MervWorks

I got started in music at a very young age. Music must have been alive in my family long before my birth. I may have been about four, three or younger when I began banging on every surface in sight. The sound of each surface varied with its timbre.

I grew up in a home where droves of people continually traveled in and out because there was always a “Dutch party” at the house. They were often planning, playing, joking, laughing and eating. One of my uncles was actively involved with a Steeldrum Orchestra while another uncle and one of my aunts were members of a dance company. There was an old piano sitting invitingly in the living room. A picture of a female vocalist, whose name I never knew, hung over the piano . My father was living in England at the time and sent us a copy of his vocal recording, “The nearnest of you” and “If I could help somebody”.

My uncle that was involved with the steeldrum would bring one of the instruments to the house and have me learn to play simple songs by rote. On occasion, he took me to the “pan yard” where I had to remain until he was finished with his activities. Like a sponge, I soaked up the sounds of the steeldrum and the entire environment. Whenever my uncle felt that I had learned a song on the instrument well enough, he would invite friends for a concert. Needless to say, they were very generous with their appreciation in spite of the performances.

My dancing aunt and uncle encouraged me to dance but I was too mesmerized by the drums and the drummer. It seemed pointless dancing without the infectious rhythm and energy that leaped from the drum and its drummer. I always focused my attention on the sound of the drum and the rhythm. The drummer had to possess unique memory, talent and technical ability in order to apply the appropriate rhythmic phrases and dynamics to the various body movements. He always appeared to be in a trance and experiencing bliss when he played his drum. I have witnessed many drummers perform with such intensity that blood dripped from their hands like perspiration - never flinching, never grimacing.

I learned to play two songs with my two index fingers on the piano that sat in the living room under the framed photo of the smiling female vocalist. The songs were “Bits of paper” and “Hot cross buns”. That was the extent of my piano repertoire until the piano was removed and destroyed. In the meantime, I dreamt of joining my father in England to perform and perfect my musical ambitions.

I got started in music at home…. looking, listening, imitating, practicing and performing!

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Good Morning!
Happy Father’s Day to all our biological fathers, grandfathers, stepfathers, brothers, uncles…and all men here today. Even those of you who don’t have children of your own, or don’t see yourself in an official fathering role - whether you know it or not - your life is being used as an example for somebody who is watching you and choosing to follow in your footsteps. It may be in your neighborhood, at work, at church…you can be assured that someone is watching you and that puts YOU in the fathering role.

To start this morning, I’d like to say that my Father GOD, certainly has a sense of humor and my pastor, Rev. Charline was lovingly in on the joke when she asked me to do the lesson for today. I hesitantly, but quickly agreed to do it. But I’d like to share with you the conversation that GOD and I had on the way home. It went like this.

“Now GOD, why did Rev Charline as me to do a talk on the day that we celebrate Fathers? Rev. Charline knows I have daddy issues! She’s heard me talk about it on more than one occasion. Wouldn’t it be better for someone like Chryl-Ann or Cheryl P. to do the talk because I know that they had wonderful relationships with their fathers?”

And GOD said, after I took a breath,
“Yeah, it would’ve been good for them to do it…but your prayer at every gathering is …thank you GOD for this opportunity to love, to share and to grow…Perhaps sharing your experience, which was somewhat challenging, will be a catalyst for more growth in yourself and in others. And what do you have to say to that?”

“OK GOD!”

And here I am doing the talk on Father’s Day. Thank you Rev. Charline for helping me to grow.

For many years I found myself isolated on Father’s Day. When it was impossible to do so, I would make an obligatory visit, give obligatory gifts and well wishes. But I just felt that I had nothing to really celebrate because I was very disappointed with the fathers in my life. This disappointment was also my companion in the world and after becoming a truth student I began to understand why I often attracted relationships with men that were disappointing to me.

It is like you get what you ask for – “seek and you shall find.” I was asking for disappointment by focusing my attention on disappointment. Now it wasn’t everyday that I consciously thought about disappointments but it was an ingrained part of my belief system about men.

Now just in case some of my beloved sisters and brothers in the audience are feeling sorry for me and thinking, “Wow, Mamie needs to work on her father issues.”
I make a loving suggestion that you look at your life. Are you having difficulty and disappointing relationships with men or women in your life?
q Are you one of those women who say, “ there are no good men left!”
q Or when you are called to deal with a challenge in a relationship with a man, you find yourself thinking and sometimes saying, “See, I knew that they were all - BLEEP… BLEEP… BLEEP…!”
q You know, the unflattering terms that we sometimes use, “Are you one of those men who think that women are all GOLD DIGGERS and can’t be trusted?”
q Do you find yourself behaving like your father behaved although you swore that you’d never behave like he did?
If you answered yes to any of the above questions then I invite you to look closer at exploring and resolving your father issues.

Sometimes when feeling sorry for myself I’ve thought my plight was harder than other people because my mother had two husbands – thereby giving me two fathers with which to work out my issues. I had my biological father and my stepfather who entered my life when I was 7 years old. My stepfather was really my father figure and a grandfather to my children.

About 4 to 5 years ago, around Father’s Day, I facilitated an exercise in an ongoing women’s support group where participants paired up and told each other about their fathers. And at the end of the sharing, each participant introduced their partner’s father to the group.

Now, being the great therapist that I am, I knew what would happen. When introducing the other person’s father, the partner would definitely put a positive spin on what they heard. It’s just human nature. The average person is not going to say negative things about someone’s parent, even when the person has not been positive in describing them.

What the good therapist did not know is that I would have to participate because we were short of group members that night. I didn’t mind through, I was open to hearing a positive spin on my parent. But I wasn’t prepared for what I heard. When introducing my father, my partner didn’t even mention the things that had hurt me or that I thought were important. Instead, she said to the group,
“I would like to introduce Mr. Herbert Pinder, what a man! At age 25 he loved Mamie’s mother and her mother’s children so much that he took on a readymade family of – not 1 child, not 2 children but 3 children! He had never been married, he had no children of his own and his family did not agree with his decision to marry Mamie’s mother. So, here he is – going against his family, coming into a new family with no clue about raising children and yet EXPECTED to instantly be a good husband by Mamie’s mother and a good father by Mamie.”

As I think about my partner’s perspective I can add this to the scenario. Mamie was a 7-year-old little woman, going on 40, as they say and very angry because her parents were divorced and blaming her stepfather for her unhappiness. Actually, he was the easiest target.

When preparing for today, I thought about how often we hold others to extremely high standards. And that started me to thinking about where we get our information about role assignments as it relates to fathers? What should a father be like? What are his duties?

I’m taking a leap here, but I think that in the human psyche, the attributes of GOD, the FATJER is a standard by which human fathers are measured. The scriptures give us many names for GOD, the FATHER, and those names refer to GOD’s attributes. We’re told about GOD as PROVIDER, GOD as PROTECTOR, GOD as COMFORTER, GOD as LOVE, GOD as the ALL KNOWING WISE ONE…

Now, just imagine my 25-year-old stepfather who was told by his religion that he was to be the head of his household and trying to live up to those standards. Being the head, the one in charge, placed him in the position of Herbert the PROVIDER, Herbert the PROTECTOR, Herbert the COMFORTER, Herbert the as LOVE, Herbert as the ALL KNOWING WISE ONE.

It all sounds great! Doesn’t it? But these standards leave little room for immaturity, making mistakes, job layoffs, companies downsizing, economic challenges, fear, divorce, illness, personal disappointment, not knowing what to do in every situation. And what do you do when life happens and you don’t feel adequate to deal with it? Well usually you fight or take flight. My biological father took flight. My stepfather stayed but was so often in the fighting mode that he became hardened and lost in the day-to-day survival.

Has religion knowingly placed these pressures on fathers? Has society placed these pressures on fathers? Have wives and mothers placed these pressures on fathers? Have fathers and men placed these pressures on themselves? Are these pressures sometimes unreasonable? I would say yes to all of the above! And yet I don’t think that it was ever GOD’s plan for men – for fathers, to take on the responsibility of being everything TO everyone in their families.

The bible reminds us that,
“Of ourselves we can do nothing, and that GOD is the source of everything and that we are but one of the channels through which the source flows. We are never alone and we are not called to accomplish anything by ourselves.”

Having knowledge and believing it, certainly is the catalyst for tremendous growth in our lives. And yes, we strive to be the best that we can be with the understanding that we’re growing into our inherent perfection. There is a wonderful man that I’ve come to know and love in this church, who often says that he understands that he doesn’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. I believe that if I took a poll in this room right now almost every woman would agree with him. By agreeing, we’re saying that the men in our lives don’t have to go it alone. We’re saying that we’re willing to stand with them. We’re saying that we understand that we’re in this thing called life together.

So on behalf of myself, the women in this room and the enlightened women of the world, I extend an invitation to all the men here and men everywhere to open themselves to receive the support that is available to you. We want to support you. We are proud of you. We see and appreciate your efforts. You don’t have to be superman for us to admire you. You don’t have to be a tower of strength every hour of the day for us to believe in you. We are willing to stand with you and assist you to accomplish the things that you want to accomplish. For those of you that are developing your millionaire consciousness, know that we’re patient and applaud your present work ethics. And though some of you are not in your dream careers yet, know that we see and appreciate the daily sacrifices that you make for your family. Everyone does well when things are going good, but it’s your walk through adversity that has set the greatest example of love and courage.

That exercise that I told you about earlier - the one that forced me to take a different view of my earlier life with my stepfather – set me on a path of growth and healing. It demanded that I begin to look for the good in my fathers in particular and men in general in order to experience better relationships with all the men in my life, including my own sons. So, by the time I arrived at Unity Center of Miami I was on a path of reconciliation and able to see great good in the men of this church.

And today, on Father’s Day, I applaud your unselfish commitment to this ministry. I hope that you know that your commitment is contributing to the lives of others. I also applaud the example that you set for your families and others by the commitment that you’ve made to you own spiritual growth. It has been said that relationships are our master teachers. And as a truth student I’m always asking what did you come to teach me?

All of my fathers, GOD the FATHER, my ELDER BROTHER JESUS, my biological father and my stepfather have taught me about love, about forgiveness…the greatest lessons of all.

My stepfather made his transition last year and I would love to end this talk by saying that we were the best of friends when he died, but we weren’t. But I can honestly say that by the time he left the earth plane I was able to identify and appreciate the good that he brought to my life. I understand that he is on a soul journey just like me, doing the best he knows how based on his level of awareness.

I invite you to join me in praying for all men and fathers of the world.

Centered in the Peace of Spirit, we release all hurt feelings, misunderstanding, injustice and judgments. We are forgiving and loving to ourselves and to all people. We live from a place of peace within and we are blessed as we bless each person and situation in our lives. We now assume an attitude of appreciation for all the father figures that life has brought our way. We affirm for these men and men everywhere, great Health, great Wealth, great Love and great Spiritual Unfoldment. So it is and so we let it be …Amen!

In this early morning sunshine
a soul steps in time
bodies compel a music
the harmony is sublime.

In this early morning sunshine
love dances with every kind
to the pecular rhythm
felt uniquely in every mind.

In this early morning sunshine
a spirit breathes divine
so beautiful a melody
all life designs the line.

This early morning sunshine
sings a song, “the Uni-Verse”
who drinks every note of love-light
to quench an everlasting thirst.

The sky was as transparent as the inside of a gigantic crystal ball. The ceiling of this crystal ball appeared to be painted in a rich midnight blue - a reflection of the face of a deep blue ocean. The moon was shining like a spotlight fixed in the sky and illuminating every space beneath. I sat and reflected. I looked up at the moon. On this beautiful night, the moon caught my gaze because I could not resist its brilliance. The moon was large and perfectly round. I felt like I could outstretch my hand and pluck it out of the sky – the moon seemed to be so close.

As I stared at the moon my mind revisited my childhood and the home in which I grew up with my grandmother. She was a very strong, serious and wise but gentle woman. I loved my grandmother dearly. We lived in a two story wooden house that was covered by a galvanize rooftop, painted in a military green with gray trim, on a hill. The house was located on Schuller Street and overlooked the city of Port of Spain, capital of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. My uncle told me that the land was cut perfectly square and the house stood on it facing true east. The restroom facility was detached from the house and the bathrooms were enclosed in sheets of galvanize. There was a bed of rocks on the upper level. The bed of rocks was used for placing the white clothes out to sun for bleaching. A walkway that led to the only W.C. went through the center of the bed of rocks. Our family occupied the top floor of the house while the bottom was rented out.

I enjoyed sitting on the wooden banister and absorbing the lush vegetation that decorated the mountainside to my right. Immediately in front of me I could see the people intermingling with the cars along Duke Street and Piccadilly Street. I could see clearly all the way to the waterfront down on Wrightson Road. Off to my left I could see the outline of South Quay and Sea Lots. But, Mr. Phillip lived in the room immediately below this banister, my favored spot. He was one of the tenants who rented from my grandmother.

Mr. Phillip’s complexion was very dark. He was very tall and slim built. He had a small head covered with thick, wooly, jet-black well-groomed hair. His eyes were extra large and bulging. They looked like they wanted to drop out of their sockets. He looked like a giant in my little eyes. I neither saw him in the morning time nor saw him engaged in a conversation with anyone. However I often saw him in the evening on his way in from wherever he had spent his day. He rode a bicycle. It was huge and green. The frame curved down the center between the wheels. He would lift the bicycle, almost wrapped around his body, up the three steps and into the yard. The wheels were massive and would spin very fast as he took the bike, parallel to the ground, from the street to its resting place. Mr. Phillip would disappear into the yard for a while and then reappear inside of the front gate with his pipe in hand as the golden sun was sinking behind the horizon.

After positioning himself on the left side of the entrance to the yard, he gazed into the dusk. He appeared to be looking and waiting for something in the sky as the night began to fall. Mr. Phillip would proceed to dip the pipe into a small cloth container that looked like a small sack. Next he withdrew the pipe from the pouch to begin packing it with a brownish substance. Then he would place the pipe into his mouth between his lily-white teeth. He supported it with his left hand and dropped some fire from a lighted match on top of the brownish substance in the pipe. His cheeks almost disappeared into his jaws as he sucked violently on the pipe. The fire descended and disappeared into the chamber. Very shortly afterwards, a volume of smoke would funnel through his both nostrils and at the same time his eyes would open as big and as bright as the moon that was rising into the clear perfectly blue sky.

With his gaze fixed on the moon, Mr. Phillip often uttered some sounds as if he were communicating with some entity on the moon. Whatever he was saying was said in very rapid speech patterns and with a sort of stutter. Although the sounds coming from Mr. Phillip were audible I could not understand the words. His conversations often continued until his pipe smoking ended. After the billows of smoke faded, he would stand motionless with his pipe in hand behind his back and his feet spread about 12 inches apart for a few minutes. Sometimes his shadow looked like the formation of a black star on the ground behind his physical posture. When his silent period expired he disappeared into the darkness. Many evenings I sat in anticipation to see Mr. Phillip wheeling his huge, green bicycle into the yard and re-enact his ritual. As he stood there, planted in the center of the path of the moonlight, it appeared as if he and the moon was all that existed. Whenever the moon returned in its fullest state I could picture Mr. Phillip totally immersed in its presence, its brilliance and its beauty - even in his absence.

On moonlight nights there was no need for street lights because the natural radiance of the moon was enough. Children took advantage of its brilliance as we played games like “Tin Cup” and “Nancy Twee Twee Twee” in the very narrow winding Schuller Street. The street was so narrow that sometimes, depending on the size, one vehicle had to mount the embankment for the other to pass. The surface of the street was pitch-black and covered with gravel that was coated and held together with tar. Under the watchful eyes of our parents and guardians, we, the neighborhood children, played while the adults conversed in the brilliant moonlight. All the children could be easily discerned because the moon shed its light like a grand spotlight upon us.

Although I often bathed in the glow of the moonlight like Mr. Phillip, I paid little attention to the beauty of the moon until I migrated to New York to attend college. In Brooklyn, I lived in a six-story, brownish-gray, concrete building that was enclosed by other six-story buildings similar in shape, dimension, texture and color. A broad four-lane avenue overflowing with cars that jettisoned to and fro separated the buildings. The moon was always out of sight but its glow could be caught sneaking a peep through the crevices that separated the buildings in an attempt to be recognized and appreciated. Whenever I looked up I saw the top of monster size buildings reaching through the grayish clouds on towards the sky. The moon was obscure or very small, yellowish and far off into the sky.

In Miami, where I now live, the terrain and the buildings create an undulated sculpture against the clear rich blue sky. The moon is visible from almost any point, just like in the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. On this beautifully moonlit night, I revisit my childhood because I am mesmerized by the brilliance of the moon. In my mind’s eye, there I am, sitting on the wooden banister of my grandmother’s two-story wooden house that is covered by a galvanize rooftop. Here I sit and observe the ritual of Mr. Phillip and the moon.

I AM
A RADIATING CENTER OF DIVINE LIFE,
DIVINE LOVE,
DIVINE WISDOM AND
DIVINE POWER!

I AM!
I am wise! I am loving! I am patient!
I am understanding! I am peaceful! I am happy!
I am forgiving! I am strong! I am healthy!
I am prosperous! I am wealthy! I am fruitful!
I am willing to be all that the Divine Spirit intends me to be!

I AM!
I am powerful! I am creative! I am capable!
I am confident! I am a blessing to others!
I am open and receptive to the instant, constant, abundant supply of the Divine Spirit!
I am always in the presence of the Divine Spirit!

I AM!
I am alive! I am awake! I am alert!
I am aware of the presence of the Divine Spirit in me,
in every moment, in every experience, in every breath I take!

I am grateful! I am thankful!
I AM that I AM!

So it is!

I listen to the rain…

Tap…tap…tap…tap…tapping, tapping, tapping,

I begin my yoga exercise with a stretch and a twist and a turn. I push and pull. I become more relaxed and I can smell the odor of my under arm. I say to myself, “ I am!” because at this moment that is all…I am. The sky is gray and the sun is interrupted from its normal practice of shinning brilliantly through the windowpanes. I close my eyes and I listen to the rain. I can hear the raindrops tapping percussively on the roof and I think “Showers of blessings, today.”

Pouring, pouring, pouring…pouring…

The rain continues, making a mighty crescendo as the texture of the raindrops become polyphonic and opaque. I can feel the rhythm of the raindrops reverberating throughout the earth even though their sounds appear to lack a melody. The solid gray that was a cloud only a second ago is now liquid like mercury. As it pours down from the sky, I feel tears welling up inside of me and flow down my face through eyes. I am weeping helplessly without knowing why. I cannot control the emotion. I am overcome by a power in me that rocks every fiber of my internal consciousness and sends tremors through my body.

Pelting…pelting…

With my eyes now wet and soggy, I peer through the curtain of tears to see the beauty of the rain as it pelts from the rooftop to dance upon their arrival on the anxiously awaiting earth. The trees stand majestically in the shower. They are all drenched from the drip drop dropping of the rain like the sweat that is now saturating every centimeter of my anatomy.

Drip…drop…drop…ping…

Slowly, the gray becomes transparent and the sunshine that was waiting patiently peeps from behind the remaining clouds. The sun appears to be smiling happily with all that is in its presence. At the same time, the former pounding of the rain is now reduced to a light pitter-patter that creates a series of quiet polyrhythmic patterns. I listen to the rain as the sound decrescendos. All who listens to the rain can experience the drumming of the raindrops from within! This extemporaneous concert needs no audience but it is absorbing my attention as I listen.

Pit…ter… pat…ter…pit…

The sun is out again in its full glory. Nature exhibits her lush greens and brilliant yellows. Flowers display a humble gratitude. I close my eyes once more. I listen to the rain as the rain returns to its origin to commence another performance.

Free, the wind blows
Free, the sun shines
Free, water flows
and so do thoughts of minds.

Free, the bird flies
Free, the animals roam
Free, dust upon the earth lies
to make itself a home.

Free, night follows day
Free, from darkness comes the light
Free, the words you choose to say
make real with all your might.

Free, to those who choose to be
Free, neither doubts nor remorse
Free, exist not without
but “within” of course.

Coming up from behind the bridge, I was exposed to rhythm. A rhythm that is infectious. A rhythm that reflects the life of the inhabitants of behind the bridge. The basic pulse, as consistant as the heart beat beats the uncouncious rhythm pattern of life.

A Test clip of the Yellow Jackets