Jah Know

The other night I spoke with a Bruv of the childhood era, and asked how he was doing. 

"I'm just fine, Bruv," he answered. 

I then inquired as to whether replying in the affirmative was one of truth or conditioning. He said he was happy, but conceded that he shares the darks with none but Jah. 

I expressed agreement to this, sharing my belief that Jah dwells not simply within me, but in all living things. However, it can be offsetting to people when you reveal the darkness that shadows your days. Thus, you opt to be less transparent, and suffer in silence. We talked about that—the quiet suffering we hide, the isolation we feel, especially when we’re afraid to be fully transparent. I’ve felt it too, from childhood onward, and that conversation took me back to a memory of loneliness that seemed endless.

For a long time it appeared as though my cup did runneth over, as if loneliness were a constant drip into my life, drop after drop, like water filling a cup too slowly to notice at first.  

Yet, there were things to stop--or at least pause the dripping. 

The sanctuary of my mother's voice.

The essence of her face. 

The quality of intention within her cooking. These things wrapped me in comfort, if only for a while. 

However, adulthood brings a different display; each day bearing the same emptiness. 

Now, I watch my dogs as they sleep, sometimes even in the daylight, envying their peace as I sit in the dim quiet of my own thoughts.

I envy them. 

At night, my lights are on. Regardless of whether I am sitting up, or laying down. 

If I am home during the day, the lights are off, the curtains drawn, and I wish it were still dark outside. 

When you carry darkness within, it can feel like a burden too great to share with others. Trauma, poverty, and emotional impacts often weave together so tightly that it becomes difficult to unpack them in full. I find ways to connect with people—through work, through service, through recreation—but often, these are just temporary distractions, like taking aspirin for a deeper, more incurable ailment. The connections soothe for a time, but they don’t heal the root of the pain. It’s a survival mechanism, a way to keep going even when the soul feels weary—of walking barefoot through broken glass hallways.

The truth is I have felt completely alone for years. 

I apologize if this reading has alarmed, or depressed you. 

My fondest memories extend to the childhood era, attending Sunday school with my brother, you, and your brother. 

The magic, albeit complex, of simpler times.

I recall walking through the old neighborhood years ago. I had cut through the woods of a local park toward a funeral home across the street from the big church on the main avenue. Making my way out of the park and onto a backstreet, I saw a little Black boy further up the sidewalk. 

Upon making eye contact, he stole away from his parents, running toward me. 

Standing just below my mid section, he hugged me in a tight embrace. I couldn't fully make sense of it then, but immediately recognized a connection of sorts between us.

I hunched over to meet him with a loving embrace of my own as I looked out toward his parents, frozen in disbelief. 

They smiled and began apologizing as I led him back to them. 

In that moment, I could not mount the courage to tell them that this little Black boy, their child, was the splitting image of my reflection so many years ago. I did not know how to ask, but the truth is I would have begged to take a photo with him in that moment. 

To remember him, 

To remember myself,

As well as my tomorrow. 

Today. 

Had Jah been trying to tell me something?  

Had my yesterday and tomorrow united to find me that day?

I must have been 28 years old then.

I come to the same conclusion whenever I draw upon that memory.

Lord, I wish I'd taken the photo...

#JahKnow 

#mentalhealthawarenessmonth