My body has been back in the United States of Amerikkka for three days, but it’s a shell housing a consciousness forever stuck there and then with them. Perhaps it’s a “blackened” consciousness, forever outside of time and place, which would explain why it feels like I’m out of time; matters are urgent. After being in Cuba, time, itself, passes differently—somehow slower yet faster, a cautious drag and then a rushed pull like a tug of war. Time now skips past me with its tongue stuck out and hands wagging at its ears like a teasing bully. I trace its . . .
The drum sounds philosophical beats that engage us all and compel us to strive for a better life. These are mystic licks calling for unity, in a global march for dignity, liberty and peace. Booming beats beckon us to free our minds and take a road, full of obstacles, ambushes and dead ends. The drum calls us to a sojourn of conscience, one that can only be successfully traversed by those aligned to the people and their collective interests. The drum calls us to journey to redemption. A journey that must, of necessity, reshape our soul and resurrect our twisted minds. . . .