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 Disco28 Wednesday Aug 2013 Posted by syl mortilla
Some people hold the belief that, on the night prior to our birth, we are guests of honour at a celestial celebration that gathers together all the souls we are bound to encounter during our imminent corporeal adventure on Earth.
The night of August 28th, 1958 must have been quite the disco.
The subsequent day, Katherine Jackson gave birth to her eighth child. Another boy. Her mother suggested she name him ‘Ronald’. Katherine – thankfully – ignored that, and opted for ‘Michael’ – after the patron saint of soldiers. A name that means, “Who is like God”.
Right from the Motown audition, people described Michael as an old soul; a genius veteran trapped in a child’s body; that a change in atmosphere occurred whenever he entered a room, as if he could osmotically transform whichever ether he had graced. I’m sure there’ll come a time when quantum physics will discern an explanation for these types of phenomena, but for now, let’s just call it magic. After all, this boy would grow up with the ability to both walk forwards and backwards and be black and white at the same time.
The colossal cultural strides Michael Jackson took, bridged gaps between religious and political differences; he stood as a beacon amongst humankind: his fuel of humility starkly illuminating the darkness of jealousy; a congenital humility further intensified by the experience of being an innocent man globally slandered as a miscreant. He was a uniquely civilised human being – an evolutionary cusp perhaps evidencing better than anything else, an eventual spiritual progression for humanity. He was the Rorschach Test on prejudice.
In the introduction to the dance sequence of the Black or White video, a background statue of notorious slaver US President George Washington, is poised as if guiding Michael into the arena where he transforms into a black panther. Michael never forgot his humble beginnings, nor the suffering of black America. Indeed, Michael Jackson’s recent ancestor was himself a slave; one named ‘Prince’ by his slavers. The same Prince that Michael Jackson named his white son after. The same son who stood trial as a plaintiff in the AEG trial; in the fight to get justice for his father. Who died as a result of a slavish contract.
The precise middle point of Michael Jackson’s life – to the very day – was the fate-altering event in which his hair caught fire, and he was introduced to the relief of morphine. There are other examples of bizarre coincidences such as this happening in Michael’s life, which lead many to believe that Michael was a divine messenger. Yet whether or not he was a prophet in the religious sense is largely irrelevant. What he undeniably was, was a universally recognised figure, renowned to the point of possessing an instantly-retrievable place in infinity’s memory, who worked tirelessly in the face of mendacity and adversity in order to spread a message of love.
Happy birthday, Michael. Enjoy your birthday disco.
http://sylmortilla.com/2013/08/28/disco/
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