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Quote by P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

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P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

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“Listen to the air. You can hear it, feel it, smell it, taste it. Woniya wakan—the holy air—which renews all by its breath. Woniya, woniya wakan—spirit, life, breath, renewal—it means all that. Woniya—we sit together, don’t touch, but something is there; we feel it between us, as a presence. A good way to start thinking about nature, talk about it. Rather talk to it, talk to the rivers, to the lakes, to the winds as to our relatives.”

SpiritualitySpiritual QuotesAmerican IndianNative American WisdomAmerican Indian Mythology
Book:Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions
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“Many critics complain that the criminal justice system is heavy-handed and unfair to minorities. We hear a great deal about capital punishment, excessively punitive drug laws, supposed misuse of eyewitness evidence, troublingly high levels of black male incarceration, and so forth. So to assert that black Americans suffer from too little application of the law, not too much, seems at odds with common perception. But the perceived harshness of American criminal justice and its fundamental weakness are in reality two sides of a coin, the former a kind of poor compensation for the latter. Like the schoolyard bully, our criminal justice system harasses people on small pretexts but is exposed as a coward before murder. It hauls masses of black men through its machinery but fails to protect them from bodily injury and death. It is at once oppressive and inadequate.”

Criminal JusticeHomicideBlack America
Author:Jill Leovy
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“I was raised on the struggle of elders - iron collars, severed feet, the rifle of dirty Harriet, and down through the years, the Muslims and regal Malcolm. But mostly what I saw around me was rank dishonor: cable and Atari plugged into every room, juvenile parenting, niggers sporting kicks with price tags that looked like mortgage bills. The Conscious among us knew the whole race was going down, that we'd freed ourselves from slavery and Jim Crow but not the great shackling of minds. The hoppers had no picture of the larger world. We thought all our battles were homegrown and personal, but, like an evil breeze at our back, we felt invisible hands at work, like someone else was still tugging at levers and pulling strings.”

Black America
Book:The Beautiful Struggle: A Father, Two Sons and an Unlikely Road to Manhood
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“But as I reflected on what the president could have done or said differently, I also remembered what it felt like in the weeks following 9/11. When, for a few glorious weeks, we were all united as Americans. For a brief time, it didn’t seem to matter if you were black, white, or brown. We were all brothers and sisters because we were Americans. We shared certain values, a certain past, a certain goal. We haven’t really seen that since. Charlottesville, I knew, had the same potential to unite us. But Trump’s response derailed that opportunity. America didn’t need a stock statement. The country was pleading for a serious discussion about race, about our fundamental need to completely stamp out the Klan and neo-Nazis. I couldn’t help but think of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing and the Charleston church shooting. Emmett Till and Jimmie Lee Jackson. Black Codes and the Southern Manifesto. Trump, I felt, had betrayed black America. And Jewish America. And American decency.”

United9 11Black AmericaAmerican DecencyJewish AmericaUnited Americans
Book:Taken for Granted: How Conservatism Can Win Back the Americans That Liberalism Failed
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“This is not a drill. This is your life. Stop being what you have been. Become what you were meant to be. See the Light. Join the Hyperboreans. Become a HyperHuman. Only the highest, only the noblest, only the most courageous are called. A new dawn is coming... the birth of Hyperreason. It’s time to enter Hyperreality.”

HyperrealityHyperboreanHyperianHyperhuman
Book:Why God Should Go to Hell: How God Is Outside the Moral Order
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“Gardens Souls digging and grieving
Under spades so silver
That outcast dawn. The earth becomes lighter
Yet grows darker with each inch
The shovel takes into the dirt. The white of the texture
That once before touched our hands
In innocence leaps into forgiveness. The grave is deep and uneven,
Its lines are simply met with even words
That haunt the living and haunt our worst. Purple shadows reckoning our streets,
Leaving the darkness to sleep
With a mantle of marble at least. The moon's line shows sorrow
On hands that dig down far
And reveal the things — that dawned on us before.”

Winter PoetryShadows And LightEarth And SorrowHaunting WordsMarble MantlesMoonlit DespairMourning And ForgivenessReckoning And ReflectionSeasonal SolitudeUneven Graves
Author:Laura Chouette
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