Morning Shower for David Augustine

A simple and a kind man, Rasta man with his ancestral pain deeply hidden behind the softness of his eyes. Yet I see the faces of all of his mother's staring at me in silence. Mourning that they haven't spoken at the time of violence. Dignifying their humility in a form of a statue. I pay them a respect in my stillness and a quiet observation. Time after time his family fell apart, leaving him with the daily ganja ritual. Every exhale of the sacred herb is a praise to God, is a song of readiness to be of service. It is also an intention to bring up a change. His lungs are strong, his body open to experiencing a whip of a cold shower. He grows his hair like antennas, to detect the kinder wind, the better opportunity for himself and his children. His beard, braided, becomes a food as this man understands the wisdom of his body. Eating his own beard helps him remember all the Teachings, helps him purify the trauma of change. Rastafarian man fast and cries, eventually accepting the choices of those he wants to protect and continues to live his life in the truth of his Garifuna blood. I meet David as he is selling a local, home made wine to the tourists at the weekly jamming and drumming night in Hopkins. We speak as magicians of our own reality. His biggest success recently has been to receive a home. After living in a shack he built as a shelter and losing it in a hurricane, he was able to apply for a free, very humble home, a place for himself.
His dream is to help educate the youth and establish himself as a businessman.
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