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  • Writer's pictureCamp Goldston Publishing, LLC

Arriving with Dignity

Miracles still happen.  God knows where we belong, who we all really are.

How to arrive with Dignity.

Coming forth from beyond an alcohol-induced haze, from the rubble of community dysfunction surrounding race, religion fraught with function and form, yet, often dim when compared to hope in the Omnipotent Public education that introduces a splintered reality, economic impact of Reaganomics and beyond, an unrelenting ethic that perpetually prevails as the survivor,

I rise.

A Bulldog, a Queen, a Hornet, a Falcon; purple, gold, honeysuckle, blue, White, Black, red, brown, old gold, old rose, pearl grey.

Royal, yet peasant.

Educated, yet ignorant.

A seer, yet obscured.

Adored, yet bruised.

Other worldly, still commonly everyday and around-the-way.


This trek has cliffs and plateaus from early to oblivion–the self- awareness of the potty training, a kindergarten salutatorian address, giftedness testing, leadership training in distant cities;

Here was inopportune for a Me at that time. The plight of the young, gifted, and Black is refreshment often disturbed in the vessel of Here.

Therefore, we eke out and carve a distinct and unknown Journey.

Culturally enriched from the security of the home base.

The Dance and the Drum (Thedra as my awesome coach), in-house care for each and every elder, the insightful blending of a wise, extended family member gets into my consciousness;

The warm, hearty welcomes, the pleas to connect again “real soon,” the road trips that confirm congratulatory support, and that we never walk alone.

Blessed Journeys.

Thanks are in order.  The Place of pain struck me down, but did not shred me unmercifully.

The stolen IRAs and life investment, the wrongly attached identity, the betrayal and subsequent rejection, the slashing and stripping, the hot glares of my human race not accepting one of their own—Me—As their representation of an image of brains with beauty, (sigh)

I did not stay there.

I got up:

Thank YOU for the unction to endure the race that is set before me.

Pliable like clay, face like flint, consider the ant, ear to the earth, how to be, spectrum of right and wrong, Physician – heal thyself, is all that I am.

Over and over, from glory to glory.

I am Eve.  And, I am Adam.

Therefore, I speak and exact change.

I listen and obey, I listen and filter, I listen and learn, I listen and die a million deaths–and I gather myself to speak yet again.  Rights endowed by My Creator in tow,

The Creator of all that matters, gave tools with which to speak, to hear, to move from here to there with Purpose and Intention.

Oh, to feel the aroma of sunlight on my face!  To beam with the glow of a Love Light that radiates through me to anything I touch, is the miracle of this life’s work!   My magnum opus – one great work- is the power of a fully actualized Me in a continuum of a fully fledged purposeful We.

What does Dignity look like?

Is it textured like suede? Soft, like silk, or homogenized, like milk?

Is Dignity mowed down, like blades of grass, or cultivated in the portals of institutions?

Might we feel dignity together?

It is how I be, and what I see.

Let us dance together, along the path of Journey.



A native of Sheffield, AL. Annetta Deshawn Davis Allen Cole  is a consummate musician who has played classical piano at Carnegie Hall. She is currently Minister of Music at Mt. Carmel M.B. Church, Tuscumbia, AL .She is also asongwriter/composer, “He’s So Worthy,” 2011/BMI. She is married and is a mother of 1 son and a blended family of 4, residing in Florence, AL .She enjoys promoting health and wellness through clean cooking and eating, and the Holy Bible.

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