This time of year is stressful. It is a time of reflecting, or remembering or even reconciling. With it being almost 48 hours before Black Friday and maybe 96 … Continue reading Before Being Thankful
The world needs its misfits. It’s magic workers. It’s conjurers.
From that, we get those with the blessing of being soft places to fall. The ever-present open ears and able shoulders. The open eyes that see and never say–unless asked. The healers of this world and work.
Those of us that see suffering and pain and loneliness and strive to stop it. Seek to understand what it is, why it is, and how to avoid it–channel it into better. That’s what those of us that are healers do.
We write. We emote. We sing of passions and callings. We tell the truth about this mortal experience, even when it hurts. We tell the stories that need to be told, even when they are our own.
We gift those we love with our own tears, spun gold and as medicine to give to those in need of that wisdom. That wisdom of that weight can only be given and used when it comes from experience. When we didn’t die after that first heartbreak, we can tell you that you won’t. We didn’t panic when trouble came, ran our of money or when our parents died. We go through to give you a map.
Sometimes this is the trouble of being one of those unique open God has opened to see the world behind the world–to see the trouble of mankind and a way out of it. Sometimes you have to be the first one to bleed to teach the second to follow how to heal.
The first time I saw my mother cry, I was about 3. It was the worst, most helpless feeling I have ever had. I told myself that anyone that made my mother cry was bad, and I never wanted her to cry over something I said or did to her.
In this, the 36th summer of life, I haven’t kept that promise, and I, too, have cried in front of my daughters. The thing I never wanted to do, or have them see.
Why is this? Let me off you this…
There is this myth surrounding black women. That we are hard, unyielding, and callous—bitter, sour and mean.
Far from true.
We’ve been taught that we have to become and embody a strength reserved for God and to the envy of other people. We’re seen as these women devoid of the weight of emotion, but assigned with the burden of man.
I cry most when my children can’t see me because I want them to remain children. I want them to maintain their innocence the world strips from little black girls.
I cry where they can’t see me to remind myself I am owed myself. I’m a owed space to grieve, process and acknowledge what is happening to me. I get to be human.
Self-care is always seen as a luxury black women, sometimes. Like we don’t “need” space to “breathe and be”. We do. We are women like anyone else and deserve that same respect and luxury to rest and emote.
Mamas cry when you can’t see them to release. We cry when you can’t see them to regroup, to allow for grief not to overtake and make you bitter.
Mama is our superhero selves.
But we still suit up, every day…even when Kyptonite is present.
I consider myself a word alchemist. I love the written word, and the power that it brings. So when I was told about The Awakenings Project, I thought it was the dopest thing that I could participate in. I was humbled to even be asked. I thought the premise was genius and in the cultural tempest that we are in, I thought it was needed. I had to add my magic to it.
My word: ORACLE.
To me, this word carried so much power. So much history, and so much weight. I adore words, so I had to look up what it is the modern Merriam-Webster dictionary defines an ‘oracle’ as I found there were 7 definitions. The ones that I thought were most applicable to me are:
- a person who delivers authoritative, wise, or highly regarded and influential pronouncements.
- divine communication or revelation.
- any person or thing serving as an agency of divine communication.
Oracles in folklore are secret keepers, storytellers and always are presented with this degree of mystery and mystique.
They are these mystical, metaphysical creatures that touch natural and divine and there is something about them that is indescribable.
That ‘certain something’…that aire, or charm.
Being a writer, I believe that this word encompasses everything that I felt growing up and daydreaming; being able to ‘pull’ these imaginary, real people into paper and ink, conjure what is not to what is.
Being able to tie together nows and thens into the could be’s and futures yet. I think that word wraps up all that I am as an artist.
Since participating in the project, I have been more active in exercising my gifts and talents in my pursuit of being a writer. I have become more confident in my talent and gifts, and sharing that with people and venturing out in different arenas that those of my kind are found.
I have embraced that portion of myself, and honor it.
The Awakenings Project has helped me accept that of myself which I was unsure about, and was not confident in.
I’m an Oracle. And that is badass.
Subject: Jennifer Harris
Date of Session: 12/2016
*The Awakenings Project is the brainchild of a dear friend of mine, Marissa Southards. She asked me to be a part of this project (now known as Awakenings I or A1) in 2016 and I agreed. With the launch of her blog of the same name (The Awakenings Project), she asked those subjects to write a reflection of the involvement in that process. Any questions about the project can be answered there.
Y’all should hop over to her blog and follow her awesome.