What inspires?

"What inspires?" is a question that has rattled around in my mind for as long as I can remember. We read poetry that inspires. We hear tales of success and survival, and they inspire. We set goals and determine desires, and the end result inspires. But what does that really mean? How do we determine what or who is worthy of providing inspiration? Is it a mere feeling that is invoked by the ryhthm of a musical composition? Is it the words, and the tale that is told? Is it the inflection in the voice of a narrator telling a tale of survival? Is it simply human empathy that allows the words, or actions to trigger feelings of "inspiration"?

In my world, for something, or someone to be "inspirational", action must be generated. To put it simply, if you hear something, or read something, or know someone, and you get "that feeling" from their words or actions....yet you do nothing as a result....there has not been true inspiration. Your reaction was simply one of empty emotional response triggered by chemicals that stain the neutrons in the brain. True inspiration requires action.

So, here is my action. I, fairly recently, had the pleasure of becoming the friend of a man who has the power to inspire. However, I feel in my heart, that he is unaware of the power that he holds. He did not rescue an old lady from a burning building. He did not break any world records. He has not given his limbs and his mind in service of his country. He has merely survived. He has survived human weakness, chance of birth, and hatred.

If you would indulge me, for just a moment, I would be grateful. I want you to visualize a small boy, growing up in a vast world. Visualize his clothes, the broad smile on his face, and the streaks of tears on his cheeks when he scrapes his knee on the front steps. He runs into the house, and into the arms of his adoring mother. She sees a future leader in his eyes. She smiles with pride at this new life just waiting to show the world what he is made of. He looks up at her, and never realizes that one day, she will be gone from him. Time seems to stand still, and becoming a "grown up" is millions of ticks on a clock away. He is every child. He is you, and me. His life is just beginning, and he has no idea what the future holds. He has even less of a concept of what the concept of "future" even means. All he cares about is the new record that he can not wait to tear open and hear. He hears the music, and it makes him dance, sing, and dream. His whole world is set to music. He hears the sounds of laughter, and they are the future tones and verses of the music that he dreams to create.

But then, life begins to happen. As we all know, life can be cruel. It can take a child, full of innocence and wide eyed dreams, and make them a bitter and devastated old fool. How easily that can happen in a world full of pain, hate, and a lack of understanding that we are all born exactly the same.

What child did you imagine? Was he a blonde, curly haired, blue eyed boy with denim pants and his favorite team jersey on? Did you see the faces of your own children? Did you go back in time, and see yourself? What dreams have eluded you due to the trappings of life?

I want to ask you if you envisioned a black, homosexual, recovered drug addict. No? Well, that is the adult version of that child. What was once a happy, and innocent child became a man riddled with pain. Life throws us some pretty vicious curve balls. It is difficult to be a black man in our society. It is even more difficult to be a homosexual man in our society. It is painful to lose a loved one, but even more painful to lose the one person who TRULY understood who you are. When that person is gone, a part of you dies too. Only a man of true heart and strength could overcome the pain of having his life planned for him, without say in what society determined him to be. Is it any wonder that someone like him would turn to substance abuse to escape the pain of loss, hatred and broken dreams? What part do WE play in who he became?

So now, I want you to picture an adult man standing alone in a room with hundreds of thousands of fingers pointing at him. I want you to hear hundreds of thousands of voices screaming the words, NIGGER! FAGGOT! HOMO! JUNGLE BUNNY! REJECT! CRACKHEAD! LOSER! YOU DON'T MATTER!

Then I want you to be that man. I want you to look around that room for the one person that you just KNOW will hold you and make it all go away. She isn't there. She is dead. You are all alone. The relationships that you have, are the ones that you have made alone. Those faces are few and far between the pointing fingers and the hateful words.

Would you have the strength to come back from your own weaknesses and accept that you were born to be better than this? Would you have the courage to fight through that crowd and come out on the other side? I don't know if I could. It takes unimaginable strength to survive, not what others do to us, but what we do to ourselves. It takes looking deep inside and finding that weakness, and making that change. Now, what if you are unable to change who you are, by birth. Would you allow that to become your excuse for remaining bitter, hateful, and allowing the pain to consume you? It would be so easy, wouldn't it?

Inspiration takes action. Aaron, you are an inspiration to anyone with the heart and strength of mind to understand how easily you could have become just another statistic. You didn't. You became a man who fought through the pain and the darkness of life, and came out a musician, and a man to be respected. Those who point their fingers should wish for such strength. Maybe what they should do, is lower their fingers, take a long, hard look at who they are. They should know that thier finger is raised, and their voices are screaming, because they do not have the strength to do what you did. THAT would be inspiring.

So, for you, I lower my finger. I take your act of returning from darkness and it inspires me to think about why I am the person that I am. It is not your music, and the lyrics that inspire. It is the man behind those tones and words.

To overcome the weakness inside of yourself, is to overcome the greatest obstacle. It is easy to raise yourself up from what others have done. It is next to impossible to raise yourself up from what you have done.

Lower your fingers. Do what Aaron did. Look into your hearts. Remember the innocence of a child, and don't be just another finger pointing in a crowd. We cannot change this world, until we change ourselves. WE are the composition, WE are lyrics, We are the audience, and WE are the artists. We make this world what it is. It is your choice to be a person of strength, like Aaron, or a person of weakness simply pointing and screaming.

On Aaron's behalf, I will stand outside of that crowded room, and I point my finger at you. I scream in your face, and tell you that you DO NOT have the courage that he does. I call out your weaknesses and your flaws, as dictated by my peers. I humiliate you, and push you to the breaking point, and beyond. I rob you of love, and sanctuary. There are thousands like me. Then I challenge you not to crumble. Can you do it? If you do crumble, can you recover?

I know this man now. I know him AFTER he pulled himself up. I do not know the old Aaron. I only know the result. I also know that I was a pointed finger. I accept my responsibility in what Aaron had to struggle through, and thanks to his inspiration to be stronger that I could, I lower my finger. I stop screaming without compassion. I will not do to you, what WE have done to him.

There will always be unrest and hate in our society. It is a sad reality that we all must face. Aaron faced it alone, and survived. It was a long road, and a painful process. Each and every one of us has travelled that road, in one way or another. How did you come out?

Get your finger out of my face. Lower your voice, and speak to me respectfully. If you do not, I will walk right past you....for Aaron.