Last night I had a very brief dream, but it seemed like one that should have meaning. It was one of those dreams where I realized it was a dream and willed myself awake.

I was leaving a party and backing down the driveway. The house was on a one-way street- a cul-de-sac that was divided down the middle. The house was near the end of the cul-de-sac that was open to the road that led back home. As I was backing down the driveway I thought “It’d be so much easier to just go back the short way rather than wrapping all the way around to the other end of the street just to get back to where I’m just a few feet from.“  I could see the road I needed to get back to. Why drive all the way around?  I knew it was wrong to go the wrong way, but I was going to do it anyway.  I made the decision to take the shortcut.  It was just a few a few feet. No one would know.

Just as I made the turn and faced the wrong way on the one-way street, a cop made the turn onto the cul-de-sac. There I was face-to-face with the cop knowing he was going to pull me over for going the wrong way on a one-way. I had no excuse to offer.  Just then I realized it was a dream and I heard myself tell dream me to just wake up. So, I did.

Today, on my walk I was listening to a Swedenborg Podcast on the origin of dreams and that dream came back to mind.  What I realized is the one-way street represented the way life flows. While it’s just a short way back to where I want to be in life, life doesn’t go that way.  To get back home, I have to continue down the road, the long way, back Home.

:::::  sigh ::::::

This line from Mark has always been one of my favorite Bible verses. They were uttered by a man who came to Jesus for healing for his son. Jesus said if he could believe all things were possible to him who believes. Then this man summed up what it is to be human so succinctly. We want to believe.  We really do, but we just can’t quite get there.  Spoiler alert- the boy was healed.

Just yesterday a Facebook “friend” sent a private message to me. We’ve been friends for years. I have no idea how we “met”.  Through mutual friends I suppose. We never interact directly. I see her posts/comments once in a while. I assume she sees mine.  Just a couple of days ago, a very good friend of hers passed away. Suddenly.  Unexpectedly.  Someone she talked to daily, just gone.

She told me she’s been struggling.  She’s having panic attacks. It’s all surreal.  I can relate to what she says. All of it. Every bit. She wants to believe, but in church she was always the skeptic.  She kind of believes. It would be comforting to believe, but the intellect gets in the way. Society tells us to believe is to be naive or stupid or both.  We were watching Blackish a couple of nights ago where Zoe was having a crisis of faith and her atheist (materialist) uncle uttered the line “I believe in science.  I believe in community…” something like that.  It sounds so superior. So intellectual to say that we only believe in the things we see.

Then, we face mortality and suddenly it’s a whole new ball of wax.  Maybe it’s not our own death that upsets us.  We can accept the idea that we’ll blink out of existence “one day”.  But, when death takes someone we love, we inevitably want to know where they went, even if intellectually, we claim to believe they’re just gone.

I struggled with my mortality for decades. First, it was the fires of hell I feared. Then, it was maybe I would just cease to exist. Ceasing to exist was a picnic compared to eternal torment, but ultimately that wasn’t satisfying either.  Then, I began to study. I had to do something about this unbelief.  Over the course of 15 years, I’ve assured myself that this life is not it.  For a very long time, I had this nebulous view of what comes next.  Streets of gold sound gaudy. Singing songs for 10,000 years sounds like torture.  The pictures of heaven I had made it sound like no place I wanted to go. I can tell you after a decade and a half of study, the picture is coming into focus. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to be like, but I do trust it’s going to be amazing. I now only have gotten over my fear of death, I am looking forward to it.

Back to the woman who contacted me yesterday. I wish I could dump everything I know directly into her head. I wish I could transfer the knowledge of the hundreds of hours of Podcasts, dozens of books, hundreds of NDEs I’ve read, people I’ve talked to who have had NDEs right into her and take away all of her fear. I had to settle with asking her to start with a MP3 recorded by Sandra Champlain on what grief is and how to handle it and to ask her to start to listen to Sandra’s podcast.  I can’t give it all to her at once.  That’s not the way human communication works (so frustrating).  But, if you’re struggling with this, like I did, just remember the prayer of the man whose son needed to be healed. Start with a little belief. Start with just the desire to believe.  The rest will be provided to you.

Tywana told me that we needed more dog poop bags.  These come on a roll that you can attach to the leash to pick up dog poop when you’re walking your dog. The next day I got an email offering me free dog poop bags if I would review them and put my review on Amazon. I said yes. They came in the mail yesterday.

Today, on my morning walk I found a roll of… dog poop bags just laying there in the street. So, now I have a box and an extra roll.

See? The universe does provide.

Now, where is that million dollars I asked for?

I’m all into Emmanual Swedenborg now. I’ve been powering through the YouTube videos that break his enormous volumes of work into digestible chunks. If you had told me I would ever follow an 18th-century Swedish philosopher and mystic, I would have said to you that you are crazy.

So, as I’m walking with my buddy, he asks me what I’ve been reading lately and what resonates with me.  I’m reading Gary Zukav’s The Seat of The Soul which is also blowing my mind wide open and the parallels with Swedenborg are just reinforcing everything I’m learning.  Swedenborg had a couple of decades of amazing Out Of Body experiences (similar to Near Death Experiences without the physically dying).  He even got to have the experience of dying so that he could write about it from a first-hand account. I don’t necessarily agree with all of his theology, even though it’s tough to argue with a guy who literally went into heaven and talked to angels.

My buddy is more a traditional Christian than I am (who isn’t?)  He’s been offering me books to read, most of which I’ve already read back in my more fundamentalist days.  I try to find opportunities to share with him what I’ve been learning. As we’re walking this path through the woods, the rain has stopped, the clouds are breaking up, and the sun is coming down through the trees.  He comments on the beauty of the light streaming through the trees which reminds me of Swedenborg who is all about “correspondences”.  In Swedenborg, everything on Earth mirrors a higher spiritual truth. As above, so below. Trees, water, the human body, the human mind, all of it is reflective of greater spiritual things.  For example, a tree could be seen as a human being.  The leaves gather light which comes from the heavens, from God, our guides, our angels. The truth and wisdom water us and we produce fruit which is our good works.  So, I relate this little story to my friend and how I’m looking at nature differently after studying a bit of Swedenborg.  I give him a quick synopsis of the episode on Adam and Eve which makes total sense to me.

Swedenborg did exegesis on pretty much the entire “Old Testament”.  Many progressive Christians and people who have progressed beyond Christianity struggle with the “Old Testament”. It’s full of murder, rape, genocide, slavery, misogyny, you name it- and that’s the stuff done in the name of God.  God supposedly banishes people from a perfect paradise because they ate fruit he put there.  God throws a temper tantrum and kills every man, woman, child and beast on the Earth except Noah and his family.  It’s crazy stuff. Taken literally it’s not just nonsensical; it’s evil.

Many of us have just shut the book.  But, the explanation Swedenborg did of the Adam and Eve story is beautiful. And I think it’s the way the story was meant to be understood. I know it’s the way Jews today understand it. They don’t take that or many of the stories literally. Christians (and maybe Muslims) are the only people who do.  Swedenborg claims the power of these stories is significantly underestimated because they’re written in such symbolic language that we miss the deeper meanings.  Supposedly, even people in religious communities in heaven still study our scriptures and even angels take deeper meaning from it. There’s great stuff hiding in there, hiding right in plain sight.

So, today I listen to the 7 Days of Creation as told by Emmanuel Swedenborg.  It’s brilliant stuff. Taking the story as a metaphorical and metaphysical tale changes it entirely. Creation isn’t something that happened billions or 6,000 years ago.  It’s about spiritual awakening. The first day, when God says “Let there be Light”, the Light is our individual (and collective) first stirring when we realize there is something greater than ourselves that we should be aligning ourselves with.  And the story goes on from there.

I think to myself. “Ahhh.. this is something I can share with my buddy.”  The metaphorical and metaphysical understanding of it doesn’t challenge the literal interpretation. I guess if you still want to cling to a talking snake and a six-day creation you can. But, what else is the story telling us?  So, I fire off a message to him with a link to the YouTube video. I’m hoping he’s going to like it.

This is what I get back.  “Got your podcast on Genesis creation. What resonated with you about it? It is interesting, but seems to be a mystic take on the Jewish prose it was written as. Not that those metaphors can’t have value, but I don’t think one can assert with scholarship that was the original intent of the author.”

Hmmm…  OK.  I’m not sure how looking at the deeper meaning goes contrary to the original intent of the author. And if we look at the Bible as a book that is supposed to reveal spiritual truths, shouldn’t we be looking for the deeper meaning? Isn’t that the original intent of the author. And speaking of scholarship- talking snakes, God screwing up creation by not knowing what was going to happen?  Why did He put that tree in the Garden?

Ah well…  I’m not going to argue. Still loving my Swedenborg. I listened to an episode this morning on how the physics of this world mirror the reality of the spiritual world. There is so much hidden in plain sight if we can merely open up that third eye and see it.

Today I get the news.  Uncle Jack has passed.  He was 95.  He lived a long, full productive life. But, still, I think he’s my Dad’s older brother.  He has been there Dad’s entire life.  He is the brother-in-law my mother had for going on 60 years. Uncle Jack has gone Home. There’s much rejoicing in Heaven, but there’s a lot of sorrow back here.

I’m 55 now.  People who are 55 will tell you were are not old. We’re middle aged.  But, there aren’t a lot of people living to 110. We’re old.  In our youth, we saw mostly people coming in.  Our parents were having kids.  Their friends were having kids. Then, we were having kids.  Now maybe our kids are having kids. But, what we’re also experiencing more is people going out.  Our parents are aging and dying.  Our friends are getting cancer and having strokes.  We’re going to more funerals than weddings.

Whether you think of this Earth as a prison or a party, a vacation or a place of work, what we experience is people coming and going.  We rejoice at births. We congratulate the parents.  We look forward to seeing that kid grow. We ignore the inevitable pain and toil of Earth-school; we’re just happy to have them here. We forget the fact we’re all going to leave some day. And worse, it’s not all on the same day. There are going to be good-byes. Once we get to this point in our lives it hits us. We all leave. We all go out.  Someday in the not too distant future, I will say good-bye to my parents or vice versa.  One of us will be left here, the other gone on.

I was talking with my mother the other day about Uncle Jack’s pending transition. This was after he was in hospice.  We talked about cultures who actually celebrate death. It’s so counter to our culture, though. We ignore death until it’s right up on us.  Then we fight it until it overtakes us. Then we mourn it once it’s come.  Why do we do that when we know more with more certainty than anything else we know that death will come?  Why do we fear the inevitable? How do we flip that?

That’s what I’ve been working on. And it’s hard work.  Anything counter-cultural is difficult at best. At least an hour a day, usually closer to two hours a day, I am retraining my mind to accept the inevitable to even embrace the inevitable; because death is only the end of this Earth-bound relationship. It’s the beginning of a new life for those who go before us. And one day, we’ll all be together again.

One of the few happy songs I remember from growing up in the church is “When We All Get to Heaven”  I played it for my Uncle Jack this morning and shed a few tears over the relationships lost here, but had a little smile about his party in heaven and his new body. Bon voyage Uncle.  See you soon.

I’ve said it before. I will probably say it again. There are bad days, then there are worse days. If you see me and it seems I am having a good day, that means it’s just one of the bad days, not the really terrible ones.  This life is about endurance for me now. It’s just how do I pass the time. Weekends, for most of us, are a time to look forward to a couple of days off.  There are no days off of grief. And, having something to do, something on the calendar, helps the time go faster.  Saturday, Ty had a golf lesson. Then she and a friend went out shopping. I had most of the day by myself. The Buckeyes had a bye week.  So, here I am wondering how do I fill my day? My mind drifts back to when the girls’ calendars drove our days. It was always a practice or a game or some event they needed to be driven to.  The opening lines of Games People Play by Alan Parsons is :

Where do we go from here now that all other children are growin’ up

And how do we spend our lives if there’s no-one to lend us a handI don’t want to live here no more,
I don’t want to stay
Ain’t gonna spend the rest of my life,
Quietly fading away

I didn’t think that would become the anthem of my life, at least not this soon.  

I always begin my day with the walk.  It’s my number one priority. Meditation helps, but walking helps more.  While I’m on my walk I get that panic attack feeling.  If you’ve ever had one, yo know it, it’s a strange feeling in your chest and head and you just know you’re going to die. I realize something. As much as I say I want to die, I don’t want to die right now.  Not today. I think of Tywana and Kayla.  I can’t do that to them.  It’s too soon after Shayna. I have to stick it out. The feeling fades as fast as it comes.  It lasts for no more than a second.  But, it’s long enough to make me realize this is where I need to be, even though I am stuck.  I can’t feel better. I don’t want to feel this bad. I just don’t want to feel anything.

I get through Saturday.  At least tomorrow I have the Bengals game to look forward to. I rise early as usual and I get my walk in.  It’s off to church which takes me right up to kick off time.  The Bengals have decided to be the Bungles today. The game is painful to watch as they lose, not even keeping it close.  I get onto Facebook.  In my group of 7,000+ people who have lost a child, someone is always posting. I read a post from a mother who said she barely made it through the night last night. I comment, trying to give her some encouragement. Then I start reading the comments hoping some of them will lift my spirits.  Not this time.  Most of the comments are from other mothers who are having the same issue.The timeframe varies.  A few say it becomes bearable, at least most of the time.  Too many however say it’s been 2 years, 4 years, 11 years and they still feel that way. Still stuck. Still in this place where the whole world is shades of gray instead of color.  Nothing really brings joy, some things just mask over the pain, until that time when our minds snap us back to reality.  “Oh yeah. That really happened.  I had a daughter and now she’s gone.”  Facebook is full of pictures of homecoming kids.  I see Shayna’s friends all dressed up for the dance. I have to turn away. I can’t dwell on the fact she’d be a junior this year, making her college visits.  It’s too much for me today.

I have no one to share this with.  Today is a worse day.  Who knows why? There’s no good reason. The only thing that brings relief is walking and sleep. So, i walk an hour every day.  I don’t feel like I can share this with Tywana. We talk about Shayna- all the time.  We don’t avoid speaking of her, but I feel like me sharing my feelings with her is putting more on her than she already has to carry.  I feel stuck here in the middle.  There is no going back. The fast forward button isn’t working. I keep pressing it, but nothing happens. 

By 8 o’clock, I’m ready for bed. It’s been a long exhausting day, even though nothing unusual has happened.  We watch some TV and retire around 10. I can’t sleep. I confide in Tywana that this has been one of the worse days.  She reminds me that yesterday was 15 months. I didn’t even realize it.  I rarely know what the date is.  Sometimes I struggle with the day of the week. They’re all pretty much the same.  

Day 452 of being here in the middle, in no man’s land.  I’m not quite ready to go Home, but I’m sick to death of this place.  

Well, it’s been just another fun filled week. I don’t know how much more of this fun I can take.  First I found out a good friend I’ve known for over 25 years, we were in each other’s weddings and he’s been married 15 years, is getting divorced. Then, another very close friend’s mother got ill suddenly and passed on Wednesday.  The next day I get a call saying my Uncle Jack is in the hospital with a brain bleed that is coming out of his nose and he’s been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.  He’s in hospice, comatose, waiting for his crossing.

This morning I call my mother to ask how Uncle Jack is doing. That’s when I find out the tumor is malignant and that he’s in a coma. I was thinking about Uncle Jack yesterday. Great guy. Real intellect. A great writer.  We didn’t share the same theology, but we were friends on Facebook, pretty impressive given the fact he was in his 90s at the time. You see, Uncle Jack will be 96 in just a few weeks.  He’s my father’s oldest surviving brother.  As I was contemplating his passing and thinking how it’s another one leaving us, I started to think about it from his perspective. He’s lived a long, full life.  He’s going Home.  Soon, he will see his mother and father again and Aunt ‘Nita, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Walter, and Uncle Karl.  What a homecoming it’s going to be!  

This morning as I was talking to my mother checking in on Uncle Jack we talked about getting old.  My grandmother said a lot of wise things to me. The most simple and most profound I remember her telling me when we were sitting at the kitchen table. I must have been around 16 because I remember her telling me she still had the same mindset she had at 16. She didn’t see herself as an old lady. She was that same girl in the body of an old lady. Then, she said, “If you live long enough, you get old.”  We deny age in our society. We fight the aging process. We not only think we’re going to live forever. We think we are going to be young forever. One of the follies of youth is you will never be the old man you see sitting across from you.  My mother will be 80 in a few weeks. She’s still going strong. She still travels the world.  When I talked to her this morning, she was preparing for a dinner party this evening. She’s cooking for six guests. She told me she is finally slowing down, feeling the effects of her age.  She has arthritis in her back that is limiting how much time she can stand on her feet. But, she said the same thing my grandmother told me back when my grandmother was actually more than a decade shy of my mother’s age. She doesn’t feel old in her mind, just the body.  She’s always talking about how stubborn my Aunt Lil is at 90+, but today for the first time to me anyway, she admitted she will probably be just like her, denying aging.

Uncle Jack has been a fixture in my life for as long as I can remember. If anyone were to tell me their 95-year-old uncle, grandfather, whatever was passing, I would, of course, offer my sympathies, but in the back of my mind I’d be thinking “Dude, he’s 95.  It’s time for him to go.”  But, it’s never time for those closest to us, those who we’ve gotten to know over the course of our lifetimes.  When Elvis died, I was 16 years old.  Elvis was 42. I remember thinking “Why is everybody so upset?”  I loved Elvis, but for me, at 16, Elvis was old.  Now, my Uncle Jack is 95 and I’m not ready for him to go.  I feel for his “kids” (most of whom are older than I am) losing their father.  I guess it’s all relative.

I’ve written many times about how time is my enemy.  I am also mystified by what exactly time is.  It seems intuitively obvious. Things go from past to present to future in an orderly, inexorable fashion. But, physicists and philosophers tell us it’s all an illusion. Afterlife communications tell us everything from there is no time on the “other side” to time is just very, very different there. People who have had NDEs tell us they can’t even explain what time is like there or if there is time.

A couple of days ago I was talking with the aunt of my distant cousin who passed suddenly at 16. She was saying how time for her seems to be stuck, but it’s a good kind of stuck because it keeps Yasmine close in her heart.  Yet, she’s stuck in a very painful place because while Yasmine is in her heart, Yasmine is no longer here with us physically. I can SO relate to this. Wanting to move past the pain, but identifying the pain with holding our loved one close. I was also talking with a father (a father, not a mother- YAY!) whose 3-year-old daughter passed just over a month ago.  He also expressed exactly what I feel. He doesn’t feel right here without her. She was his world. She made this place his home. Without her being here, he feels like he’s not home anymore.  Every day that goes by is one day closer to going Home, but it’s also one day further removed from the last time he saw her, held her, kissed her.  

None of us knows how much time we have left.  Even after living through Shayna leaving so suddenly and unexpectedly and since talking with so many parents who should know we don’t know what tomorrow holds, I find myself being overwhelmed when I think of my future.  I get depressed when I get back into the mode of thinking this physical life is more important than it really is and is way longer than it really is. Time may be my enemy, but Time is also self-defeating. It spends itself as it blocks me from my goal. No matter what happens- good or bad, no matter how well I deal with this or how poor I deal with it, if I thrive or if I just curl up into a ball, time marches on and there is only so much of it before I reach my goal. So bring it on, Time.  I will beat you. 

As my friend Roberta Grimes is apt to say, I am as psychic as a post. I have no psychic ability whatsoever, but I’’m fascinated by all things psychic.  Recently I began taking a course to raise my level of psychic perception.  I found it listening to a Podcast and I felt it was something I should do.  The course keeps telling me to trust my imagination/intuition/hunches, all the stuff I’m not good at. I became an engineer for a reason. I like concrete answers. I like reasoning my way to a conclusion.  I have a pretty decent intellect and I rely heavily on it. I’m struggling with the course. They are having me do daydreaming exercises and trying to trust what is coming through is inspired, that it’s spirit connecting with me. The author of the course is corresponding with me and I think I’m making progress, but it’s slow.  Trusting my intuition is something I was never taught to do. Quite the opposite.

Serendipitously, I was listening to an Off The Left Eye podcast recently and they mentioned an episode where they do a metaphysical exegesis of the Adam & Eve story as viewed by Emmanuel Swedenborg. Swedenborg is a 18th century mystic who had visions over the course of a few decades. He did metaphysical explanations of many of the Old Testament Bible stories.  The show was over an hour long. I won’t explain it all here, but basically everything in that story, the plants, the animals, the trees, the locations of the trees, Adam, Eve, the snake even the fact that Eve was taken from a rib, has a metaphysical meaning. The gist of the story is that man went from being a being in concert with God, fully dependent on God to know right from wrong to being an independent being trying to determine right from wrong on his own and ending up in a state of confusion. We have become totally reliant on our physical senses (Eve) and our rational mind (Adam) and lost our connection to Source which is our true North. We journey out on our own confused and finally come back around to the realization that we want to and need to rely on Source.   Man was created in naive innocence, gains wisdom, becomes confused and eventually winds up in enlightened innocence. This is the cycle of mankind and of man individually. We are born totally dependent, we know Source, our Third Eye is open. But, we become enamored with the physical. The spiritual is driven out of us.  Eventually, we realize this isn’t working and we seek something else- returning to an enlightened innocence.  (see Enigma’s video Return to Innocence)

I also happen to be reading Seat of the Soul by Gary Zukav.  Wow. it’s a really deep book.  What I’ve gotten so far is there is the five sensory man, as Gary calls him. That is the person who relies on what he can sense with his five senses. And there is the multisensory man. The multisensory man sees with his third eye. He has connection to his higher sources like his higher self, his guides, angels and even Source.  Both the five sensory man and the multisensory man receive guidance and help from above. The five sensory man has difficulty discerning this guidance and thinks all his imagining, inspiration, flashes of brilliance, etc. come from himself. The multisensory man knows these things from higher sources, trusts them, seeks them out, works to develop that connection and therefore can make progress through life much more easily.

So, there we have three things coming together in my life at this moment to tell me this is the lesson I should be learning now. A while ago I would not have noticed this convergence of events or if I had I would have chalked it up to coincidence.  But, I’m beginning to see, just a little bit.  There are no coincidences.  Maybe the eye is beginning to open.

I try not to be political on this blog. It’s about my spiritual journey, but today I have to break my rule.  I just had an overwhelming feeling that I need to write this.  

As I was taking my walk on Sunday, I was the only one out. I was up early, as usual.  I walk five miles through a predominantly white neighborhood, my neighborhood. I am always conscious of how I appear. I dress in running clothes and running shoes. I want it to be clear I am out exercising, not loitering or casing homes. I follow all traffic rules. I’m on the sidewalk where there is a sidewalk. I”m on the proper side of the road where there is not a sidewalk.  On school mornings, there are kids walking to the local elementary school. I make sure to steer clear of the kids. I don’t want any 911 calls about a creepy old man approaching school children. Today, though, all is quiet.  No one is out.  Then, I look up and I see a police car coming up the street towards me.  There has been another shooting of an unarmed black man. This one a father of four.  His car broke down in the middle of the road. The cops came. For some reason, they came at him with guns drawn.  What they suspected him of, I have no idea. There is a video. The cops initially reported that he refused to put his hands up. I guess they forgot there was video, because the video clearly shows him with his hands up, before they tasered him and shot him.  All of this runs through my mind as the police car approaches me.  I start to strategize.  If he stops, what do I say?  Do I put my hands up?   Could moving my hands be seen as a threatening gesture?  Do I lie face down on the ground?  Should I wait for a command before moving or should I be proactive in making myself less threatening?  One of the cops was heard saying the father they shot looked like a “bad dude”  Do I look like a bad dude?  As this all goes through my mind, the cop rolls by, waves and moves on.

I posted my experience on Facebook this morning and one of my friends shared it with her friends. One of her friends remarked that not all cops are like that and that more white people are shot by cops than black people. I should learn the statistics and stop being afraid.  I had to inform her about the statistics.

In 2015, The Washington Post launched a real-time database to track fatal police shootings, and the project continues this year. As of Sunday, 1,502 people have been shot and killed by on-duty police officers since Jan. 1, 2015. Of them, 732 were white, and 381 were black (and 382 were of another or unknown race).

But as data scientists and policing experts often note, comparing how many or how often white people are killed by police to how many or how often black people are killed by the police is statistically dubious unless you first adjust for population.

According to the most recent census data, there are nearly 160 million more white people in America than there are black people. White people make up roughly 62 percent of the U.S. population but only about 49 percent of those who are killed by police officers. African Americans, however, account for 24 percent of those fatally shot and killed by the police despite being just 13 percent of the U.S. population. As The Post noted in a new analysis published last week, that means black Americans are 2.5 times as likely as white Americans to be shot and killed by police officers.

U.S. police officers have shot and killed the exact same number of unarmed white people as they have unarmed black people: 50 each. But because the white population is approximately five times larger than the black population, that means unarmed black Americans were five times as likely as unarmed white Americans to be shot and killed by a police officer.

BTW, I am ALWAYS unarmed. So, yeah. I know the stats. That’s why I’m scared.