Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now Read Online Free PDF Page A

front of her. And then she would say the same thing she had said at least a thousand times, it seemed to me. “Sister, did you hear what Brother So-and-So or Sister Much-to-Do complained about? You heard that?” And I would nod. Mamma would continue, “Sister, there are people who went to sleep all over the world last night, poor and rich and white and black, but they will never wake again. Sister, those who expected to rise did not, their beds became their cooling boards and their blankets became their winding sheets. And those dead folks would give anything, anything at all for just five minutes of this weather or ten minutes of that plowing that person was grumbling about. So you watch yourself about complaining, Sister. What you’re supposed to do when youdon’t like a thing is change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it. Don’t complain.”
    It is said that persons have few teachable moments in their lives. Mamma seemed to have caught me at each one I had between the ages of three and thirteen. Whining is not only graceless, but can be dangerous. It can alert a brute that a victim is in the neighborhood.

At Harvesttime

    There is an immutable life principle with which many people will quarrel.
    Although nature has proven season in and season out that if the thing that is planted bears at all, it will yield more of itself, there are those who seem certain that if they plant tomato seeds, at harvesttime they can reap onions.
    Too many times for comfort I have expected to reap good when I know I have sown evil. My lame excuse is that I have not always known that actions can only reproduce themselves, or rather, I have not always allowed myself to be aware of that knowledge. Now, after years of observation and enough courage to admit what I have observed, I try to plant peace if I do not want discord; to plant loyalty and honesty if I want to avoid betrayal and lies.
    Of course, there is no absolute assurance that those things I plant will always fall upon arable land and will take root and grow, nor can I know if another cultivator did not leave contrary seeds before I arrived. I do know, however, that if I leave little to chance, if I am careful about the kinds of seeds I plant, about their potency and nature, I can, within reason, trust my expectations.

Sensual Encouragement

    We were young and lithe. Our brown bodies shone with heavy applications of baby oil and Max Factor theatrical makeup. Alvin Ailey and I were ardent students of Modern Dance, and when we could, we hired ourselves out as the dance team Al & Rita. Our most frequent employers were the secret and mysterious black organizations. When the Elks, the Masons, and the Eastern Stars gave socials, they always provided small bands, torch singers, and shake dancers for their membership.
    Besides makeup, Alvin wore a leopard print G-string and I wore a homemade costume of a few feathers and even fewer sequins. We danced to Duke Ellington’s “Caravan.” Alvin had choreographed the routine, and he, asPasha, would count out the first four bars of music, then leap from the dark onto the lighted stage. I, as the Pasha’s dancing girl, would wait in the dark while he established the mood.
    Inevitably, I would find women’s hands on my body. Three or four would stroke my back, pat my behind, caress my arms. This was always accompanied by their whispers.
    â€œThat’s right, honey. You’re pretty. Go out there and shake that thang.”
    â€œWhen I was young, I used to shake it. I mean, shake it.”
    â€œGo on, baby. Get out there and drive him crazy.”
    So encouraged, I could barely await my cue, and when it did come, I would explode onto the stage and try to shake my brains out.
    Looking back, I realize that the women’s strokings were sensual rather than sexual. Because they encouraged me, they participated with me in the dance. Because they had enjoyed themselves