They call me the Auspicious One, A for short. I live in a beautiful world full of madness. I reclined for the night to heal my bruises, and I drifted into a sleep portal. You never know if the sleep portals are of the other realm or of peace and healing, I was there talking of loving oneself and his neighbor. King was on my thoughts before I flew. The eagle comes to mind, a Ba a Ka in the air, a sniper on the battle field. Is that fair?
Rolling over for a soft landing, I looked up and a barrel was pointed at my head. Mind over matter, I thought. “You make one false move and you’re dead.”
“Sure a sniper is fair, you’re the archer champion, right? Get up, now!”
Remember this is just a sleep portal, but you do feel the pain or the wet dream gain.
“I need a white tee,” I said.
“You got one on,” he returned.
“Need another one.”
“Get your ass up, A!”
They had on all black. Only one spoke. He moved toward me like he was in the matrix, grabbing me. “My Adidas,” I said.
“You don’t need any shoes where you’re going.”
Moving in stealth, hemp bag over my head — I asked, “What I do?” Hope is always a part of what’s next, in the sleep portal. I have moves like Batman, eyes like the Six Million Dollar man, I knew Horus was inside me, maybe it was the hemp, maybe not; but with all my strength I couldn’t break the knot.
Pulled up to the underground vault. The engines running like they were powered by electricity, doors sliding like Star Trek.
“I didn’t do shit man, I am not even on social media!”
In a minute my strength will return, but, if you out there Pinch Me; I am deep in this dream, with a set piece clean as a Suburban fresh off the assembly line. When they took off the hemp hood, it was like I was in the happy world of artificial intelligence.
Just as they were taking the knot off, I snatched my arm and said, “Get off me.”
The furniture was exquisite; mainframes were on the perimeter, lights blinking like stars in the sky.
“Sit down, Auspiciousness, sit down,” he said.
“What I do now?” I asked.
“What is this about love, I keep hearing?” he asked.
“Love is the campaign,” I answered.
“I thought we talked about this, love is a disease and nothing but hunger.”
It seemed as if he had no soul. He talked in echoes and his voice was cold. All around him were inventions taken over with his appetite, only to feed his appetite. He didn’t invent them, he just controlled them. I know him and he knows me, I’ve been here before. The last time I was here he talked about the numbers and the sheep. I told him, “What’s yours is yours.”
“Listen,” he continued, “I need you to accept this offer.”
He handed me an envelope, and on the front the word Reparations was in bold. I opened the envelope and it said, “Nigger,” and underneath it read, “It’s your word and you can have it.”
“What the..?! You woke me up for this?!” I asked.
“The leaders of your community have already buried it somewhere, they understand.”
“Why bother me with this? This doesn’t concern me.” I said.
“Because you have to accept it, that’s why!”
I asked him, “What does nigger mean? Does it mean rape? Does it mean Jim Crow? Does it mean lynching? Does it mean predatory housing practices? And… is it worth a century of job discrimination? What does nigger mean?!”
“You were nothing and you know it,” he said.
I said to him, “Love is the campaign and this conversation is old and my history was never told, but in the matter of reparations isn’t home equity about the numbers? Aren’t interest rates about the numbers? Unemployment rates… mass incarcerations, they’re about the numbers right? But you want to give me a word for reparations and not numbers.”
“I am giving you the N-word, your own word,” he said.
I replied, “You can have it, our people will define themselves. The last time I checked vows were at the end of the words, nigga! And remember we are inspired to apply kujichagulia.”
Then I took flight back through the sleep portal to continue with my rest and healing.