Translator: Tanya Cushman Reviewer: Peter van de Ven
This morning, I woke up,
scrubbed my face,
refused to comb my hair,
and raised a flag on new territories of self-discovery.
Mirror, mirror on the wall -
I don't need you at all.
This morning, pregnant with the labors of a lifetime,
I gave birth to a future I hold in my own hands.
This morning, revolution in my blood,
I organized the artillery of my mind,
defeating the tyranny of self-abuse.
This morning,
the body politic was the yearning in my soul
to be one with my sisters,
struggling to embrace my brothers,
shoulder to shoulder.
This morning,
the look on your face told me I had defected,
never again to enter the asylum you call "security."
This morning,
in quiet solicitude,
I greeted the horizon of a new frontier,
declaring myself "free."
Hey.
This morning,
I woke up.
Thank you.
(Applause)
You know, words, words, they seem to be taking over the world.
Technology is at our fingertips,
and we are able to access more words and information
than ever before.
You don't have to take my word for it.
You can google-check and then text me.
But don't do it right now, okay?
Words, words are powerful;
hence, words like "pregnant with the labors of a lifetime,"
"revolution in my blood,"
"the asylum you call security, insecurity."
Words, so powerful.
As a matter of fact, there is a beautiful word
in the Kikongo language of Central-West Africa
which speaks to the power of words.
It is called "mambu."
Literally, mambu means
the creative and empowering force of words;
the power to teach,
expanding our circle of influence with knowledge and understanding;
the power to guide,
leading us within to our higher selves
and reconnecting us with our divinity.
Congolese scholar, author and educator Dr. Bunseki Fu-Kiau
has written that words, words are seeds,
living suns radiating their life force
into our bone-consciousness,
activating our original mother tongue,
that of ancestral memory, intuition and creativity.
And yet, words can also be bullets, relentless in their assault,
tearing us down without mercy and forgiveness,
reminding us as educators, as parents,
as artists
of our accountability to the young minds that we encounter each and every day,
the words that we use and the way that we say them.
Words can also be the unyielding blade of Don Quixote's windmill,
cutting through hypocrisy and distortion.
They can be the healing balm of encouragement and inspiration,
the inspiration we need
when insecurity unplugs us from ourselves
in self-denial and self-rejection.
Heal myself, I can heal myself.
Can you sing that with me?
Heal myself, I can heal myself.
Try it one more time.
Heal myself, I can heal myself.
It is not an oversimplification for me to say to you
that words have saved my life.
You see, I think words are honesty's way of getting rid of the clutter.
What do you think?
Yeah.
Because to spit truth from our mouth is to truly taste freedom.
You see, sometimes, we have to risk absolutely everything
in order to gain what is truly, truly important to us.
And all of this to say
that I am here today because of two little words,
not because of a diploma or a degree or a birth certificate
but because of "I am."
"I am" -
two of the most profound of mathematical equations
measuring the circumference of our self-perception
against the external awareness of what others see us to be.
These moments occur each and every day
if we allow ourselves,
if we allow ourselves to be in the presence
of "I am" sequence.
And nowhere is this more evident than in a classroom.
As a matter of fact, you're going to have to humor me.
I'm supposed to be in class right now.
Twenty-five kindergarteners, Miss Parotsi's class, is expecting me.
I walk in,
we form a circle,
look into their eyes,
and I ask them to breathe.
All right, you are Miss Parotsi's class:
breathe with me.
Ah, yes.
And then I tell them about words,
that breath is the fuel for words that flow through our mouth.
Keep them kind,
keep them powerful,
keep them thoughtful.
I am focused. I am centered.
I am disciplined.
I have pride in myself.
Yeah. Pride in myself.
I have a body and a mind,
a body and a mind,
a body and a mind and my spirit lives inside.
Umm, my spirit lives inside.
How're you going to build your mind?
I'm doing this by myself?
Come on!
How're you going to build your mind?
How're you going to build it? How're you going to build it?
How're you going to build your mind?
Poetry, poetry, poetry, hey, hey.
(Audience) Poetry, poetry, poetry, hey, hey.
Let's write a little poem every day.
(Audience) Let's write a little poem every day.
Okay, y'all. We're having too much fun up here.
All of this to say, we need to be entertainer as well as educators -
throw a little SpongeBob in,
Avatar -
the animated cartoon, not the movie.
(Laughter)
A little satellite music.
We must deliver the magic;
we must keep them wanting to learn more about themselves through words.
Words like "I am body, mind and spirit."
These are the words of I-am-ness.
So y'all all passed my audition.
Hope you know that's what that was.
I'm going to actually ask you to join me now
in one of my very favorite poems which I wrote in about 1972 -
I was, like, about a year old.
Okay.
(Laughter)
Now when you hear me say, "You look at me,"
I just want you to respond: "I look at you."
Got it? Let's try a little rehearsal.
You look at me.
(Audience) I look at you.
Hey, not bad. But I'm still going to make you do that one more time.
You look at me.
(Audience) I look at you.
Sounds good to me.
(Music)
You look at me.
(Audience) I look at you.
We meet each other at the edge of curiosity,
skirting the issue of inevitable confrontation.
Something seems familiar yet totally unknown.
We approach reunion,
yet something prevents us from knowing
what we truly have with one another.
You look at me.
(Audience) I look at you.
Scrutinizing every move;
silent partners trying to find that groove,
that one
and two
and three
and four beats.
Sweet, sweet rhythm,
swinging us, stinging us toward mutual rebellion.
Contrast of form,
our shadows meet
plotting to renew our dreams.
You look at me.
(Audience) I look at you.
Vessels of the coming flood,
waters of the rising Nile,
rivers of the mighty race,
flowing, growing, knowing
we have ancestral promises to keep.
We have ancestral promises to keep.
Say it.
We have ancestral promises to keep.
Will you bring it down a little bit?
Please, we must begin to reconnect with one another
through the magic and power of words.
Words that motivate and inspire us,
words that soldier our mentality into the 21st century.
These are the words,
but first, get rid of the clutter.
Look into someone's eyes and say,
"Yes, I see you.
Yes, I respect you.
Yes, I feel you. Yes, I hear you."
Yes, yes and yes, again.
I love you.
These are the words that we must truly articulate
in the 21st century
if we are to promise the 22nd century even to the Earth herself.
Yes, I am.
Breathe with me.
It is an act of revolutionary proportion,
and I'm actually standing here
because I want Phil to come out here and kick me off the stage.
(Laughter)
(Applause)
We meet each other at the edge of luminosity.
Thank you so much.
(Applause) (Cheers)
And to my band.
(Applause)