We are born wise. We are born complete. – Quote from my Licorice Mint Tea this week.
Three beginnings shape my world this week.
Each glistening with that special radiance a new thing always brings — trepidation, joy, uncertainty, excitement.
Like crossing a threshold
Around the world we marched.
In Oakland we inched.
Streets packed like a citywide game of sardines.
Standing together peacefully for hours in silence, in song, in proclamation, and joy.
“Pussy power,” “My pussy grabs back,” and more and more, said the glittering vaginas we held overhead.
I was comfortable — delighted even — moving along
in my pink raincoat and purple leggings
with my white friends
wondering, “where are my people of color?”
This peppering of black and brown is not representative
“The biggest march in history,” some reports said. “One in every 100 Americans was there.”
But not for Black Lives Matter
And where was I on those nights when my people screeched from years of violence and hate?
Listening to the helicopters overhead from the safety of my purple couch?
Finding sanctuary dancing to Jeremih one street from protests.
Was it all too much to bear?
Was I comfortably detached?
And what, with this beginning, do we do?
In church the next day
drug by an exuberance to be with
Mother and child danced in the aisle.
Over and over her voice raised higher than the others.
“Take me Jesus, Take Me Jesus, Take All of Me or Nothing!”
And I heard
We heal it all or nothing.
Pull one thread and let all the textures of our suffering be unraveled and exposed.
I am not Christian.
Sometimes, I’m a half breed.
But I belonged in that room.
Hands clapping and raising.
Singing songs never before heard but somewhere known.
Dredging the unincorporated pieces of my own lineage.
This is the language, embedded in me by some percentage of Blackness, of how I find divine.
And now my work. My work.
This heavy door, formidable, with peeling blue paint.
Dropped with certainty from a knowing sky
It beckons the strength of arms used for handstands
To be pressed and stepped through
I am scared.
I am eager.
And so I inch, we inch.
Knowing not where we’re going, but away from what has been