A key to authenticating your blackness has a lot of musical influence:

In the chapter on How to be a black friend in “How to Be Black:” “Ideally, you will be fairly competent in at least one of the following areas: rapping, dancing, grilling or frying meats, running or other stereotypically black sports. If you can back up your mental knowledge of blackness with an occasional Moon (or Crip) Walk and a semi-annual freestyle rhyme, your value is assured.”

The image of modern black people music was reinvented in 1971 with Soul Train and Don Cornelius (rest in peace).

The Soul Train line is where we cut free and made up new stuff on the fly and it became fly!

Tonight’s Hip Hop Power Hour Yoga class is going get groovy and go all 70s style. Look in the photos above. Not only is there a whole lot of blackness being defined. But there’s a TON of yoga!

Come to Hip Hop yoga tonight and bring a black friend, gain a black friend or become one!

Peace. Happy Friday.

I hope this month is about discovering something new about ourselves in our community that we didn’t know before, that helps us recognize our similarities and our strengths together. I hope we can all peel away our layers without discarding our history and find our depth as beings.

May we all find connection with these reflections.

When the song “Black Man” came out it became an anthem my house. My mother wanted to be sure I knew the words and who the people were in the song and their role in our history. Not only was it a funky hot tune from Steveland Morris but it brought knowledge. Knowledge she wanted her young daughter to know in her bones.

“First man to die
For the flag we now hold high [Crispus Attucks]
Was a black man”

“Who was the first man to set foot on the North Pole?
Matthew Henson – a black man”

I grew up a little confused about my Blackness and in a tough time for that confusion. I didn’t exactly look like my mom. I am of Asian and African-American genetics. I was born two months before Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed, five years after the “I have a dream” speech. Times were not very kind to mixed race children. I was a new being in a world that was still letting the dust settle from dogs, hoses and beatings. Very young eyes watched from within a the arms of a militant mother the struggle for her rightful place on the earth as a black person and a woman. She was much like a growling mother lion protective of a cub.

(I loved the cartoon “Kimba the White Lion” a lot as a child because I felt like I was that white lion that stood out and didn’t look like his parents but he found a way to establish his voice and his being. He was lion. Period.)

My mother’s mission early in life was to be sure I knew I was black, even as I looked in the mirror to long thick curls, slanted eyes and a different skin tone; even as I was teased and made fun of in a mostly-black elementary school.

“One drop of blood, Belinda. To this country you are and will always be black. You are what your mother is. Never forget that.”

And while I have had many moments of black realization, I’ve always claimed to just be. I was about 8 or 9 in line at the Giant grocery store at the corner of 14th Street and Newton (down the street from my house) and a lady in front of me in line turned and asked me “Excuse me little girl, what are you?”

I was struck with the nature of the question. What was I? As though I wasn’t even a person, much less a black person.

I had a very flip answer, I left the line without the groceries and went home angry and crying.

I would navigate many forms of this question and still do to this day (I just don’t cry any more, nope). I’ve been fascinated with our need to classify/label/categorize ourselves and how those labels/classifications/categorizations influence how we treat one another.

I did not know my father. So far as I know my father doesn’t know he has a daughter. His race is as best relayed to me by my mother Filipino and half white (she said WASP actually). Besides vague genetics I am mostly void of knowledge of the other branch of my tree and that contributed to a layer of complexity, confusion and self-conflict that no one could help me with.  But the world was going to challenge me to identify myself as though being wasn’t enough.

“This world was made for all men. God saved His world for all men
All people, All babies, All children, All colors, All races
This world’s for you and me”

I can honestly say it took me three decades to come to peace with my being, to claim my right to breathe and be as a woman, a person of many colors, as a spirit. I am a living testament to the strong and loving spirits who came before me through Africa and slavery and racial oppression and discrimination, as well as a whole host of other people and experiences I cannot recount in words handed down through generations but that I can feel in my essence. That combination’s sum total is me, just B, and I believe my ancestors smile at that.

I am Black.

I am a woman.

I am of mixed race.

I am spirit.

Oh, and I am Black.

Today’s excerpt from “How to Be Black”: How black people pick wine

“…I spotted the label “Negroamaro.” This was the sign! I would buy this bottle because it had the word “Negro” in it. I did not know what “amaro” meant, and I did not care. Clearly, this was a red wine created for a discerning black connoisseur…”

Baratunde would later tweet: “this weekend I picked my red wine because it was called “Negroamaro” that’s how black I am. @elonjames #HowBlackAreYou”

And thus a book was born.

Yep, I’m 44 years old today. The number really doesn’t fase me. I’m not concerned with the perception of over-the-hillness and mid-life crises (which should be more traumatic than my early-life, young-life crises?). I still get annoyed sometimes at being carded. And I like to stand on my hands as much as possible.

I am 44 and finally living and being. I’m not spending a lot of time regretting the 43 that came before now. That’s wasteful, disrespectful and ungrateful. I needed to go through doing things because it was the expectation, and doing things because it was society’s definition of success. I also needed to go through the times in my life where I denied myself my truest being in order for my truest self to scream loud enough for me to hear her.

I stand today imperfect and OK with it. I no longer want to be skinny or have straight hair (yes, I’ve been there). I don’t pine to be filthy rich. I don’t care that folks see I can be messy (OK, I still twitch at that one)

I work incessantly and I’ve come to peace with it, aware of the whys and wherefors of my efforts. I’m not blindly doing anything even if I’m doing things I might not want to at the moment. (I honestly pull strength from remembering my great grandmother cleaned white people’s homes all her life and socked away enough to buy five properties; that my great grandfather was born a slave; and my mother pushed through an insufferable job for her children. They had purpose. I was that purpose)

I hit the wall now and again. But I’ve got all of you guys there to help me clean up the splat.

I can honestly say I live. I live this moment, this day. I try to be present with each and every person I’m engaged with. I sit inside of myself and abide in that space OK with it as it is …and it’s good. It’s impermanent and constantly changing….and it’s good.

I got an amazing gift in the form of my brother’s book being published Jan. 31 to usher in Black History Month (which I own, check the copyright and trademark on that. Belinda Thurston, born Feb. 1, 1968 is the self-proclaimed sole owner and proprietor of Black History Month.)

“How to Be Black” is an amazingly funny and witty book that sheds light in a fun and unintimidating way on the issue of blackness in the U.S. But it’s also a sweet and profound testament to my brother, my mother, my family. It’s a reminder of where we came from, what we came through and who our ancestors wanted us to be. To see my young brother come into his being and do it honoring the path we’ve come from? Damn, that’s crazy mad strong, son.

So buy his book. Learn about being black, but mostly about being.

Luv and Hugz, B

JBBRII

It takes a village and that village must have muscles and wheels.

Julie Powers driving the bus

If you’ve read our blog or been to our studio at all you know that providing parking for our cycling students has tested our faith and sensibilities

JBBR I

Our first bike rack was installed this summer by Gabe Purdy. It was beautiful with our logo and everything. We parked it out front as a point of pride, a testament to our dedication to clean commuting.

It got vandalized.

It got hit by a semi.

It got…gone…as in stolen.

Enter #Lovelansing stage right.

Jessica Yorko sent us a contact at Mayflower Congregational Church. They needed a new home for a bike rack.

Tim Nester ready with his muscle

Bet this bus never had a passenger like this before!

Julie Powers, Emily White and Tim Nester pooled together their time and resources and energy and got the rack yesterday.

Tim Nester and Julie Powers

BAM! New rack was used last night by one of our year-round cyclists.

We welcome JBBRII and the spirit in which it came to us. We also look forward to it’s Just B Yoga story (you know it’s going to have one).

We are deeply grateful for everyone’s concern and willingness to help. What’s amazing is neither Julie nor Tim practice at Just B. We don’t even know if they like yoga or do yoga. But they support Just B Yoga and our mission. They support community. That’s connection. That’s union. That’s true yoga.

The power of you. The power of we. The power of be.

Hatha Yoga Nushasanam

Om Shanti.

JUST B WILL DONATE HALF OF ALL PROCEEDS FROM OUR JAN 2 CLASSES TO ST. VINCENT DE PAUL STORE.

PLEASE HELP US HELP OUR NEIGHBORS.

THEY PROVIDE A VITAL SERVICE FOR OUR COMMUNITY AND ARE A CENTRAL PART OF OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.

Can’t make it to class on Monday? Feel free to use the DONATE BUTTON to the right and note it’s for St. Vincents.

PEACE.

B

Original post below:

The St. Vincent de Paul Store a few blocks away on South Washington suffered a devastating fire this weekend.

This REO Town centerpiece has been the foundation of community – accepting donations and offering items at thrift prices.

Just B Yoga has benefited from St. Vincent since our beginning. They allowed us to promote our free classes in the store with fliers. They’ve sold us items for the studio – refrigerator and freezer. Many of the repurposed shirts that bear the Just B Yoga logo on them are from St. Vincents. When I moved from Old Town to REO Town  I donated furniture, books, clothes to St. Vincents.

We are a small business and community that thrived from the give and take, the ebb and flow of St. Vincents. There are countless other families, businesses and organizations that relied on their help. The staff was always so kind and friendly.

Let’s keep them in our prayers as they seek a new facility to continue to do their good works.

And join me as we find a way as the Just B Yoga community to provide support in a meaningful way.

Here’s how you can help individually:

How to help

• Monetary donations can be sent to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul’s Lansing thrift store at 1020 S. Washington Ave., Lansing, MI 48910.

• The society will release an address for a donated goods drop-off site as soon as one is secured.

• Phone lines should be up and running within a couple days. The organization’s phone number is (517) 484-5395.

Her name is Lyric’Lee. She’s in Lansing. And her sound is tight.

Here’s two tracks from her performance at Just B Yoga on Black Friday.

 
Lyric’Lee performs “Little Girl” at Just B Yoga’s “How to Be Black” event by JustBYoga

LyricLee Live “You Will” at How to Be Black at Just B Yoga by JustBYoga

Period.

We didn’t.

So there.

But we’ll share.

Just B Yoga was deeply honored to have Baratunde Thurston perform from his upcoming book “How to Be Black” on Black Friday at the studio. The event featured performances by Lyric’Lee, Marcus McKissic and Tiffany Lemieux McKissic.

It was a private affair and yet we still packed the house.

So much gifted talent in the room. So many deep thinkers in the room. So many change agents making connections.

Yoga. Boom!

Sit back and chill to some of the sounds of the night as wisdom is dropped.

Marcus McKissic:
Marcus McKissic spits poetry at “How to Be Black” event at Just B Yoga by JustBYoga

Tiffany Lemieux McKissic
Tiffany Lemieux McKissic performs at “How to Be Black” with Baratunde by JustBYoga

Baratunde (oh, that’s my big little brother ya’ll)
Baratunde at Just B Yoga, How to Be Black by JustBYoga

Thank you to everyone for making this a very special evening. Everyone who was invited means a lot to me (Belinda) and Just B Yoga. Be the change, ya’ll. Peace.

If you saw me pull out when the light turns green you’d think I was an aspiring dragster (4-cylinder Toyota or not) until you saw the Just B Yoga magnet on the back of the car.

I don’t like people riding my bumper. I can’t stand drivers who lounge in the left lane and won’t even drive the speed limit. People need to get up to speed on the on-ramp BEFORE getting on the highway, my job is not to slow down or move out of your way when I’m in the stream of traffic on a highway. And as far as I can remember you’re supposed to turn into the lane you were in, not cross a bunch of lanes of traffic as you turn.

Yield doesn’t mean stop.

And why do so many Michiganders stop when there is no stop sign and give another car the right of way when it wasn’t theirs? At first I accepted that it was Midwestern kindness. Now I just find it irritating.

You see, I grew up in D.C. where we have a little piece of asphalt called the Beltway.

I learned to drive in Pittsburgh, a state with a driving obstacle course called the Turnpike.

I’ve survived New York’s Taconic.

And I deemed myself a racecar driver after learning to navigate the “canyons” of Dallas.

But all of that translates to a self-absorbed activity of righteousness. We all believe it’s OUR right of way and no one else’s.

So I have been slowing down over the years and usually it’s when I notice emotions flare up and our tendency to express them with and through our vehicles – not a good idea.

It struck me last week as I was driving to get some cat food that the mood in traffic was different. Cars were cutting each other off. Hand gestures and unrolled windows were more commonplace. And some folks actually honked their horns! (a Midwestern no-no)

What is it about the pressure of a holiday that makes our to-do list more important than decency, manners and mutual respect? The journey from one store to another becomes irrelevant, an unfortunate reality that we account for as merely “it should take me 10 minutes to get from here to here” and we set our stopwatches – click – GO.

I was heading toward Frandor, Ground-Zero of traffic mayhem a few days before Thanksgiving. People walked in front of cars without looking. Cars turned without signaling. People were speeding in the parking lot. I was shaking my head at everyone’s haste.

Finally one car zipped out in front of me – we both slammed the brakes in time. Then something in my head went off. I wasn’t irritated any more as I saw the scowl on the other driver’s face. Instead, I wondered if I looked like that.

“I’m not in a hurry,” I said. I knew he couldn’t hear me. It was really just for me.

It was a moment of clarity that eased the tension for both of us. What did I care if he dashed in front of me? It delayed my ability to park by all of 3 seconds.

I carried this newfound mantra with me as I navigated out of Frandor and over to the Better Health and eventually on 496 all the way home. A moment of pause, letting that rushing person do whatever it is – take your parking spot, make you miss the green light, get you stuck behind a train – can be transformative.

“I’m not in that much of a hurry.”

It’s freeing for you and the other person. Because truly, we don’t need to be in that much of a hurry, not to the detriment of each others’ safety. And when we slow down we actually become human and can nod and smile at one another. We can suddenly hear a bell ringer and remember the spirit of the season. We can show each other acts of kindness even if we are complete strangers.

I need to remember that yoga is beyond my mat and in all of my actions. So, I plan to drive like a yogi more often. I hope you will too.

How do you live your yoga? What’s your  yoga statement?

Your parking is gone.

It just up and disappeared. All 900 pounds of metal that was bolted into the sidewalk.

NOTICE SOMETHING GONE?

LOOKS SO EMPTY OUTSIDE

ALL THAT’S LEFT IS ONE LEG.

SEE THE SCRAPE MARKS? BOLTS ARE STILL IN THE SIDEWALK

THANKS TO GABE PURDY WHO MADE THE RACK WITH LOVING CARE AND KINDNESS

AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO FOUND IT OF BENEFIT THIS SUMMER. JUST B YOGA WANTS TO SUPPORT HEALTHY, CARBON-FREE/CARBON-LIGHT TRANSPORTATION. PARKING IS ESSENTIAL FOR OUR CYCLISTS.

THAT POOR RACK WENT FROM VANDALISM, (read post on vandalism) TO BEING HIT BY A SEMI TRUCK TO NOW BEING STOLEN. IT HAD ENERGY ALL ITS OWN!

So what’s next for Just B Yoga? Will we replace it? Who knows? For now we shall digest this situation of the first vandalized, now gone bike rack. We’ll send up a prayer to it, hoping that it’s serving someone well. And we’ll embrace impermanence. Yes?

YES.

Peace.

B