrate, and protect the wonder
and glory that shine within our eyes at all costs. The price
for not doing so is way too high. |
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